Lord, teach me. . . .

There’s something about Lent that makes sense. You give something up, and everything’s more joyful. –Elaine Stritch Ash Wednesday, March 6, marks the beginning of Lent, the 40-day period when Christians reflect on the time Jesus spent in the wilderness, leading up to his ultimate crucifixion and resurrection. For many, Lent is a time of quiet introspection. Some choose to make these forty days a tithe, or 10%, of the year of their lives, giving something up as a sacrifice to God. Maybe we decide to quit smoking for forty days, or give up eating chocolate. But what if, this year, we decided to take a different approach? What if, instead of giving up something for Lent, we chose to let something go ? When we let go of things that hold us back from serving God fully, a remarkable thing happens. In place of impatience, God creates a space for listening. In releasing resentment, God gives a new sense of peace and belonging. And believe it or not . . . in letting go of the

And in the end, the Love you take  is equal  to the Love you make. –Paul McCartney I lost two friends this week, Ray and Megory. Both were later additions to my life journey, and both have helped me better understand what it means to live well, right to the very end. Ray was 86 years old. He was raised in the church, and taught to process what he heard from the pulpit. He was never shy about asking (or telling) me what I meant by something I’ve said. He kept me on my toes. (Now, it’s up to you .) But the most important thing I learned from Ray was constant, abiding gratitude. Right up till his last moments, even as disease and cancer ravaged his tired body, he was grateful to God—and he would let everyone know it. Megory died too soon. Her body betrayed her in a moment of weakness. But throughout her life and journey, she lived in such a way as to help us understand that death is but a bridge, a path to something we just cannot yet understand. Megory formed a

It is in times of extreme difficulty that God develops our character and strengthens us spiritually,  while helping us to grow deeper in our faith in [God]. –Charles Stanley People say things like this all the time: Well, you know . . . God will never give you more than you can handle. Well, you know . . . if you have even a teeny bit of faith, God will take care of your problems. Well, you know . . . just let go and trust in God. God’s got this. And oh, so many more. The folks who offer such wisdom mean well, I know they do. And if you have ever said such things, I am pretty sure you meant well, too. But here’s where I struggle: Sayings like these make me feel so— helpless . And I don’t mean that in a good way. Helpless, like even if I can manage to trust God, I sure as heck don’t see or feel God at work in this awful, dark situation. Even if God is at work—if I don’t sense God’s hand, then it sure feels like God did give me more than I can handle.

He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause  for wonder and admiration in winter.  --John Burroughs January has been a month of frozen pipes and furnace failures, snow forts and snow rollers. Some days, the cold seems to seep straight into our bones. The sunshine, while brilliant, does little to warm the frozen landscape. It’s been a challenging few days. And we have survived. Have you experienced a “spiritual winter”? A season when, despite brilliance and light all around, our soul feels cold and alone. God seems so very far away, his voice barely a whisper (if we can hear him at all). Spiritual winter comes to each of us, perhaps for a day, a week—or a seemingly interminable stretch. We may feel like something is “wrong” with us, and choose to isolate ourselves, rather than come together in love. Bad choice. We warm one another and draw on each other for strength and light. Just as removing a coal from the blazing fire and setti