Sprinkles

I have a shirt that reads “Life is better with sprinkles!”

While the context is for ice cream (yumm!), it invites deeper reflection. First off, it suggests that the base norm is good. For ice cream is good (I’m not familiar with ‘bad’ ice cream!); and sprinkles just make it better.

So, following last week’s reflection on hope, I’m going to encourage us to start from that place of goodness. Life is good. Sure there are moments we dislike, but when we dwell in hope, life is good. And when we don’t see the goodness, we can bring the good to life.

So with that as a starting point for our metaphor, I encourage us to reflect on our sprinkles - what makes your life better? What are the sprinkles that coat the days with happiness?

We all have them, those little moments of happy that may be unexpected: a dad joke, a call from a friend, a pet snuggle, a meaningful bible verse popping through an app on our phone.

We can all provide them, too: a kind word to the person in front of us in line at the store, an unprovoked text to a dear one, tidying the kitchen after a family meal.

These are moments that make our days a little bit more special, a little bit more happy. For the little things themselves are lovely – but they also extend a grateful attitude – of *wanting* to make someone’s day more happy and more special.

The intention to connect with one another is as important as the act itself.

A young friend recently gifted me with cake sprinkles (a literal and figurative sweet gift!), stemming from our shared appreciation of fancy cupcakes. And she wrote upon it: “Keep sprinkling happiness in the world!” A great reminder that life is indeed much better with sprinkles. 

Hope

A friend of mine has a drawing of a cat on her wall. It’s not a conventional cute kitten pose, but of a cat who is in the rain. It’s a little matted, a little wet, a little bit skinny.

It would be easy to focus on the cat’s oversized eyes, and project a desperate circumstance – and feel a bit depressed. However, my friend described the picture this way: “I see hope.”

For my friend, the cat is not looking over his shoulder in fear and despair, it is preparing to embrace a new life. Warm, cared for, part of a family. It’s a message of hope, as it bids farewell to the negatives of its past. It is about to embrace a new life in mere seconds, filled with joy and love.

The cat is also not looking blindly behind it – it is gazing over its shoulder at the viewer – inviting us into the picture as well. Again, not with fear, but with hope; this time hope for the other – for the one behind him, who is also on the precipice of a new life.

Hope surrounds us all, the picture suggests; and for my friend, this cat is showing how hope overcomes even dreary surroundings.

As I was reflecting on the Feast of the Ascension this week, I thought about that cat. Uncertain as to what was in its immediate future, but hope-filled because of its faith and trust. With such confidence to invite others to join in the journey... 

And I thought about my friend, who chooses to consider her life in a similar manner: knowing it is not perfect, and not expecting it to be: but also knowing that there is always goodness to be found – and aware that God always invites us to bring that goodness!

And I thought about the Christian experience that we all share. For while we can feel weighted by the realities of this world, the Ascension reminds us that love and grace and joy is pervasive throughout – to the end of the age. So whether our moments are of trust or of doubt (which is normal), we carry with us the assurance of hope.


When the disciples saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me…. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’
Mt 28.17-18,20b

Used or Not?

Some time ago, in a Bible study discussion group, one member apologised for the condition of her Bible – it was clearly well used! We all chatted about how it demonstrated not only being used, but also having been cared for. The tape holding in some pages, the dog-earred corners, the papers jutting out with notes on them from years of reading and reflecting – this was not just a book, it was a tool for her ongoing faith journey.

All of us around the table respected her well-used Bible – for we understood the powerful significance in her life: bringing comfort and joy, supporting evangelism and discernment, conveying love more than we can ask or imagine. It had accompanied her through many locations, many experiences, many Bible studies!

We all had stories of our well-used Bibles, and the conversation morphed into other aspects of our faith journeys that can convey use and care, without needing words. A cross around the neck suggests more than just a jewelry selection; a “bless you” response to a sneeze speaks of a different root for a wish for good health.

Our church buildings also communicate a lot about us. We keep these sacred spaces clean, but they are a home for our faith families – and like our living spaces, they are meant to be lived in. It’s okay if the books are slightly askew (it suggests they’ve been read), or if the last week’s bulletin is by the door (meaning someone has worshipped there). It’s fine to have a crayon from a child’s busy-bag found under a pew (celebrating a child welcomed into the space!), or damp spot from a water bottle (it will dry).

By all means, I am not suggesting that we neglect our buildings – quite the opposite! I am hoping that we are truly using our buildings as a means of fulfilling our ministry. We do our best to respect the resources we have, but we are to be realistic in the space: the buildings are the home for our worship and our mission – they are there to house the ministry we share. If we are afraid to enter them, or are told that we are to ensure perfection, then we may be too afraid to really explore the possibilities of this great resource.

Our buildings were never meant to be immaculate; they were meant to be used. Like our Bibles, they show the world signs of life and vibrancy.
My hope is that we all know a place of welcome and worship that is as comfortable to us as a well-used Bible.

Patience

I like avocados. They're healthy, tasty, and lately have been readily available. 

The challenge with avocados, famously, is the very brief window when they are at perfect ripeness. Open too late, and they're a browning mush, but too soon and they're hard and lacking flavour. 

Avocados can be an exercise in patience, and in attentiveness. 

In chatting recently with a dear friend about patience, she reminded me of Paul in Romans 8.25 "But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience."

In life, we don't always practice attentiveness and patience as much as we might. We try to control timing and outcomes, forgetting to apply our trust and hope on God's time. 

Yet we know deep down that we can't rush God's time. And we know that we need to be willing to respond to God when the time comes. Patience and attentiveness are part of our spiritual journey, as we discern how Spirit is moving in our lives. 

And with all discernment, it takes time and practice; just like the perfect moment of ripeness: there is still value in the early or the late, but they just aren't quite as good. 

God is speaking, and inviting, and always accompanying; it is our privilege to practice learning how to live in God's time.