Lent: Day Thirteen

When I was a little girl, my Mom sung me the same song almost every night. She would sit on the edge of my bed and rub my back or push my hair behind my ears and sing softly. When she finished, she would lean over and kiss my forehead. That song and that kiss became the signs that I could sleep in peace, knowing I was safe and loved.

As I grew older, the ritual was shortened to just the kiss on the forehead. Even now, at the age of 28, when I go home I can expect that kiss -- as well as one from my Dad. And still those pecks mean: Goodnight, little girl. You are loved. 

Tonight I was listening to the CD "Holy, Holy, Holy" by Crystal Lewis, and "my" song came on. I became lost in memories of home and in the comforting words of the song. And so, reader, I share it with you. May it encourage you as much as it has always encouraged me.


Great is Thy Faithfulness
Thomas Chisholm

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my father!
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not:
As thou hast been Thou forever wilt be. 

Chorus:

Great is Thy faithfulness, Great is Thy faithfulness,
Morning by morning new mercies I see:
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth.
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide,
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Lent: Day Twelve

Fell asleep last night looking at the waning moon out my bedroom window.

Woke up this morning to a brilliant sunrise.

Stood on the porch this evening watching the snowy mountains glow orange then fade to pink as they reflected the setting sun.

I feel so blessed to be living a life this close to creation. May I never take it for granted.

Lent: Day Eleven

The field I walk through to get to the barn is no longer a field. It is a land o' lakes, each puddle of water separated by mounds of melting snow and/or piles of horse dung.

As an adult, I point to the mess and say, "THAT is why I don't like spring."

But today I remembered that when I was young, puddles were meant for jumping. And so, I put on my snow boots, rolled my jeans to my knees, and hopped on through. As drops of water -- and, shall we say, nutrient-rich mud -- splashed around me, I couldn't contain the laughter.

Had there been another human soul around, I think a mud fight may have occurred. But since the only other soul nearby was Wind the Horse, I buried my face in his mane like a giddy little girl and breathed deep his sweet, earthy aroma that always reminds me of fresh-baked bread.   

Lent: Day Ten

Ten days into Lent, and I find myself struggling to keep up. My prayer journal has two, three, and even four day gaps. This doesn't mean I haven't been praying for family, friends, and those who requested prayer; it only means I have not been writing it all down in my prayer journal, which was my original adopted practice for Lent.

This leaves me asking a couple questions. First, why is discipline so difficult sometimes? And, perhaps the bigger question: Am I seeking the discipline of Lent for the right reasons?

Answer number one: I am human. I am fallen. I am, by nature, prone to sin and sloth. Those are the big picture issues. On a smaller scale -- otherwise known as excuses -- I am tired, I write all day as it is, and I simply forget. For these reasons, my hope tonight is that prayer would be the breath of my soul. Now if only I could claim that beautiful thought! I stole it from a friend's facebook page. But think about it: prayer as the breath of our soul. That means we cannot spiritually live without it. Wow.

Answer number two: I hope so. And I think so. The practice of Lent caught my attention last year. I gave up my car and gained 40 awesome days of long wandering prayers (see post for day nine). Still, I think it's important to examine our motives sometimes. A friend of mine recently called mine into question, and I'm thankful he did.

In evangelical circles, Lent is not required. Thus, it can easily become "hip." Heaven forbid. When I think of Christians doing something because it's hip, I cringe. It reminds me of the story in the Bible where Jesus' disciples ask him who is going to sit next to him in heaven, which is essentially a question of who is coolest. May my faith never, ever be about me. If I am not seeking to draw closer to God and honor him with my faith, I am mistaken. Likewise, if my faith does not produce love for others, I must question its authenticity.

That is why I "do" Lent. I desperately want to call myself back into line with God. And I want to reach out to others and love them by caring about what they care about. I can do that by entering into their lives through prayer. What a privilege and joy!

And so, I stumble, but God picks me up. Also, the call for your prayer requests is still out there. Please let me know how I can join with you in this journey of life.

 

Lent: Day Nine

I have sat at my desk tonight typing and deleting for about half an hour. I'm not really sure what I want to say.

Part of me is thinking heavy thoughts even though I'm quite happy. I will blame that on today's viewing of "Shutter Island."

Another part of me is thinking about a million little things: how pretty the dried flowers on top of the bookcase are; how much I want to visit Prague some day; camping; dear friends I want to see so bad I can almost imagine them beside me; my Grampa; how good it felt to wear my flip-flops today; kayaking; love in all its maddening complexity; boys; the awesome pizza I had for dinner; whether or not go to a salon and get a hair cut or do it myself; how incredibly long this sentence is.

I can't seem to quiet the thoughts, which reminds me of a book I once read. It was called "Long Wandering Prayer" and was written by David Hansen, a pastor in the town where I went to high school. His basic premise was that we should not be ashamed when our thoughts wander in prayer. God does not need exact, well-spoken speeches with three points. He's okay with meandering. Hansen even suggested physically wandering when praying. Not all the time, but sometimes. I was glad to hear that because I walk around praying aimlessly all the time.

So tonight, Lord, I thank you for awesome pizza, camping, flowers, flip-flops, and kayaking. I put all the uncertain business of boys and dating and marriage in your hands. I pray for those who have asked me to pray -- you know who they are. I admit that at this exact moment I'm thinking about grabbing a snack because I'm hungry. And I'm sure glad you like me just as I am.

Lent: Day Eight

I can't listen to enough music today. It's like my soul is thirsty, and music is the water it needs. I find myself getting absolutely lost in the lyrics and melodies, as if every song is saying -- in words and tones -- exactly what I want or need to say.

And so, reader, I am not going to write much on Lent: Day Eight. I am wandering through this music, visiting thoughts, pondering questions, considering risks, and, as always, dreaming dreams. I think I need to stay here a while, so I bid you a fond goodnight and promise I'll see you tomorrow.

Lent: Day Seven

There is a scene in the Song of Songs where the lover is gazing through the windows and peering through the lattice to see his beloved inside her house. After a while, he speaks, calling to his beloved to arise and come out and be with him. (Song of Songs 2:9-10).

I've always loved that picture of giddy love -- scurrying around the yard and peering through the lattice.

Tonight though, as I looked at the scene with God as lover and me as beloved, it took on a different feel. I still saw God as giddy in love, but I also saw him as urgent. And I saw me as...asleep, preoccupied, or indifferent. How could I not notice the one I love scurrying about outside my window, urgently calling me to come?

Having been in love before, I can tell you there were times I imagined -- dare I say daydreamed? -- the one I loved appearing on the porch, a complete, delightful surprise. The desire to see him would be so strong sometimes, I would actually go and look out the window.

From a human standpoint, I feel a bit silly confessing that. But, from a spiritual standpoint, I wish I desired to see God and be with Him as much as I did my boyfriend.

What a sweet, fun, vibrant relationship I could have with God if I was waiting for him to peer through the lattice so I could run out to meet him.

Lent: Day Six

When the next step is a puddle,
     may I take it with a hop and a smile.

When the next step is a rose garden,
     may I powder my nose on the dewy petals.

When the next step is a pile of manure,
     may I tell a good joke and laugh.

When the next step is the moon,
     may I admire the waning earth.

And when the next step is unknown,
     may I take it on my knees.

Lent: Day Five

When I pray, when I enter into conversation with God, I feel like I am going home. This is good, as the idea of 'home' has been a bit elusive and short-term in my life lately. 

Lent: Day Four

Yesterday, day four of Lent, I went night skiing. I took a pretty gnarly fall, but overall it was an absolutely beautiful evening of boarding on the mountain. The snow was fast; the view was clear all the way to Glacier National Park; the company was superb.

I mention all this because I was so tired and sore last night I could barely write in my prayer journal. It hurt to hold the pen and make the needed strokes for legible letters. All I got down was a list of thanks to God: for bodies that move, for snow-covered hills, for stars seen from the chairlift, for Andy and Marianne.

This list got me thinking about the act of giving thanks.

First of all, it is one I need to do more often because I LOVE to do it. When I get to thinking about all I have to give thanks for, I become overwhelmed. It is an unending list. Truly unending.

Second, why do we neglect it in the first place? Why is it so easy to see the negative in life, to do the "poor me" shtick in so many varied ways? What would the world be like if we all walked through it with attitudes of thanksgiving?

Third, thanksgiving is a springboard. It leads to love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Also confession and forgiveness. And perspective -- which is something we all need.

Anyway, reader, that's all for now. Just know I'm thankful for you, whether I've known you for years or only through this World Wide Web.

P.S. I'm thinking maybe I should go snowboarding more often...

Lent: Day Three

Sometimes I get lost in words. They consume my day. I write. I talk. I think. I pray. All in words.

Tonight, though, I pulled into the driveway, shut off the radio, stepped outside, and was silent. I was struck dumb by the sight of the crescent moon reclining on the top of a pine tree. And by the stars sparkling so clear on this crisp Montana night I could almost see Orion grabbing his sword of three stars and charging into battle, his trusty dog by his side.

Sometimes there are no words needed in prayer.

Lent: Day Two

Rend Your Heart 

Joel 2:12-17

 ¹² "Even now," declares the LORD,
       "return to me with all your heart,
       with fasting and weeping and mourning."   
¹³ Rend your heart
       and not your garments.
       Return to the LORD your God,
       for he is gracious and compassionate,
       slow to anger and abounding in love,
       and he relents from sending calamity.
 ¹⁴ Who knows? He may turn and have pity
       and leave behind a blessing—
       grain offerings and drink offerings
       for the LORD your God.
 ¹⁵ Blow the trumpet in Zion,
       declare a holy fast,
       call a sacred assembly.
 ¹⁶ Gather the people,
       consecrate the assembly;
       bring together the elders,
       gather the children,
       those nursing at the breast.
       Let the bridegroom leave his room
       and the bride her chamber.
 ¹⁷ Let the priests, who minister before the LORD,
       weep between the temple porch and the altar.
       Let them say, "Spare your people, O LORD.
       Do not make your inheritance an object of scorn,
       a byword among the nations.
       Why should they say among the peoples,
       'Where is their God?' "

Ash Wednesday

I attended an Ash Wednesday service early yesterday morning. It was my first, and I was quite touched by the somber yet hopeful mood in the sanctuary. Also, it is so tangible and humbling to have someone spread ashes in the shape of a cross on your forehead and speak to you a truth you often forget: From dust you came and to dust you shall return.

It was also a new experience to walk around the rest of the day with what one man called "smudge" on my head, people's stares a constant reminder of the season of Lent I had promised to enter into. Then again, there was another man who, emerging from his car and seeing me and my friend Joanna, simply exclaimed, "Yay, Catholics!" Though I am not Catholic, I had to agree with his sentiment. Catholics, Lutherans, and other more liturgical types definitely know how to bring the beautiful and real to life in faith.

Last year, I gave up my car for Lent and found the experience beneficial. I used my times of walking as times of prayer and donated the gas money I saved to a charity. This year, however, I was not sure what to "give up" for Lent. Every idea I had seemed trite. So, I have decided not to give up but to add on.

Over the last several years I have let slide a spiritual discipline I once loved: prayer journaling. The next 40 days of Lent, then, I pledge to return to the practice. I look forward to what God will show me during this time. Likewise, I invite you, my friends and family, to share with me any prayer requests you may have. Leave them as a comment on my blog or facebook or send me an email. I would love to pray for you on a daily basis!

The Lord be with you.

Blessing #1

Got a real, honest-to-goodness letter in the mail today. A beautiful, hand-written, 3-pager. From my Mom. Its words were medicine to my soul, and I just wanted to publicly thank her.

Mom, I love you so, so much and feel blessed beyond measure to have you in my life. God has clothed you with strength and dignity. May we both be able to laugh at the days to come -- always.

Blessing #1: You, Dad, Andy, Marianne. I guess technically that's four, but we'll run with it. You're all family. And I am so lucky.

Love you forever,

Hannah

What the hay?

Funny. I've been writing all morning and decided I needed a break. So, what do I do?

I write.

I look out the wall of windows (12 and a sliding glass door in all!), and let my mind wander. I wish I could say I think grand, deep, philosophical, life-changing thoughts, but I don't. Right now, I find myself wondering what Wind does all day. The horse, not the weather element.

I feed him in the morning. I hug him, pet him, and kiss his neck. Then I leave, and I have no idea what he does with the rest of his hug-free time. Does he think? Does he wish the sun would shine so his coat would dry off? Does he admire the snow sitting in pillows on the pine trees?

This is a common thread of thought for me. It just seems like the day would be so long without the pleasures of working, reading, drinking coffee, listening to music, baking, talking with a good friend, and countless others to fill the minutes. Then again, animals don't have to deal with cars breaking down, paying bills, and the crazy what ifs and if onlys that fill one's head when she's simply trying to lie down and sleep.

Who knows? Maybe Wind is out there in the pasture thinking about how long my day must be with so many distractions, neighing, "What the hay? Slow down, sister."

Just maybe. Either way, he is beautiful, his rust brown coat contrasted against the white snow. Maybe I'll go give him a hug just to break up his day. And take a real writing break in mine... 

This fear/trust issue

Perhaps it is because I am a writer that I have leanings toward paranoia. And anxiety. And seeing things that aren't really there.
Not all the time, mind you.
But sometimes.

For instance, I smacked my head the other day right in the temple area. It swelled up, and got all red and vein-y looking. For about 20 minutes of my life, I actually wondered if I would die that night. (It's not that weird...you hear stories of people smacking their temple and dying all the time.) I wasn't worried about my death; I am assured of an unbelievably awesome life after I cease to live in the flesh here on earth. But I was worried about the books I'd leave unfinished, and the people I wouldn't see again, and the sadness that would be felt by my family and friends.

The whole incident got me thinking a lot about fear, about how irrational it can be, and yet how real.

Example: I'll travel around solo in Bangkok without thinking twice about how many things could happen there. It's a city of 11 million. I'm a girl. I'm alone. I don't speak the language. I'm diabetic. Those things just don't bother me. But ask me to go into an unlit basement that has had confirmed spider sightings, and I'll get dizzy and short of breath. If it's really bad, my thumbs will go numb.

How crazy is that?

And that's just the beginning. I'm scared of mountain lions, losing my teeth, going blind, fire, roller coasters, doctors, surgery, car wrecks, mean dogs, and guns. Oh, and the dark. Bumps in the night can still scare me. I've been known to grab my baseball bat, my cell phone, and a flashlight and search the house on more than one occasion.

I say all this lightheartedly (and with some embarrassment) here, but I so wish I didn't have these fears. I wish some night I could charge into mountain lion country knowing I was going to meet a doctor, have surgery, lose my teeth, and ride a roller coaster through a fire with a mean dog while holding a loaded gun in my hand and not bat an eyelash.

But, I'm kind of a sissy. More than that, though, all these crazy fears show a lack of trust in God. That, I think, is the biggest problem with fear. I can trust God to walk with me through Bangkok but not through the basement? That's sad.

So, we're working on it. Me and God, that is. We're working on this fear/trust issue. As I'm living in a giant ranch house in Montana all alone right now, we've had plenty of learning moments. There's a big basement. And spiders. And lots of curtain-less windows that show me all the darkness outside at night.

The biggest thing I've learned so far is that God fills every single millimeter of night -- and day. He is in everything. He made that spider that made my knees feel like Jell-O. He gave men the knowledge to build basements and roller coasters -- and to be doctors who can fix the body.

That doesn't mean tragedies don't happen. They do. All the time. I'm not going to tackle that issue tonight. What I have been struck with is how many intricate details must take place in me and around me just to sustain life each minute...each second. If God can orchestrate that for more than 6 billion people -- not to mention animals -- I think He's worth my trust.

I can only hope this desire to trust God with things like spiders and teeth will permeate the bigger issues like trusting Him with marriage, housing, cars, and jobs.

In the meantime, please don't send me any Stephen King novels about murderers stalking authors at their remote cabins. I won't read them.

From Big City to Big Sky

In the last month, I've gone from city girl to country girl. 

I've gone from population half million to population 1,700 and from commuting 20 miles each day to leaving my car parked in the driveway and walking about a mile to get the mail.

The contrast is striking. 

I loved the pulse of the city, the choices of food and entertainment, and the strange anonymous community of public transportation. 

But I'm a small-town girl at heart, and the city often made me feel claustrophobic. That's why I jumped at the chance to do some ranch-sitting and writing in Montana. 

It is quiet here. Simple. I wake up with the sun, haul wood, start a fire. I brew coffee and make oatmeal on the stove. I feed the horse. I sit with the dog and scratch his ears. I watch the cats slink by. And I write and write and write. 

As the weeks go by, I feel my awareness of the world, and God, and how I relate to both, expanding.

  

 This is Wind. I find myself watching him with girl-like rapture often throughout the day.

  

  

 This is Duke. He is 19 years old and one heckuva dog.

  

 Howdy, pardner.

  

  

The walk to the mailbox. 

  

 

  

A little moonshine...

Warm and cozy.

Among gods

Beneath the 14,000-foot gaze of Pike's Peak in the wilds of Colorado, there is a garden. But it is no ordinary garden...

It is a garden of the gods. It bears craggy trees that bend and quake beneath the gods' passing shadows. White walls and fiery spires push through frozen soil, producing marbled red fortresses against wind, sun, rain.

Men dare to enter, and men dare to climb.

But they must humbly remember this garden belongs to the shadowy gods who ripple across its walls and walkways.


They must remember they are mortal. Fragile. A vapor that vanishes in the blink of an eye.

They must remember that here, beneath Pike's lofty gaze, men walk among gods.

Rocky Mtn. Chapel

I recently visited the chapel at the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. It offered some pretty astounding architecture, capturing the majesty of the Rocky Mountains and the craftsmanship of aircraft into details like the shape of pews and windows, as well as its overall design. And boy oh boy, if you like angles and patterns as much as I do, it is hard to stop taking photographs.

The chapel offers catholic, Jewish, Buddhist and protestant worship. Also, it has a scientifically reproduced replica of the Shroud of Turin in the lobby. Fascinating.

Olympians to the ready!

Before I left Colorado, I did some sightseeing. My friend Ben and I went to Colorado Springs for a day. We saw the U.S. Air Force Academy, the Garden of the Gods, and the Olympic Training Complex. See this entry and others to follow for snapshots of our adventures.

Olympians have to carry a lot on their shoulders, apparently.

You gotta watch those athletes. Never know what they'll throw down the public toilets at the Olympic Training Complex.

Ben and I bobsledded. He won.

Ben and I snuck past the 'Off Limits' signs to the athletes' dormitories. (Which, really, wasn't that hard to do when we look so darn athletic.)

Olympians always have to be the biggest and the best. So they have a giant chessboard by their dorms for some friendly competition.

I won.



Go Team USA!