“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

"Thou Shalt Not Postpone Joy"

That's one of my favorite phrases and no one paints and lives that out like Tricia Robinson. Her heart pours out in her painting.

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.

One of the best things about Instagram is waiting for a post from Ruth Leslie to see what she named her latest piece of art. It always makes me smile (and laugh out loud) and the art is always beautiful.

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.

I met Ahmad Austin at an InSpero’s Bridge Builders meeting and was struck by his insight and patience as we discussed the deep racial wounds in our city. Then I started following his Instagram and loved his ability to “paint jazz.” His work is filled with joy and color and emotion and the faces he paints are alive with hope.

How will we emerge? That’s the question I’m asking myself and others in this “unprecedented” year. If I tune into the daily news or read the statistics, that question ripples through me with uncertainty and fear. If I lay the uncontrollable “we” down, and focus on me, I can answer. I want to emerge with some “more” in a year filled with “less.”

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.

How can we allow Scripture to take hold of us and transform our hearts as well as our minds?

 Lectio Divina (sacred reading), an ancient discipline of the Church, offers a way to slow down and allow the Holy Spirit to lead our experience of Scripture.

Gina is an artist who helps me remember Heaven is coming. Through her life and art she helps me have the courage to long for more, love deeply, weep often, and risk much in this short life we have.

In a recent large group Zoom meeting with Harvard students, I asked them to find two empty containers, labeling one Lost and the other Found. In small groups, we took five minutes silently to write our losses on slips of paper and place them in our Lost jar. We did the same with our Found jar, and then we shared with each other what we wrote—ambiguous loss made tangible.  

I was introduced to the term ambiguous loss—having and not having—after my sixteen-year-old son suffered a brain injury playing football and became severely disabled for life.