simplicity

photo © 2010 Andrei Bocan (via: Wylio)
This week at church, the Lenten focus is on the discipline of simplicity.  My first thought when My Man told me about it was, "Oh, I've got that one down."  In comparison to many in our community, we're pretty simple - no smart phones, no cable, no new clothes (except for underwear, socks and gifts, of course!), very little travel, very little eating out or going to the movies, very few new toys or books.  Much of the "stuff" in our house is mis-matched hand-me-downs.  And even the newer stuff looks like it was a yard-sale find (two kids)!  Pottery barn, we are not.  But does all that have anything to do with simplicity?

I think not.  I think it has to do with living within our means.  And we still have two lap-tops and wireless.  Two cars.  Two cell phones.  A home with a mortgage that is full of stuff.  Food of all kinds.  Appliances of all kinds.  Lots of toys and art supplies.  Though our lifestyle might seem "simple" in comparison to some of the lifestyles around us, that's just because of where we live. 

None of this has anything to do with spiritual discipline.  What, then, is the spiritual discipline of simplicity?  I am, alas, going to miss the sermon this week so I won't get the answer there!  I tried googling it.  Yes, Google.  And found very little.  Some general pronouncements of living lightly on the Earth and not allowing our possessions to own us.  But what does that mean??  How does living simply draw us closer to God?  Because living simply is not simple.

I hypothesize that the lack of Google info on simplicity as a spiritual discipline is at least partly because our culture is so at odds with simplicity.  Schedules, houses, vacations - they're all full of stuff.  What does it mean, then, for us in this culture right here right now, to live simply?

Is it an ecological thing?  Taking care of the Earth?  Living lightly, conserving resources, supporting local business.  All noble, noble goals that we should be involved in, but is that simplicity?  It's certainly not simple.  As one who bakes bread, I can wholeheartedly affirm that it is much simpler (and probably cheaper) to just buy a loaf of pre-sliced bread off the shelf! 

Is it a financial thing?  Being careful with money so that there is enough - both for ourselves and for others.  Being thoughtful about what we buy.  Purchasing sustainable goods, and only those that we really need or add something meaningful to our lives.  And getting rid of the goods (and services) that don't meet that criteria.  Is that simplicity?  It's certainly not simple. 

Is it a time thing?  Allowing for free, unfettered time.  Intentionally working in jobs that allow such time.  Refusing to schedule too much - for either us or our kids.  But when we have that time, what do we do with it?  Making the most of time - that is not so simple. 

I cannot be a Radical Homemaker.  I have to work.  I don't want to get rid of all my stuff.  I don't want to hang all our laundry on a clothesline.  I find it difficult to buy all organic and/or local.  I wish we were able to go out to eat or to a movie any time we were asked or wanted to.  If we were able, I'd go to Disney World in a heartbeat. 

What, then, is simplicity as a spiritual discipline for me?  In what way can I live more simply such that it draws me (and my family) closer to God? 

Lots of questions today.  I should read Richard Foster, I guess.  I was just hoping for an easier, faster, simpler answer ;).

lenten fail

Not even two weeks into Lent and I'm already failing at one of my Lenten disciplines - praying the hours.  I intended to have morning, midday and evening prayer every day.  But I keep forgetting about it!  Particularly on the weekend.  I'm better about it during the week when my schedule is more regular, but even then I tend to forget the midday prayer.  I'm certainly praying more than I was before, but I'm not as disciplined as I'd hoped.  Of course, making something a habit is hard work initially...until it becomes a habit...so I shouldn't be surprised that I'm not very good at it.  But there is grace, lots and lots of grace, so I'll keep plodding along.

My other Lenten discipline - making or giving something for someone else every day - is actually easier than I anticipated, but I feel like I'm cheating.  So far I have made baby clothes and food and cards, and I have donated to Kiva and the food pantry.  And I'm also knitting a prayer shawl.  Which I thought would be easy (and is), but I had not counted on how long it would take to knit a prayer shawl.  For me, anyway.  So it is easy for me to knit a few rows every day and cross off my "making or giving something" discipline for the day.  It seems too easy.  But it is within the parameters of the commitment I made! 

Maybe next year I should go the more easily measured route of giving something up for Lent, but these disciplines of time are helping me to be less hap-hazard in my prayer and service.  And maybe by the end of Lent, they'll be a little closer to regular habits.

Oh, and one more Lenten fail: I tried to make that spiral Lenten wreath out of salt dough.  Epic fail!  I tried it as both a spiral and then as a cross (with only 7 candle holes, for each week of Lent), thinking if it were smaller and thicker that maybe then it would work.  Um, no.  Maybe if I had smaller itty-bitty candles, but I could not get the dough to shape right to hold a regular candle.  Oh well.  I think I'll break out some plain votives and just place them in a cross shape on our table!

free like God

photo © 2009 Scarleth White (via: Wylio)
A good, good friend sent me this quote:

"To live no tight, neat role is truly sacrificial, it is also truly creative because it leaves us open and free (dare we say) like God himself." (from Alan Jones, dean of the Cathedral of San Francisco)



The quote comes from a Eugene Patterson book (The Pastor) that I haven't read, but it's in reference to his wife, who lived her calling as a pastor's wife with "no tight, neat role."  I tend to approach this lack of role as a burden, or a trial to be overcome.  I tend to feel "less than" since I can't claim a particular vocation (including SAHM).  But I have never, not once, considered that this makes me "free like God." 
 
But I can see how in some ways it does.  Though I do have roles that limit my freedom - office-worker, mom - I have a lot more daily freedom than many in this world.  I am free to:

• make home-cooked meals, or not, as I desire.
• work on knitting and sewing, or not, as I desire.
• write a blog!
• make praying the divine hours (and praying in color) a practice that I can do at work.
• spend regular time with My Girl and her neighbor friend, who thinks it's "really weird" that I make bread.
• play Candyland and Zingo and Memory over and over and over.
• read books.  Lots and lots of books.
• read blogs.  Lots and lots of blogs :).
• start a book club, or not, as I desire.
• do small acts of service.
• sleep, or not (the "not" is most likely when I have my nose in a book I can't put down).
• clean, or not (mostly not).
• play with my children.
• visit a friend.

I have lots of freedom.  Sometimes I wish that freedom were more limited, that my life were more defined.  I can get overwhelmed by choice and lean toward "stuckness."  But I'm learning to value my freedom as a gift.  A gift to be (dare I say) like God.

decisions for the lenten road

photo © 2007 Davide Restivo (via: Wylio)I didn't make it to the Ash Wednesday service after all.  Well, I walked into the Sanctuary, but The Boy immediately started crying, so I walked right back out.  The Girl stayed - because she wanted to!  She was intrigued by the ashes, I think, and she came home with an ash cross on her forehead, though her daddy said it took her a while to decide whether or not to go up for one.

I didn't, then, decide on my Lenten discipline until Thursday.  Close enough, right?  I picked two, actually.  Two disciplines - no fasting.  I'm going to try to be more aware of what I put in my mouth and more careful about what comes out of it, but I decided not to actually fast from anything. 

Instead, I'm going to try to pray the divine hours.  Well, three of them - morning, midday and evening.  I was a little worried about this one, as My Man has absconded with our Common Prayer book (which he did buy, I must admit), but a friend showed me that all of the prayers are also online.  Hallelujah!  Still, I've already failed at this lenten discipline.  I completely forgot about it last night.  It never even occurred to me.  *sigh*  But there is grace for the road, and I take one more step forward today.

My second discipline is this: I commit (fearfully) to making/writing/donating something for someone else every day of Lent.  Strange, right?  But the idea is that this commitment will draw me closer to Jesus on my walk with Him by challenging two of my weaknesses: lack of discipline and tendency to hoard. 

I spend a lot of time in my head every day - thinking, thinking, thinking.  But I lack follow-through.  Oh, I follow through on some things, but I also tend to get home from the office, plop into a chair and read a book.  Or watch TV in the evenings.  Neither of which is a bad thing, but they are distracting things.  I am easily distracted from more important work and service.  I can hear some of you saying, "But you should have rest and fun and not work all the time."  Yes, that's true.  But I should work and serve some of the time.

I also spend a lot of time worrying about money - paying the bills, saving for retirement, thinking about saving for college, etc.  I am naturally a saver, and it bothers me when I feel like there's not enough to save for the future, for the unexpected.  But I am well aware that my worry is ridiculous.  I tend to operate out of a fear of scarcity, when I should be acting out of abundance.  I have an abundance.  So, so very much.  So this Lent I am going to practice giving rather than saving.

My favorite online Lenten reflection so far is this one by Jan Edmiston at A Church for Starving Artists. An exerpt:

The level of sacrifice that God is asking for is not about giving up something we love for the sake of removing a pleasure from our lives. It's about giving up what is methodically destroying us from the inside out. And we hold each other's hands as we make these difficult choices to do something excruciating for the sake of saving our lives.

First we need to figure out what it is that's killing us: greed? workaholism? alcohol? porn? bitterness? anger? At the very least, Lent is a good time to figure out what's keeping us from being fully alive and healthy. It will probably take more than 40 days, but this is a start.

What is keeping me from being fully alive and healthy?  Greed.  Laziness.  Ingratitude.  And more.  It will definitely take longer than 40 days to overcome these, but each day I will try to take a step along the road toward resurrection.

some ash ramblings

photo © 2006 Sarah (Rosenau) Korf Today is Ash Wednesday.  Tonight I will try to attend our church's Ash Wednesday service.  I say "try" because I'll have the kiddoes with me, and while The Girl should be able to handle it (albeit in a very wiggly manner), The Boy may not make it to the imposition of ashes without a meltdown in the pew.  So maybe I'll get ashes and maybe I won't.  Which seems to be how I've approached Lent this year: maybe I'll observe it, maybe I won't.

Although that implies some sort of thought went into the maybe-ness.  And it didn't.  Which is a problem.  A month ago, I thought a little about it, but because Easter and Lent are so late this year, I put in on the back-burner of my mind.  "I've got time."  Hah!  And last week was a whirl of bereavement process and other bad news from loved ones.  And then my birthday was Sunday.  And it didn't hit me until Monday that Lent is about to start!  Argh!!

We still haven't made that Lenten wreath we were planning on (though I did manage to get the materials for it).  I haven't settled on any kind of fast for Lent or any kind of spiritual practice for Lent.  Nothing.  Nada.  Instead I'm reading Mockingjay (last in the Hunger Games trilogy), hurriedly trying to finish before the service tonight.  Because I can't get that story out of my head and I feel this great need to purge myself of it!  (Yes, I know I'm melodramatic. Next time I look to my husband for book recommendations, I will make sure he's read the WHOLE series before I begin.)  Because I have a problem with obsessing over bad news.  And The Hunger Games is a series full of bad news.  But maybe there will be some sort of triumph in the end.  Maybe?  I must make it to that triumph before I get completely stuck in the sadness and tragedy of it all.  I wanna skip to that triumph! 

Lent is a little like The Hunger Games in that respect - it forces me to face a series of bad news.  It's a dark time.  A time of remembering the road that led up to the darkest time - a time of pain and death.  I'd rather avoid it, frankly.  Rather skip to the light and flowers and triumph of Easter.  Forget this season of ashes - I wanna skip to the triumph!  But there would be no triumph without that road.

I wish the imposition of ashes would somehow magically impart wisdom.  I wish it would suddenly give me the discipline to follow a fast or a spiritual practice through 40 days.  But I know that it won't.  I know that any kind of Lenten road I take will be hard.  Unless I avoid it altogether.  So is it worth it?  Yes, I know it is.  But I also know I'll fail.  To some extent - I will fail. 

And so I am very thankful to know that at the end of the hard road, there will be triumph, and that it doesn't depend on me.  I am thankful to know that in the end, love wins (as a certain controversial pastor and author has asserted lately, to much uproar!).  How much harder it must have been for the disciples, and even for Jesus perhaps, when they didn't know.  That's a darkness I won't have to experience.  I, at least, know that my apathy and my stumbling and my failure will not be the last word. 

And so today, with a little ash (or without it), I will ponder the path that will lead me to a closer walk with Thee.  I will (finally!) think about what step I can take to mark this time.  And I will try to approach Ash Wednesday with some sense of hope rather than dread.  But regardless of my feeling, I will attempt to put one foot in front of the other, walking the road of ash.  Even when it's a long, hard slog.

reflections on a southern funeral

My Man's grandmother died on Monday.  It was expected and peaceful.  Her children were with her.  It was good. 

This was the first time in 15 years that I've been to a funeral where I was one of the family.  The first time with kids.  And as I'm an in-law, not direct family, and so not as emotionally involved, it gave me a lot of time to reflect on our southern family funeral traditions. 

A few (not-so-deep) thoughts:

• Food is its own love language. 
• Five hours is a long, long time to stand in a funeral home.  Particularly when you don't know most of the visitors...and when you have two small children who refuse to watch the portable DVD player and are instead crawling under chairs and sofas commando style.
• It's a good, good thing to have local friends who will take in rowdy children (see above).
• Much of our funeral tradition seems geared toward extroverts. 
• Trying to explain the difference between burial and cremation to a 6-year-old is...weird.
• Trying to explain a funeral to a 6-year-old is nearly impossible.
• Trying to take a 3-year-old to a funeral is not the best idea.
• Pictures are always special.  And black-and-white pictures are priceless.
• Commenting on how great the deceased looks seems strange to me.  I like closed caskets.
• Having the opportunity to spend extra time with family is a good gift.
• Sharing memories is fun.
• Remembering can be a celebration.
• As My Man said, bereavement is exhausting.

How different, I wonder, would my thoughts have been if it were a funeral for someone I was close to, or someone who had died unexpectedly rather than peacefully.  As an introvert, I'm pretty sure I would want to curl up into a ball and stay in bed for a long, long time.  So as much as some of the funeral tradition seems exhausting to me, I appreciate that it surrounds us with loved ones and reminds us of life - a life lived and a life that continues.