Tag Archives: invitation

On an Amazing Day with Purpose…

30 Wednesday Aug 2023

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Hotel Gym View from Treadmill

On my sabbatical adventures, I stayed in a lot of hotels.  When you stay in that many hotels you get used to some rhythms:  finding the ice machine, sussing out the free breakfast, making your way to the gym.  I rarely encountered others at the gym, but when I did, the normal etiquette was usually a nod or a smile, but not really any small talk.  Everyone has their own headphones for music or video, and focuses on their workout in a parallel, but non-communal kind of way.

So, you can imagine my surprise at one hotel when someone broke out of the norm.  I was finishing up my workout and cleaning up my space.  As I grabbed my key to go, the only other woman in the gym turned to me and said, “Have an amazing day with purpose!”  She didn’t say a simple, “Bye!” or even “Have a good day!”  No, she said, “Have an amazing day with purpose!”  I have genuinely never had anyone say that phrase to me, let alone someone in the typically anti-social hotel gym. 

As I left the gym and made my way back to my room, my head was spinning.  Maybe today could be amazing, and not just “good.”  What might God have in store for the day?  But more importantly, what was my purpose that day?  If I was being invited to live the day with intentionality, and not just wait to see what happened to me, what would living that particular (supposedly amazing) day with purpose look like?

As a pastor who has visited the dying and buried the dead, I know all too well that every day is a gift.  I usually start most of my prayers thanking God for the gift of that day.  But I am not sure I usually go a step forward and ask what God wants me to do with that day – what the purpose is for the gift of the day God has given me. 

I do not know what you are facing today, or how you might be struggling today.  But God has gifted you another day today.  And that day has every potential to be amazing, especially depending on what lenses you put on to describe the day.  Your invitation, then, is to have an amazing day with purpose.  I cannot wait to hear how that sense of purpose drives you to do something amazing today!

On Enjoying the Walk…

14 Friday Jul 2023

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He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength.  Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.  (Isaiah 40.29-31, ESV)

Photo credit: https://www.henryford.com/blog/2023/05/10-ways-walk-better-health

I was reading today about a running method many marathon users use to help them sustain their pacing.  It’s called the “run/walk method.”  To sustain pacing for the marathon, a runner could choose to run for five minutes and walk for one throughout the race.  The challenge for the runner is to use this method throughout, especially at the beginning, when adrenaline is running high and it may feel like capitalizing on energy is a good idea.  Instead, keeping the run/walk pattern allows for the stamina for many runners to complete the race.[i] 

I’ve been thinking that my sabbatical has been utilizing the run/walk method by accident.  The twelves weeks had included multiple trips, punctuated by periods of 4-5 days at home between trips.  This week, one of those trips was cancelled due to weather complications, so my “walking” time at home has been more like 9-10 days.  Initially I was irritated by this disruption in my rhythm.  But as I lived this week a little differently, and as observations about the week have percolated up from family members, I have realized the gift of this rhythm disruption.

In the midst of this rhythm disruption, I have been able to more leisurely take naps and rest – something I would have limited if I knew I was approaching another “running” cycle.  I have also been able to be more thoughtful about time with family – whether an impromptu lunch with a kid at home, going to a community show with a kid instead of encouraging my spouse to do so, and just having some fun together time.  I’ve also been able to create quiet time in town – finding a place to tuck away in my local library.  It has not been the week I planned, but in many ways, it has been a week of blessings – certainly blessings I wouldn’t have enjoyed were I not on sabbatical in the first place.

I wonder what rhythm disruptions God has been gifting you lately.  Have you noticed them?  Have you been able to see them as invitations instead of annoyances?  I suspect the Holy Spirit does a lot more disrupting that we regularly notice.  Our invitation today is to settle down into a walk to see where the Spirit will guide us.

[i] As relayed by Curtis Zackery, in his book Finding Soul Rest:  40 Days of Connecting with Christ (Bellingham, WA:  Kirkdale Press, 2020), 52-53.

Sabbatical Journey…On Weariness and Gratitude

01 Saturday Jul 2023

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Montana Driving (reuse with permission)

Today was a driving day for our cross-country trip – perhaps the longest driving day of the trip.  All told, we were on the road, with multiple stops, for about 10-11 hours.  By the last hour, I was engaged in an inner complaint fest:  the trip felt like forever, I was stiff from the ride, and I just wanted to be in the next location and stretch my legs.  But when we arrived, I was glad I had kept my complaining to myself.  First my younger child exclaimed, “That wasn’t so bad!  It went by kind of quickly!”  My husband agreed, “Yeah, that was an easy drive!”  My elder child confessed, “I kind of like driving days.  They’re like ‘chill’ days.” 

Their comments helped me reflect on the day a little differently.  I tried to remember all the good things about the day:  the way the heavy fog slowly lifted to reveal beautifully green mountain scenery with rivers and tall pines; how fun it was to drive along winding road, hugging the curves; the pops of color that wildflowers brought to the drive; the fun road trip games we played, where everyone was winning at different points; the laughter, the naps, and adding a new state to our list of visited states.

Today, I am grateful for the invitation into gratitude.  It’s a practice I encourage all the time, but one that is easily forgotten when we are tired, weary, and cranky.  But the funny thing is that gratitude is the best antidote to us who are tired, weary, and cranky.  When we give thanks, we see all the good things that made us tired.  When we offer gratitude to God, our weariness is held like soft mattress.  When we give ourselves to thankfulness, crankiness is melted into praise.

I would love to hear what you are grateful for today.  How has God shown up in surprising ways?  How has the Holy Spirit spoken grace through people in your life?  How is Jesus inviting you into a new interpretation of the day?  I’m grateful for you and our journey together in gratitude!

Sabbatical Journey…On Resetting and Love

27 Tuesday Jun 2023

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Idaho Road (reuse with permission)

In case reading about and seeing pictures from our cross-country adventure make you think we are having a perfect trip with perfectly behaving family members, today reminded me how human we really are.  When you are family, you know each other almost too well:  you know what makes family members laugh and what embarrasses them, you know the quirks of each member and you know teasing is a form of love, you know how far you can push someone until they lose their cool.  But because you love each other unconditionally, sometimes you push anyway.  And when you are in each other’s presence 24/7 for ten days, apparently, the tenth day is when the pushing becomes almost inevitable. 

Despite the dazzling green of Idaho’s countryside, the beautiful rivers of Wyoming, and the stunning mountains across three states, and although there were fun road trip games, stories shared, and conversations had, today I also lost my patience and my ability to exhibit mature parenting responses.  Even with some downtime for all of us, I realized I was snapping too much, and my patience was brittle thin.  What I needed was some unconditional love, and so, as I said goodnight to each family member, I asked for a hug.  Despite having just been bickering not ten minutes earlier, each member to a person gave me a hug without protest.  And suddenly the unease that had settled around me melted away.

Too often – with loved ones, with neighbors, with community leaders, and certainly in church – we forget to reset with love.  I know not everyone is comfortable with physical touch, and I know the pandemic made us anxious about physical contact, but sometimes I think a hug might help us all reset some of the tension between us.  In fact, I know some of us have been frustrated or angry for so long that we are not even sure what we were originally frustrated or angry about. 

When I’m feeling frazzled, one of my favorite prayers is from Psalm 46.10, “Be still and know that I am God.”  I love to pray those words repeatedly, each time, dropping the last word in the phrase.   The first time I pray all eight words.  Then I pray just seven, “Be still and know that I am.”  And then six, and so on, until I just pray the word “be.”  If a hug is not available to you today, or if you want to do your own self work on resetting with love, I commend Psalm 46.10.  Between God’s invitation into stillness, and the stillness one finds in hugs, I pray you find some peace this day.

Sermon – John 1.29-42, EP2, YA, January 15, 2023

15 Wednesday Feb 2023

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In my first position as a Rector, we had a wonderful facilitator for one of our Vestry Retreats.  The first question she asked is for us to tell her what we love about our church.  Everyone thought for a minute and then slowly we shared stories of what brought us to the church, what was meaningful, or what keeps us coming back.  It was a quiet, thoughtful conversation, as people really pondered why we were there.  Then the retreat leader asked us to tell her about the best meal we ever ate.  Well, the mood of the room totally flipped, and people’s faces lit up as they described succulent meals, decadent desserts, and mouthwatering food experiences.  We laughed and delighted in the stories as people gesticulated their enthusiasm and were almost tripping over one another as we remembered other amazing meals we have had.

Once we settled down, the facilitator asked us to note the total difference in our descriptions between what we love about our church and what we love about the best food we ever ate.  The question was not meant to shame us (though we did feel a little sheepish), but to help us see how blocked we sometimes get when talking about our love for our church.  Clearly, we have the capacity to witness – albeit to witness to an amazing meal.  But something about culture mores or maybe a history with a bad evangelism encounter makes us much more reticent to invite others into our joy.

I have been thinking about that hesitancy or inability this week as I read our gospel story today.  Although we always call him John the Baptist, one scholar suggests that in John’s gospel, John the Baptist really should be called John the Witness:  because that’s the emphasis of the fourth gospel – not John’s work of baptizing, but John’s work of witnessing to Jesus’ identity.[i]  In the portion of the fourth gospel we read today, John the Witness is a little like someone raving about the best thing they ever ate.  We are told that after the officials spend time inquiring about John’s identity, the next day, John is found shouting after the approaching Jesus, “‘Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!  This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”  John’s cheerleading continues the next day when he sees Jesus again and says, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!”  John is so passionate about Jesus that even John’s followers drop John and follow after Jesus:  a result of which I have to believe John is wholly supportive.

Now I imagine you are sitting there, tensing up a bit, waiting for me to tell you to go get a megaphone and some pom poms because we have some witnessing to do!  The good news is your only partially right.  Here is what I know.  You came here today (either in person or online) for a reason.  Maybe this community helps you find a sense of purpose and meaning.  Maybe this community brings you a sense of comfort and belonging.  Maybe this community is helping you find you way to or enrich your relationship with Jesus.  Whatever the reason, that reason is your witness.  That reason is this beautiful, sacred thing, that when you do not share with others is like refusing to give a gift to others.  I know you may feel awkward, or like you don’t have “holy enough” words, or that you might even be rejected or disdained.  The truth is your words do not even really matter when you are witnessing – what will matter is the way your face transforms when you talk about how this place has impacted your walk with God.  And if using the word witness makes your stomach tense, then use the word invitation.

So, your invitation today is to begin embracing a practice of invitation.  Maybe you have no qualms pulling out that megaphone and pom poms for Jesus like John the Witness.  Maybe you will be you will be like Andrew in our passage today and drag your brother or friend along with you to church with a forceful, “Come on!”  Or maybe your invitation will be as soft as Jesus’ to the new disciples asking questions, who simply says, “Come and see.”[ii]  Someone in your own journey did that for you.  Maybe a long time ago or maybe very recently.  Maybe their words were loud and proud or maybe they were soft and encouraging.  But something in their countenance changed that made you want to see more.  Our invitation today is to share that same light with others, inviting them to come and see this place where you invest your time, your gifts, and your treasure.  Your invitation is to not hoard the gift of this place, but to share the gift of this place and your faith with others.  Amen.

[i] Karline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Bibilcal Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 27.

[ii] Greg Garrett, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 265.

On Stories and Invitation…

11 Wednesday Jan 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.npr.org/2020/10/15/923962314/good-conversations-take-time-and-attention-heres-how-to-have-better-ones

Last night, my younger daughter and I started reading the first book in the Harry Potter series.  I love the series, although I found it later in life.  I never read them as a young adult.  I started them the summer I was serving as a chaplain in a hospital in my early thirties because I needed something to read that was not overly taxing on my emotionally drained self.  Later, I read them while breastfeeding my first child (I spent a lot of time on a pump!), and then again with my first child when she was old enough.  I could not wait to start the series again with my younger child.

But what has surprised me in restarting this adventure is this is not the first attempt.  Normally an avid reader, I thought my daughter would be excited about reading them with me.  And, given my super enthusiasm for the books (and her knowledge that her older sister and I enjoyed them so much), I thought she would be equally enthusiastic.  But every time I mentioned starting them, even making a point at age eight to tell her I though she was finally old enough to enjoy the privilege, she was only lukewarm about the experience.  We even tried this fall to start them, and she just was not that excited.  With a new set of books all her own being gifted at Christmas, I am hoping this is the attempt that will stick!

I have been thinking how much her journey with Harry Potter might be like others’ experiences with churchgoers who just know that you will love their church.  I recognize I cannot speak with authority about never being raised in the Church – although my faith journey has taken me through multiple denominations, I have never not felt a draw to the Church.  But having ministered to many people who are new to the Church or who are simply Church curious from a very guarded distance, I sense that even our most enthusiastic descriptions are not always compelling to someone who has never been a part of Church culture. 

Many people who have seen the Church decline over the years perhaps feel this is an inevitable reality.  I disagree.  I believe the power of shared stories, including shared stories of faith, remains important.  I am not at all advocating for pressured pitches that many of us have been scarred by (I grew up in a very conservative area and was asked if I was saved more times that I can count).  But being willing to share your faith story is as vital as being able to share about the most amazing food you ever tasted:  it’s an exchange in joy, an exchange in life, and exchange in meaning.  The other person may not be moved to start attending your church, but they might just be intrigued enough to keep listening.  Convincing people to come to our church is not our work.  Our work is simply to share our faith journey joy and invite others to come and see.  The rest is the work of the Holy Spirit and will come (or not!) in its own time. 

On the Power of Yes…

19 Wednesday Oct 2022

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Photo credit: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/darwins-subterranean-world/201809/the-power-yes

The last couple of weeks, I have been hit by unexpected asks.  While away on a work-related trip, I got an urgent text from one of my daughters needing help on a homework assignment.  While I was not required to be somewhere else, I certainly had other work plans for that hour that I would need to forego.  Just this past Monday, our unofficial laundry day, my other daughter asked if we could play games after dinner.  I assure you I had a mound of laundry that needed switching out, meaning I would not finish laundry that night.  Meanwhile, a long-time friend is in town and would like to renew his wedding vows at my church this Sunday.  This Sunday already feels like an “overbooked” Sunday with picking up Fall Festival wares, welcoming a new staff member, and hosting a notable guest preacher. 

I tend to be a planner who gets in my head how things are going to go.  Unexpected asks often mean foregoing a plan, shifting expectations, and at a base level, saying no to something else in order to say yes to the ask.  And if I am really being honest, my gut reaction is often to say “no.”  No is easier.  No does not complicate your life, does not require you to do any work, and does not mean having to problem-solve.  There are countless parenting studies that say the best method of parenting is to find as many yeses as you can.  The idea is not to become a parent-doormat, but to build up children’s self-esteem and confidence, improve emotional intelligence, and develop trust in the parent-child bond.  Yes-parenting is a response to research that says parents say no to children about 400 times a day!

I am not saying I have mastered yes-parenting, but I have begun to wonder about the power of yes.  That hour of homework-help last week meant a deeper connection with my daughter at the end of the call and a sense of accomplishment on my own part (trust me, parenting more often makes you feel like a failure than an accomplishment).  That hour of playing games brought back so many fond memories of playing games with my parents and even my children (before technology took hold!).  And those renewed wedding vows are going to make this Sunday one of the most exciting Sundays we have had in a while.  How can I say no to more joy?

I wonder what yeses you are being invited into this week.  Sometimes they are tiny yeses:  agreeing to take a picture for strangers with their cell phone.  Sometimes the yeses are inconvenient:  giving up on your planned activity to help with something else.  And sometimes the yeses are huge:  taking a new job, going on a date with someone new, trying a new activity to meet new friends.  God is constantly offering opportunities for us to say yes:  yeses that involve our time, talent, and treasure.  Our invitation this week is to start saying yes – maybe tiny yeses, but maybe some really big ones.  I cannot wait to hear about your yes adventures!

Sermon – Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21, AW, YC, March 2, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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For those of you who have known me for some time, you know that Lent has always been my favorite liturgical season.  Lent is a season marked by profound honesty about the brokenness and sinfulness of our lives, the confessing of the darkness of our souls, and the desperate searching for a way back to the unimaginable grace and love that God shows us undeservedly.  Perhaps that description sounds a bit morbid and unappealing, but I find the raw truth of Lent to be refreshing in a world that brushes over and hides imperfection.

Despite my love of the sobering ritual of Lent though, the last two years Lent has felt like too much of a burden to bear.  Being in a pandemic, wading through political divisions, and our country’s institutional racism being exposed felt like too much.  We have been lonely, scared, angry, and, at times, lost.  Both of the last two Lent’s have felt like the “Lentiest Lents we have ever Lented.”  And as your clergy, and as a fellow disciple of Christ, I felt like asking us to waltz into the dance of Lent was just all too much. 

But this year feels different.  I would not say we are on the other side of this pandemic, and I would certainly not say we are back to “normal” – though I am not sure we will ever go back to the old normal.  Instead, I rather feel like we are standing on a board, balanced on a fulcrum.  We are not still climbing our way over this pandemic, and we are also not coming down from the apex of this pandemic.  Instead, we are balancing a foot on each side of the board – steady, but using every muscle in our body to keep balance, wanting to breathe a sigh of relief being at the peak, but not yet able to relax on solid ground.

That is why I am so very grateful for our text from Matthew this Ash Wednesday.  In years past, I always found this text rather sanctimonious.  Here we are at a service where we will spread ashes on our forehead – a very public sign of our faith – listening to a text telling us not to be pious before others, not to give alms in a showy way, and not to pray so as to draw attention to our holiness.  The contradiction between written word and physical act have never felt more at odds than on Ash Wednesday.

But I think I had Matthew’s gospel all wrong before this year.  This text is not really about shaming self-righteous behavior.  This text is about honesty, vulnerability, and humility.  If we are showy with our piety, alms giving, prayer, and fasting, our discipleship becomes about dishonesty.  Instead, Matthew is simply asking us to be real:  real with others, real with ourselves, real with God. 

That is the invitation this Lent.  Not to take on some pious Biblical study (though we will offer that this year on Sunday mornings), not to brag about Lenten disciplines (though we will encourage you into a little light competition this year), and not to commit to something that is so unreachable that you quit within the first two weeks.  Instead, this Lent is about honestly claiming the hurt of these last two years:  of confessing our isolation and the ways that isolation has hurt (perhaps by finding one of the planned opportunities for connection), of facing the mental health strain this pandemic has created and seeking companions on the journey (whether in an upcoming support group or through a new Stephen Minister), of confessing that we are not fine (and coming to church to find those who are also not fine).  Those Lenten disciplines will give us some stability on that wobbly board of pandemic life and may give us the assurance of the presence of God in the midst of life we need to come down the peak of this pandemic.

However you enter this Lent, whatever practices you take up or give up, however you engage in the offerings of formation this Lent, the Church invites you this year to be honest:  be honest in the struggle, be honest in the failings, be honest in the hope.  Your being real this year may just allow someone to experience the realness of Jesus in their own lives.  And we could all use a little more Jesus this year.  Amen.

Sermon – Mark 6:1-6, 16-21, Isaiah 58:1-12, AW, YB, February 17, 2021

24 Wednesday Feb 2021

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I have always thought the Ash Wednesday liturgy offers a strange contrast.  We engage in the very visible sign of having ashes spread across our foreheads.  And yet, our gospel lesson this day speaks very clearly of not showing your piety publicly.  But this year, the contrast of Ash Wednesday feels even more pointed.  Typically on this day, we talk about giving things up for Lent, fasting, and entering into a season of contemplation about not just our mortality, but the sinfulness that separates us from God.  But we have spent the last eleven months fasting – fasting from social gatherings, fasting from touch and uncovered faces, even fasting from receiving the sacred meal.  And for a large portion of those months, we have been in deep contemplation about the exponentially rising death all around us, the brokenness of our common life, the sin of oppression and racism.  The last thing I want to hear from the church today is how I need to give up more.

I think that is why I love the text from Isaiah this year so much.  God offers a mirror to God’s people.  On first glance, God’s people are certainly doing the things that are expected – in fact, the “things” that are often of Lent.  They are fasting and lying in sackcloth and ashes.  They are doing the work of penitence.  But the acts are not the problem – the motivation of the acts are the problem.  They are doing acts of contrition as sort of an exchange:  fasting so that God will give them favor; Sure, their behavior may end in the oppression of others, but they are doing the manual action called for in this moment. 

But God is having nothing of hollow spiritual practices.  If those practices are not leading to the loosening of the bonds of injustice, or the undoing of the thongs of the yoke, or the freeing of the oppressed, they are meaningless.  If the people of God are not sharing their bread with the hungry, bringing the homeless poor into their homes, covering the naked, and caring for their own kin, then fasting is little more than act in futility, an action done without reflection, intention, or love of neighbor. 

So what do the words of Isaiah have to do with living in month eleven of a pandemic?  I am going to say something that might be a little controversial, but here you go:  the church is not asking you to fast this Lent.  Now, in a few moments, I am going to say these very words, “I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, …by…fasting, and self-denial…”  But you have already fasted for a whole year.  You have already been in a season of self-denial.  The ashes you will impose on your head later are not a reminder that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  You know that reality all too well now.  Instead, we are going to take a cue from Isaiah tonight.  You have already done the manual acts of Lent.  Now your invitation is the “so that” part of the action.  Our work this Lent is to reflect upon what has been a most difficult year and to ponder together what this past year of fasting is inviting us into.  How has this season of fasting, this season of struggle, this season of brutality transformed our sense of purpose and identity – a people focused on God’s work loosening the bonds of injustice, freeing the oppressed, and sharing our bread?  How has the sobering nature of death, grittily rubbed onto our foreheads tonight, changing our resolve to lean into God, lean into this Christian community, lean into the work of sharing God’s love with those who do not know that love?

The rest of the invitation I will read in a moment says this, “I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer…and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.”  You have done the rituals of fasting and self-denial long enough.  As we look forward to these next forty days together, our work is to spend time with God, scripture, and one another and answer the question, “So what?”  What are we going to do now?  What are we going to claim and what are we going to let go?  How is the grit of ash this year not the sensation of defeat, but of invitation.  I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent.  Amen.

On New Year Hope…

06 Wednesday Jan 2021

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Photo credit: https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/hope-and-caution-during-infertility-treatment-2019102818130

I remember when the year 1999 rolled over into 2000.  It was a time a great hubbub.  There was a sense of enormity about the transition.  Prince’s song 1999 experienced a revival, most of the world was worried about the ability of our technology to transition to Y2K, and many feared there would be some sort of cosmological event.  As the minutes rolled down to seconds, there was a collective intake of breath that we held until the clocks moved to midnight.  In the end, the transition was fairly uneventful.  Technology kept functioning, no big events happened, and most of us realized it was just another New Year’s. 

I have felt a similar incongruence this New Year’s.  Having had such a tumultuous year – between the pandemic, civil unrest, and political upheaval – I think many of us had begun to believe that once we turned the calendar from 2020 to 2021, things would be better.  The virus spread would slow as vaccines were promisingly being rolled out and we would finally be able to turn our energy from crisis mode to dealing with long-term issues like race.  And we might even begin to see some political stability.  If we could just get 2020 to close, all would be well. 

But these first days of 2021 have felt a little like the first days of 2000.  Not much has changed.  Instead of feeling like the change in calendar year has made everything better, we are left with the reality that we are still in the same situation.  In fact, things are going to get worse before they get better, which is almost incomprehensible.    

As that reality has sunken in these last few days, I see two invitations before us.  The first invitation is to take a deep, steadying breath.  This is not a loud, exasperated sigh, but a calming, strengthening breath – a breathing in of the Holy Spirit as we face the continuation of this season.  The second invitation is to take a moment to reflect on all the coping mechanisms we have developed in these last ten months – whether it has been operating in a new way (like livestreaming worship, zooming formation, or drive-thru connection events), whether it has been making space for community when we feel isolated (like sending mail, emails, and texts to fellow parishioners, hosting far-flung friends on Zoom calls just for fun, or taking socially distanced walks with others), or whether it has been discovering pleasant surprises (like the new people who have connected to your community even when your doors are closed, the hilarity that can ensue with virtual Epiphany pageants, or the blessings of a property that can lead to things like an outdoor labyrinth).  I know these last months have felt overwhelmingly disastrous at times.  But taking some breaths and looking at the goodness that has happened in the mess is what is giving me hope and fortitude for this next year.  My prayer is that you might find that same hope today too!