A promise of strength

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Reading recently in the New Testament, these words of Paul's shimmered for me: "He will also strengthen you to the end." (I Corinthians 1:8). Yes, please, to strengthening.

I looked up strengthen in my trusty hardcover Webster's New Dictionary for Synonyms—which still sits next to my desk decades after buying it used for $4.98 at Half-Price books—and found these synonyms for strengthen: invigorate, fortify, energize, reinforce. Yes, to all of that. God will strengthen, God will invigorate, God will fortify, energize, reinforce. Ever and always.

If each of us were to make a list of all that has zapped our reserve, our sense of strength, over the past year, I dare to assume that no list would be empty. In God's mercy, may all entries on such a list be converted to strength. May all entries come to eventually commingle generously with joy of the deep and abiding variety.

~~~

[Photo: very strong rock in northern Minnesota]

New Year's Intentions — 2021

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I’ve posted this list of intentions a number of times over the years, although with slight edits each time. Here it is again for several reasons: because there are readers for whom this list has meaning, because this blog has new readers for whom this list might be of interest, and because I need to put it in front of myself once again as a reminder of a chosen way of being, particularly after this past year when even being was particularly hard. “Intention,” rather than “resolution,” is a good word to use in this setting because it implies something to work toward, move toward, rather than something at which you either succeed or fail. This isn’t about succeeding or failing.

Here's the list:

Experiment more.
Create more; consume less.
Trust more; worry less.
Read more; write more; watch less.
Write more of what lasts longer.
Waste less time.
Spend more time in "creative idleness."
Spend less; save more.
Pray more, including for the people who read the words I write.
Use more paper, lots of paper.
Use a pen more, a keyboard less.
Love more.
Talk less but say more.
Figure out how patience and urgency co-exist.
Hope always.
Cook more; eat less.
Play the piano more.
Pursue truth, beauty, and goodness at every opportunity; realize every moment is an opportunity.
Stand up straighter.
Speak more often in the strength of my own voice.
Find the way to do what needs to be done; sit quietly and wait for the Lord.
Accept paradox.
Pray more, pray without ceasing.
Hope more absolutely.
Be more available to and vulnerable with God and others.
See the signs, ask for signs; be more willing to step into the unknown.
Use less; have less; give more away.
Shorten my to-do lists.
More intentionally be a conduit for the flow of God's grace to the world.
Be silent more often.
Pray more fervently for safety coast to coast but live less fearfully.
Remind myself as often as needed where true hope lies.
Start fewer projects but finish more of those I start.
Be encouraged.
Be excited.
Hope more purely.
Be more attuned to the burdens of the people I pass on the street as well as those
with whom I share a table or a home.
Pray for the world and its leaders.
Love God with ever more of my heart, soul, strength, and mind.
Thank more.
Eat less sugar but more dark chocolate.
Practice not worrying.
Embrace joy.
Seek joy.
Share joy.
 

I'd love to hear some of your intentions. If you want, you can share them in the comments below.

~~~

[Photo: taken of a most inviting scene I saw inside a planter pot.]

Throw kindness around like confetti

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A group of friends—some old, some new—gathered on Zoom last week to discuss a book we'd all just read, Waging Peace: One Soldier’s Story of Putting Love First by Diana Oestreich. The book is a soldier's memoir about Oestreich's journey toward putting love first, in all circumstances. An Iraqi "enemy" modeled for her this way of being in the world and it changed everything for Oestreich. Many years later and no longer in army fatigues, she continues to live to love others, even to be the first to love, even when it costs. My friends and I were drawn to the challenge her life suggested to us.
 

"As a family, we decided to blackmail ourselves to love first. This meant that the usual strings we attached to who we showed up for—like agreement, sharing the same faith, politics, or being friends—would no longer apply. Choosing to love first meant everyone would be in our jurisdiction now. No one would be outside of our yes....

We decided that we would be the first to love, every single time, because love never fails. We were going to throw kindness around like confetti, to love like it was growing on trees, without need to determine if the person in front of us deserved it or not. This was our family's battle cry. Committing ahead of time to show up with people meant our decision was already made. We stopped talking about what peace might mean and started being peace. We did it because peace isn't the absence of conflict; it's showing up in the middle of it."


I particularly love this line: "We were going to throw kindness around like confetti." Without even needing to give any thought to a grand plan of loving every person, this sentence makes the barrier to entry to such a life of love toward others attainable.

Throw kindness around like confetti.

 
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Something to do instead of worrying

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In Marilyn McEntyre's book, Make A List: How a Simple Practice Can Change Our Lives and Open Our Hearts, she suggests making a list about nearly anything. I wrote about this book a couple years ago, which you can read here. She gives lots of ideas for lists, some serious and some fun, including: Things to let go of, What's new in the garden, How to cope with a steady stream of bad news, How to enjoy what I have, Books to read, Favorite films of the past five years. McEntyre writes that lists are mirrors of what matters to you, lists are a way of listening, a way of loving, a way of letting go, a way to practice prayer. One morning several weeks ago, while still lying in bed after a night of little sleep, having forgotten my practice of practicing not worrying, I remembered her book and her encouragement to make lists. Let's make a list instead of worry, I told myself. My brain started making a list of lists to write, and it felt joy to be occupied with something other than worry. Try it yourself: pick a topic and just start.

Practice not worrying

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At the beginning of Lent and in response to worrying far too much about too many things, I decided to give up worry for Lent. About two minutes after coming to that decision, however, I realized the impossibility of that intention, and so I changed it to practice not worrying, with definite emphasis on practice. The "practice" part immediately took the pressure off and turned the Lenten intention into something creative and responsive. I've kept this intention past the end of Lent and am still practicing and hope I'll always continue to practice. Even so, I forget to practice and worry builds until I remember again the practice, and just the remembrance of it, the words alone (practice not worrying), brings release, reminding me there are alternatives to toxic rumination. Practice. Practice. Like practicing my scales at the piano when I was a child. Over and over. Missed notes, missed fingering, stumbling, no matter, keep practicing. Again. Again. Today, tomorrow. Practice.

Evidences of beauty and goodness, anything that prompts joy

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I’ve been slowly rereading Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts. Perhaps you read it when it first came out in 2010. This popular book is known for modeling keeping a daily list of that for which you’re grateful, not meaning just “things” but evidences of beauty and goodness and thought and any sightings that prompt joy no matter how small. The book moves from gratitude to joy, with lots in between and beyond, and this second read has been valuable. This morning as I was reviewing the passages I’ve underlined, this one popped out and offers a clue regarding this newsletter’s first entry so I thought I’d post it here.
 

“Give thanks to keep eyes on heaven.”


Since starting to reread this book I've restarted keeping a gratitude journal. It’s a practice I suggest to you as well particularly during these strange days of uncertainty. Start a numbered list. Each day add 5 or 10 things. Keep it going. For what are you grateful this day? Where have you seen beauty or goodness or had a thought that calms or energizes? How and when have you felt joy?

Staying Put, Listening Well, Being Changed

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This week I finished reading Benedictine Promises for Everyday People by Rachel Srubas. Rachel is a Presbyterian minister, a spiritual director, and the author of several books. I met Rachel several years ago when we both were participants in a summer writing program at Collegeville Institute. I’ll admit that when I started reading the book I expected that it would be applicable to my life but in a small sense, as in here are a handful of things that Benedictines do that may help you, the reader, in your life. But I was wrong. The book suggested much to consider and apply.

The book focuses on three key parts of the Benedictine rule: staying put, listening well (which is another way of saying obedience), and being changed by God. So much of life falls into this rubric. I was particularly struck by Srubas’s writing on staying put, because staying put is what was at the heart of one of my chapters in Finding Livelihood. In the chapter titled “Centripetal Centrifugal Counterpoise,” I wrote that “Staying in place is a pilgrimage too.” We tend to think that movement is good, particularly movement up the ladder, up the power grid, up the chain of command, up the salary structure, up up up. Or at least movement of any pleasant variety: seeing the world, visiting all the new restaurants. But the essay I wrote came from a place of feeling stuck until I looked at things another way. I’m writing this sitting in front of the same window where I’ve written for more than two decades.

Now Srubas helps me further in understanding the good that comes from staying put (please note, there’s no implication in this book to suggest staying put in a place that’s unhealthy or dangerous). Listening well to God and being changed by God follows on this point of staying put. These are the reasons for staying put. There is an intentionality to staying that goes far beyond the fact of a 30-year mortgage or vesting in a retirement plan (wait, is anyone vested anymore?), or a lack of imagination for any other place to be. The intentionality is to put one’s energy into listening well to God and being changed by God.

Srubas writes:

“Whether the vow of conversatio morum [lifelong conversion] is understood as fidelity to monastic life or more broadly as a commitment to turn to God daily and be changed, it is a promise to undergo lifelong conversion. The other two Benedictine promises, stability and obedience, make conversatio morum possible. We stay put not because we have no other choice, but because we choose to abide in Christ with these particular people in good times and hard times alike. This frees us to give ourselves completely to God where we are. Once we’ve become stable, undistracted by a life with too many moving parts, we can listen well enough to detect the voice of God speaking to us through the Scripture, other people, and daily life. It’s this attunement to God, cultivated through a pattern of prayerful living, that allows us to be changed over time into healed people who do more good than harm.”

We’re not all called to be Benedictines or to follow their rule, but Srubas shows us that it can be both exciting and challenging to re-imagine how staying in place is part of a high calling. What are you to be about sitting at the same window every morning? Sitting in the same chair, sitting at the same computer, lying in the same bed? Worshipping in the same church? To whom are you listening? What do you hear? How are you being changed?

~~~

[Photo: My grandmother’s embroidery.]

 
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