Lord, teach me. . . .

Every man prays in his own language, and there is no language that God doesn’t understand. –Duke Ellington Prayer is “one of those things.” No two people pray in quite the same way. Sometimes prayer is words; sometimes prayer is silence. But every time we pray, we are seeking Love. Not long ago, a group of seminary students and friends gathered at Church in the Circle for a day of retreat and renewal. As the day progressed, a group of four asked if there was a quiet place where they could go to pray. They were taken to the Wiggle Room, a space outfitted with a round table and comfy chairs. As they thanked the man who had led them to this place, he asked a favor: Could you pray—for me? Of course, they replied. Come and sit with us. Would it be all right if we laid our hands on you? And so he sat. And these believers each gently placed a hand on his shoulder, and they prayed. And when they finished, he thanked them and returned to work. But the memory of th...

I’m racing against me. As long as I come across the finish, I’ll be okay. –Ruben Studdard The world can be a tough place. From the time we are young, it’s all about winning, about being better or faster or stronger or smarter. We sign our children up for soccer or softball so they can learn the game. (Some leagues for little kids will tell you they don’t keep score, but you know what? Every child—and every parent—knows which team scored more. I think it’s in our DNA.) And of course, you can’t have a winner without also having losers . End zone dances, home plate parties and fist bumps all remind us that coming in last—stinks. Children can be incredibly mean and insensitive, and they can grow up to be mean, insensitive adults. It’s enough to make me want to stomp my little foot and run away and hide! Or scream at the top of my lungs: I HATE THIS GAME! I’M NOT ANY GOOD AND I’M NOT GONNA PLAY ANY MORE! So there. The games we play change as we grow older, but the agon...

Dear God, I am so afraid to open my clenched fists! Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to? Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands?—Henri J. M. Nouwen Seriously. Here we are, halfway through Lent, this season for reflection and introspection, and it hits me. None of what I have belongs to me. Not one bit. Oh, sure, I have many things I call mine. My husband . My children and grandchildren. My home. My car. The list is lengthy, and certainly by many standards I am a very wealthy woman. But the truth is, none of these people or things belongs to me. I won’t deny that God has blessed me richly (and you, too). But everything I am or have was never intended solely for my blessing, benefit or pleasure. Throughout Scripture, God gives abundantly to God’s children, so they in turn could pass the blessing on to others in need. The early church lived this idea ( Acts 2:42-47 ). To me, giving of one’s self is a living definition of God’s lo...

Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.  –William Shakespeare From the time we are born, we are learning, acquiring information about the world around us. Every sight, every new sound helps us discover and learn more about the people and places in our lives. Then the “formal” learning begins. Whether in a classroom with twenty other children or at home with just a few, we are taught facts and figures, math and geography. Facts, facts, facts. Even in Sunday school we are pressed to learn. You may have memorized the Ten Commandments or Psalm 23. You probably learned about the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son—and that’s all great. It’s a lot of information for young brains. But now we are older. And I wonder: have we gone beyond information? Have we allowed these passages and parables into our hearts, and been transformed by them? Are we able to show greater compassion to the broken soul by the side of the road, or...

Once you’re halfway home, you know that you can probably get the rest of the way there. –Janis Ian One of the most difficult things we must learn to do as we grow older is compromise. And one of the most challenging parts of growing in faith can be learning not only to listen—and really hear —but also to be willing to pursue a meaningful, mature dialogue with those whose beliefs differ from our own. Whether the topic is religion or reproductive choice, fracking or fiscal policy, it can be tempting simply to say, “Agree to disagree” and walk away unchanged (and certain we are right). Don’t do it. If you truly desire a deeper relationship with another, take a deep breath and advance the conversation in love. Here are some things you can do to respect one another while stretching yourself:   Ask questions—and really listen to the answers. Be patient. Don’t form opinions too quickly.    Eat, play and worship together with families who are not like yours. Ho...

Too often we say things like “I’ll get to it” and “tomorrow.” One day there is no tomorrow.  –Alex Sheen There is a wonderful non-profit organization based in Lakewood, Ohio, called, Because I said I would . Sparked by the death of his father in 2012, Alex Sheen reflected on the promises we keep—and the ones we don’t. To paraphrase Alex, we are defined by our promises and our choices. At the heart of Because I Said I would is accountability. Anyone anywhere can request, at no charge, “promise cards” on which to write a specific promise they feel moved to make and keep. Promises have included complimenting someone every day; knitting “chemo caps,” putting away the smartphone during dinner. The person making the promise then gives the card to the person who may be the reason the promise is being made. The recipient then becomes an accountability partner and encourager along the way. So far, Because I Said I would has given out over 2.3 million promise cards across the ...

Being faithful in the smallest things is the way to gain, maintain and demonstrate the strength needed to accomplish something great. –Alex Harris I own a 2005 Subaru Forester named Sherwood. (I come from a long line of car-namers.) Sherwood and I have been through a lot together in nine years. He got me safely to and from seminary in Ashland, Ohio, for three years. When the days were hot, my ride was cool; and in the winter, when the snows kept coming and coming—Sherwood kept going. Even when I was in the middle of unplowed Amish country, Sherwood barely flinched. (Any time I would ask him, “Would you like to go for a drive?” his answer was always the same: “Sure would!”) In over 155,000 miles, I’ve gotten stuck—twice. But each time, I remembered all the times I didn’t get stuck. In this wintry weather, I don’t waste time worrying about whether Sherwood will get me where I need to go. As long as I attend to those things I can control—gas in the tank, for instance—I have ...