Bill and I experienced our first wildfire in November. We never dreamed it would be on our property.

What if I really believed he cares for me, is careful with me, that he will not let me be blown away if I live lightly? This downy feather responds to the breath of the wind. It floats. It rests. It doesn't cast stones, but even without much substance, it casts a big shadow.  

My bucket list has shortened as the years go by. Maybe no marathon or New York Times best-seller. But hold me to this goal: I want to keep clapping until the very end. I never, never want to lose the sense of wonder.

Pandemics. Politics, Social struggles. Global tragedies. These past years have felt unreal. But what has been most crazy making for me is the deep divisions in the Church. How can we find our way back to loving each other and our neighbors and seeking His Kingdom? I need reality checks: Scripture; honest, diverse community; prayer. I need to continually recalibrate back to the Christ revealed in Scripture.

“If I obey Jesus Christ in the seemingly random circumstances of life, they become pinholes through which I see the face of God.” Oswald Chambers

Resilience is the willow tree of attributes. It flexes, stretches, and bends. The winds blow, failure hits, rejection hurts , loss and grief and disappointment happen. I can break, give up, or sway in the breeze and sink my roots deeper into God.

Ephesians is my heart book, where I grappled with the “believe it or not” truth of God’s love for me. This is the book where I caught the picture that it is through all of our individual puzzle pieces fitting together that we show Jesus Christ, God’s great Masterpiece, to the world.

What do I most desire as I stare down my failures, confusion, disappointments? I want to be grateful every day, to keep going and trying new things. (Which means I want to keep failing.) I want to love Jesus more and respond to him out of love not as a means to an end. I want to live a life of wide-eyed joy in the mysteries and beauty of life. And I want to laugh uncontrollably—tears streaming and unable to catch my breath—with those around me.

In the past month, we've attended too many funerals (masks and distancing making it even harder). For an 11-year-old boy who drowned in a creek. For a man who succumbed to suicide leaving a wife and three children. For a mother who died in her sleep five months pregnant. I’m flooded with “it-should-not-be-this-way” raging shouts in my head.

It’s not my mother’s fault. She told me to stand up straight. But after years slouching over my computer keyboard, I confess I am a “slumper.” A slumper who also is easily distracted and frets too much.

Because of that, I developed a recalibrating practice I call my “morning stand,” a way to engage my whole body to anchor my scattered soul as well as straighten my sagging posture.

The third voice in this series of thoughtful people is Jim Branch, author of the Blue Book and other books, challenging us that this season may be teaching us less is more.

I’ve been wading in “the gray afternoon of the soul.” It’s not as dramatic as St. John of the Cross’ “Dark Night of the Soul.” It’s like being stuck in a thick fog with no light cutting through to show the way back to sunshine and simplicity. It’s been a season of aching over brokenness—my own, others, our polarized country and churches, and the horrors flashing on the nightly news