Fanned Out

Yesterday, the fan on my dehydrator broke. 

No drama, no fire, no crisis. Clearly, this is not a tragedy, but it is an inconvenience. 

At this time of year, I tend to preserve the abundance of the harvest. And for many years now, dehydrating foods has been a part of that; herbs, vegetables, fruit, entire meals for camping trips... the hum of the dehydrator is a common sound in my kitchen. 

So it was strange to come home and hear... nothing.  I remembered turning it on before I had gone out, and yet.... silence. When I investigated, I discovered that the heater was still working - but that heat had no way to circulate. 

So, the device was quite hot, the air was not moving, and the food on the trays was half-baked / half-raw. Not the outcome I had intended. (And thus, putting me in the market for a new machine.)

Our lives can be like that dehydrator, though; we plod along until some small thing changes, and suddenly, our motion just ceases. We still have the intention to do what we're meant to be doing, but don't seem to be able to get it done. It may be an external block, or an internal pause, but our own 'fan' just isn't moving. 

When we find our ministries stagnating, we can choose to see it as a break (like the dehydrator), or we can see it as a pause. Perhaps the Spirit is giving us the reminder that it's time for a rest, a sabbath of sorts from our efforts. Perhaps Spirit is guiding us into other areas where our efforts can be of more effective use. Maybe Spirit needs for us to refocus our energy with other resources, connecting with people and places in new ways to best share our gifts. 

However the Spirit of God is moving in you, I pray that you will continue to recognise the holy movement that is active in your midst, gently fanning your oblation into the world. 

Un-crated

Proud puppy on the remains of the dog bed...

Time moves on; and with each new day or season we see life evolving around us.

Some changes may appear to be quick, but are often simply the culmination of a period of gradual change. Others, we recognise the way things have been leading and guided in that direction.

Rites often acknowledge change. Graduations signify the completion of academic requirements; the “I do”s in a wedding are exchanged after substantial time getting to the marriage ceremony; getting that promotion often hides the countless hours of toil and commitment.

Rites don’t have to be the large public ceremonies; sometimes they can mark smaller milestones – but milestones they are. And sometimes, the effect of those changes is inevitable, yet can still be surprising.

Several weeks ago, Shadow (puppy) stopped going into his crate when I left the house. He’d learned enough about what was for dogs and what was not; he seemed safe beyond the confines of the crate. I gradually increased the amounts of time he was without human supervision, and aside from de-stuffing some dog toys (and one dog bed), he’s been entirely fine.

Just this week, however, the real change was marked. I took away his crate. It was no longer being used, and it seems he’s also grown beyond where it would be comfortable for him. Down to storage it went; marking a particular point in his life.

Despite this being a good thing, he struggled with the change, and regularly ventured to its former location with curiosity.

How very normal! So many of us get accustomed to one way of being, and even when a change is good for us, showing growth and development, we can miss what was. We wouldn’t want to go back, and we don’t regret the change, but we can long for what was.

These times, I find, give us the chance to be grateful. We look back, reminisce, and appreciate what was; all the while being intentional to be fully present in the here and now. After all, the blessings in our life continue to flow; and at some point in the future we’ll be reminiscing about our lives now.

So let’s mark the moments that matter – the adventures, the joys, the ordinary moments that love makes extraordinary. For as time continues on, our lives change. We can choose to embrace the inevitable change as a grace.

A Flowery Reflection

I have a lovely butterwort plant, that normally sits in my kitchen window. It’s a cute little carnivore that generally minds its own business (until some small flies get stuck in its sticky leaves. They generally don’t like direct sun, but mine tends to be happy with what it gets.

Every once in a while, it flowers. It’s not often, and I was told it’s really not common for a domesticated plant such as this.

Apparently, however, my plant is happy. It currently is bragging three lovely blooms, with 2 more on the way. The joy of the flowers of a butterwort is they come up on very long stems, such that they flutter in the breeze without getting caught in the sticky, hungry, leaves.

Part of the reality of the long flower stems is this allows for a lot of movement. They sway in the tiniest of breezes, the petals flutter seemingly just for fun (or as an attractant for dinner). The flower heads themselves are constantly aligning themselves to be facing the sun. They can rotate 180 degrees in a single day if they’re moved. It’s almost as if they have chosen a focus area, and ensure to keep that as their focus.

My reflection on my little plant this morning is on that focus. The plant is doing other things while it adjusts the flowerhead focus, but the lesson may be in the intentionality and commitment to maintain that focus.

Imagine what might be possible if we kept our focus on the things that are most important in our lives: our faith, our relationships, our ministries… imagine if we ensured that all other things were happening as well, but were intentional about keeping our lives thus aligned?

Perhaps we might then be as happy and prolific as the flowers gracing my windowsill: offering the beauty that they can in the best way that they know.

Opening the Scriptures

For years, we’ve understood that we all learn different ways. Some are visual, and benefit from seeing things written out. Others are auditory, who glean understanding from hearing things explained. Still others are kinetic, where movement provides the primary focus for learning.

These are not hard-set categories, as our learning styles will lean into all three modes; they are intended as general guidelines. Information that can help us better understand ourselves, so we can do our best.

I am primarily a kinetic learner – a helpful piece of self-awareness as I engage in sermon preparation - meaning I can often find connection to readings based on movement: I can remember what side of a page a quote is on, I can find a passage in a book by recounting where I was when I read it (was I at the office? Was I outside, and was the sun on my feet?), I can recall conversations by what pen might have been in my hand. It’s a full-on experience.

What seldom happens for me, however, is hearing the words read aloud. This engages a different part of my brain, and uses a different pattern for establishing memory.

This means that our practice of reading scripture aloud during worship grants me a fantastic opportunity to perceive the word in new ways – lines jump out at me, ideas dance through my imagination, visualisations emerge.

As we have the scripture written in our bulletin, it means I can follow along while having this auditory blessing – and I find I mark words or phrases, and at times take notes or create doodles, as something lights up in my cranium as interesting and worth future consideration (while wanting to remain fully in the moment!)

The church has long offered the gift of finding ways to engage a variety of experiential learning opportunities. We can use commentaries and interact with one another in study, we can explore a variety of translations or even immerse ourselves in different language bibles.

Given that we know the efficacy of these many ways to dive deeper in the daily or weekly scripture, I wonder what else might be possible to open the word of God to all that would hear it?

Tire-d

A companion on my spiritual journey asked me to come up with an analogy for ministry. It’s still a work in progress, and definitely nothing profound, but:

Ministry is like air in a tire. 

The air in our tires is something that is necessary. Without air in our tires, we would cause damage to the rims, possibly other parts of the vehicle (car, bike, whatever). And so we need to pay attention to the air in our tires.

Most days, everything is fine. Nothing needs to be done.

But sometimes, we start to notice the air is getting a bit low. And, if we don’t do something, we might get into trouble.

Sometimes we notice the air is very low—and that means there’s imminent challenges and potential damages unless we take action fast.

Sometimes a tire can be too inflated, causing the tire to stretch in unhealthy and unhelpful ways—a different type of damage.

Sometimes, a sharp obstacle or pothole can cause a tire to just blow out unexpectedly.

To be sure, a slow leak is more common, and more fixable, but you never know what is on the road ahead, or hidden under a puddle, and you can’t always avoid hazards, and who knows what inner, unseen stresses may be causing some weakness.

A flat tire is unhelpful for the journey.
A flat ministry is also unhelpful for the journey.

Ministry is like the air in the tires—it needs to be checked on a regular basis. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it needs a bit of a top up, sometimes it needs some immediate attention to prevent irreparable damage, sometimes damage can happen when we least expect it.

But the air in the tires, of our ministry, should always be checked as part of the journey.

May our ministry be examined and maintained like our tires are, and repaired when necessary, to ensure that the journey goes as smoothly as possible.

Holey Socks

There are times when I admit, I miss the obvious.

A few weeks ago, for instance...  I was attending a session in a shoe-free zone, and when I looked down at my crossed feet, noticed a hole in my sock. A reasonable size, it was unlikely to have just popped up during the morning. How had I missed that when I put my socks on?!

I changed the crossing of my legs, not wanting to show the room my hole-y sock. Imagine my surprise, doubled, when I looked and saw that the other sock also had a hole in its heel. Clearly, my powers of observation had been entirely absent that morning. 

This led me to reflect on what else I could be missing in my life. What else was happening, that would have been obvious and apparent, had I been open and aware to it?

The holes in my socks had not just happened suddenly; they must have been wearing down over time. I do not dress in the dark, so I could have seen the holes at any time. Why did it take a time when there was nothing else happening to notice that something so basic was left wanting attention?

So too, our spiritual journey is one that wants regular reflection and care. Is our prayer life in good condition, or Is it wearing in places? Are we looking for places of weakness in order to be more gentle with ourselves in those places? Are we looking to strengthen and maintain other areas? Are our practices just routine enough that we assure ourselves we have done them? Are we intentionally going sufficiently deep within ourselves to seek out this awareness? Are we spending enough time to be carefully reflective, amidst the busyness of life?

Whatever our journey, we know we can always do better. Our practices can always use attention, and maybe change. Whatever the format (or combinations thereof), we are challenged to greater awareness of self and of God; to our own benefit and to the benefit of the broader community.

Wherever we are on our journey, we know we are walking with God. My prayer is that my journey will be in better repair than my socks!

Names

Shadow the Fruitbat

I've been thinking about names this week; partly as Shadow's ears (and toothiness) have earned him the moniker "fruitbat," partly as ourt confirmation classes have discussed some of the ways we name God, some as I've learned names, forgotten names, and used names. 
Names matter; and how we use them matters.

We all know what it feels like to hear a loved one say our name; this is not simply a word, it is a relationship. Our names show the world who we are, be they our formal names or shortened versions or nicknames. Be it the declaration of a name in baptism or a friendly nickname earned through shared history, we know that names have power. Names highlight connection.

We show respect and dignity by getting names and pronouns correct and accurate, by communicating in with appropriate manners. We may need a few tries to learn or re-learn proper pronunciation or preference, but it is time well spent; and we appreciate the patience others extend when we fumble.

When we apply this to our faith, we recognise that names also speak of relationship with God. Our scriptures are full of people and places where the name tells us about character or activity (i.e. Esau’s hirsutism providing his name, or the Hebrew Ednah for pleasure having the same root as Eden).

Our connection with God is rich in relationship; we share a history, we enjoy a current connection, we anticipate our interconnected future. And we recognise that this relationship is different than any other we have; for it is with the divine.

And so we name God differently. Whatever word we use, our spirits connect in a different manner than how we relate even to our most beloved here on earth.

Leonard Cohen writes (in Book of Mercy, #15): “This is the way we summon each other, but it is not the way we call upon the Name. … How beautiful our heritage, to have this way of speaking to eternity, how bountiful this solitude, surrounded, filled, and mastered by the Name, from which all things arise in splendour, depending one upon the other.”

Perhaps a sign of our spiritual maturity will be when we use names with one another in this earthly realm, with the same gentleness, beauty, and reverence that we save for The Name; for within each person before us is a spark of the divine, waiting keenly, patiently, to be called instead of summoned.