When Spring Comes Reluctantly

I’ve been working against a deadline. On Monday I will have completed another year of life. 42 of them so far. Another circle around the sun. Another cycle of life. Another end. Another beginning. It has not been lost on me that the day falls immediately after Easter this year. It did the same 11 years ago when I was cradling a week-old baby in Sunday services. How fresh a resurrection message falls on days like these. Emerging from Darkness. New Life.  A Birth Day. In preparation for such a day – especially against the backdrop of Lent – I could not help but think on the need for some dying in my life. On the giving up. The letting go. What needed to die to make room for new life? What was I not willing to carry forward into my 43rd year? Where was my surrender less than everything? I often do my best work against a deadline. But the frost on budding trees tells me this. Sometimes Spring comes reluctantly. It comes in fits and spurts. It comes in fully blooming pear trees outside the tightly closed windows where the furnace has turned back on. It comes in pollen-covered sidewalks traversed by coat-covered people. Spring does not...

for the promise of sweet breezes

I fight the survivor instinct that tells me to revive. There is a time to die. My four decades of doing things my way have brought me no closer to the prize – to the wideness of grace, to the deep well of peace, to the loftiness of lightness in my being. It’s time to stop doing. And start dying. Some things are a swift and merciful kill. So many others linger right on the edge. My will. My way. It gasps for breath and begs for salvation. Oh, how it wants more time with me. But as my Jesus himself modeled, the only path to salvation is through death. Spring is not as sweet without the winter. New is meaningless if there never has been an old. Resurrection never comes without first the dying. And so it turns. Each tick of the clock marching back around to itself. Circle after circle after circle. Daily. Moment by moment. My will; my way; my striving; my doing. It dies. And from its decay blooms a more glorious way. Higher. Deeper. Wider than my striving could ever have imagined. ********* Tightly still tucked upon itself. The bud not ready to bloom. I think for a moment I am her. But, no,...

Go for Launch

I spent my day at Kennedy Space Center. And beyond the wonder and awesomeness of it all, I kept coming back to this thought… It’s the dreaming and “could we really” that takes all the guts. It’s the planning and the testing that takes all the stress of trial and error. It’s the liftoff that takes all the energy. Once you get into orbit, the travel takes care of itself. All the fuel. All the boosters. All the fire. All the smoke. All the umph is required at the start of anything. Overcoming the gravity and inertia of status quo is the absolute hardest part of any process. But there comes a point, sometimes a sudden one, where moving through space and time is nearly effortless. Where the circling of the Earth is natural and smooth. It took a lot of jet fuel to get me to today. Years before the boosters were even ready to fire. More during the countdown. Only to be met with the body-punishing exit from the place that held me down for far too long. An escape from this atmosphere takes everything you’ve got. And then some. But I’m starting to see a day where that world fading away in my rearview mirror. Its pull waning. It’s...

There’s Only One Size of Brave (Brave Every Day)...

There are many varieties of brave. But only one size. Every brave is big. That’s one of the things I’ve discovered during October. During the Brave Every Day series. During write (most) every day. During reflecting on the word brave. My own and that of others. Getting out of bed in the morning. Brave. Sharing your story. Brave. Listening with out Speaking. Brave. Trying something new. Brave. Forgiving yourself for being stuck. Brave. Asking for help. Brave. Admitting you need a different kind of help. Brave. Giving help. Brave. Saying No. Brave. Saying Yes. Brave. They are all Brave. They are all Big. There is no possible way to NOT be Brave Every Day. Living is Brave....

Lessons on Spinning and Battlefields from the State Fair (Brave Every Day)...

My mind is younger than my body. A discovery I made about 5 seconds into the Tilt-a-Whirl. And 5 minutes after when I was still steadying my steps. But it was the swings that brought a bigger lesson home. Everything looks easier from the ground. On terra firma, the seats above seem easy and breezy. A leisurely spin around the park. It’s not until your own feet are lifted that you notice the height — and the way the center pole rotates to create a dip and rise during the round and round. I have Brene’ Brown to thank for introducing me to the Theodore Roosevelt speech that comes to mind as I circle high above the North Carolina State Fair. “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends...