Lord, teach me. . . .

The long and winding road  That leads to your door  Will never disappear    --John Lennon & Paul McCartney Remember that old television show, MacGyver ? You know, the one where every week, our brilliant and handsome protagonist manages to escape desperate times and save the day by using whatever he had on hand to put together a Plan to foil evil plots. Some weeks, you really thought he was doomed, but then—well, you know. In the most dire of circumstances, he could still find some unusual thing and use it for good. As this pandemic goes on, I am realizing that God can be a bit like MacGyver in our lives. Whatever is going on all around us, however awful and desperate things may seem, still, when we pause long enough to look around and breathe, we might catch a glimpse of how God is using these challenging days—for good. Now, understand: I am not the girl who will try to convince you that God has a plan, and everything will turn out all right in the end,

The policy of being too cautious is the greatest risk of all. –Jawaharlal Nehru Any day now. . . . My daffodils are late this year. There are a few strays in the woods behind the yard that have dared to raise their yellow heads. They stand here and there, adding a touch of uncertain sunshine to the dreariness of April. My neighbor’s white ones are in full flower. They’re shoulder to shoulder in tight clumps. But mine? Not yet. They’re loaded with buds! Their stems are strong and verdant, eager—yet timid. It’s as if they know something I can’t yet know. Patience , they whisper. Everything will come to pass in its own good time . As if to reinforce their wisdom: tonight’s weather calls for snow. Open too soon, or try to do too much—and failure is imminent. Wait. Watch for the signs. Breathe . Exhale. . . . So, too, with this novel virus that’s pummeling the whole world. We have had enough. We are tired of being told where we can go, what we can do. We

Doubt thou that the stars are fire, Doubt thou that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love. --William Shakespeare I am writing this post on Good Friday. The fanfare of Jerusalem is over; the crowds have gone silent or turned mean and ugly. The sky is turning darker and darker by the minute, it seems. Those gathered near Jerusalem on that first Good Friday really don’t know how the story is going to end. This year, as this novel virus continues to upend our daily lives, forcing changes we never, ever would have expected to see in our lifetimes, we are experiencing our own “Good Friday moment.” We don’t know how this will end. Some scientists and medical experts are hazarding guesses; some people are declaring they know more than any expert. But no one really knows. So we cower behind locked doors, suspicious of everyone, especially since we can’t even see their faces behind the masks . We take more than we need, because—well, who know

I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God’s hands, that I still possess.  --Martin Luther Welcome to Holy Week. It’s certainly different this year, as we navigate a pandemic together. Other years, many churches would order palm branches and wave them together to celebrate Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem, but this year, we aren’t together, and we don’t have palm branches. But we have palms. We have our palms. Instead of waving branches, we can wave our hands in the air, celebrating Jesus’ triumphant entry into (and presence in) our lives. Give thanks for the sense of peace we can summon, even in the midst of chaos and disorder. We can press our palms together, or stretch them out in front of us in prayer: offering our lives; lifting up our neighbors and friends who are struggling; waiting quietly for God to speak. And we can put those palms to work, helping those who need a hand. Sure, we are curren