Lord, teach me. . . .

We can never know about the days to come, but we think about them anyway. –Carly Simon Carly Simon had a hit song in the ‘70s that was picked up by a ketchup company and used in their television commercials. Thick, rich ketchup, brimming with tomatoey goodness, oozed from the bottle at a snail’s pace, hovering over a perfect char-grilled burger or pile of crispy, golden fries. Anticipation. . . . And meanwhile, back in the real world, we want to smack that bottle hard, shake it impatiently. We do not want to wait. Just like children in the weeks before Christmas, we want to know what’s inside, and we want to know now . We just aren’t very good at waiting, are we? And now, upstairs, our Sanctuary is cloaked in secrecy, gift-wrapped in black plastic and duct tape—and those darned signs, like the labels on those special gifts imploring, Do  not open til December 25! CAUTION. HARD HAT AREA. Suddenly there is nothing we want more than a peek inside. (Admit it. We have

Earth knows no desolation. She smells regeneration in the moist breath of decay.  –George Meredith My husband always had a compost bin, and now my daughter has begun one in her own back yard. It’s an amazing thing, really. Into the bin go banana peels and onion skins, cores from apples and seeds from peppers—even grass clippings and old newspapers. Add a sprinkling of water, turn the bin every few days—and wait. (It always seems to come back to Tom Petty, doesn’t it?) The seasons change; days grow longer, then shorter, then longer again. And in the quiet darkness of that compost bin, transformation is happening. Those “icky parts,” the stuff we’ve deemed undesirable and unnecessary, are slowly and deliberately being transformed by a superior Gardener into rich, brown soil teeming with earthworms and releasing the earthy fragrance of life. So it is in our lives, as well. Often the junk, the stuff we’d just as soon discard and pretend never existed, becomes the very th

Everyone says I’m too old for a security blanket. But a baby blanket tucked in my dresser drawer back home is a lot less expensive than therapy. –Sarah Tregay I took a count the other day: I own twelve Bibles. The oldest is a family Bible my mother gave me; the newest, a promotional copy of the Common English Bible, a new, “approachable” translation in which some of my professors took part. My “workhorse” Bible, the one I use for Bible study and sermon preparation, is almost seven years old. Its brown, two-tone leather cover is now held together with purple duct tape. The silhouette of an elephant remains front and center. (Me and my elephants!) Inside, favorite passages are highlighted in yellow, pink or blue. Some pages are permanently wrinkled from a spilled glass of water. My daughter looked at it the other day and said, “That is one well-loved Bible.” And she is right. When I was younger, I had a teddy bear named Lucy, who heard my cries, held my tears, carried me o

Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark. –Rabindranath Tagore After a long, dark, challenging winter, spring has finally arrived on the North Coast. The “early bird” crocuses and daffodils have given way to irises and azaleas. Birdsong fills the morning air as singles become couples, and couples become families. The whole of Creation is in such a flurry of growth and activity, we might easily forget that it’s only been a few short months since the earth was quiet and still; at times, it seemed as though the darkness had won. It can feel that way in our spiritual lives, as well. Some days the weight of sadness or loss can seem almost unbearable. Try as we might, it may be nearly impossible to discern any light at all, or feel the loving gaze of the Almighty. But the light is there. God is there. And when the days once again begin to grow longer and brighter, one minute at a time, we can look back and realize that just as those crocus bulbs use

Like billowing clouds, like the incessant gurgle of the brook, the longing of the soul cannot be stilled. –Hildegard of Bingen Music and poetry are powerful ways of expressing emotions. Yearning, anguish—even fear often seem more universal when poured out in heartfelt meter or music. The Psalmist knew this. Our sampling of 150 psalms found in Scripture speaks to every emotion known to humanity. From awe and wonder (139) and deep longing (42), to gratefulness (121) and desperation (22), there’s an app—er, a Psalm for that. Powerful, sometimes raw emotion is part of the human experience. Laughter and tears, rejoicing and cursing—all these things are a part of who we are. And when God chose to clothe himself in flesh, he came not as an emotionless being, or one capable of eliminating anyone with whom he felt at odds; rather, he came and allowed himself to be not only fully divine, but fully human, as well. He celebrated ((John 2:1-11), became angry (Matthew 21:12-14), wept (J