Grace is Dust

If you have ever stood in the middle of a room in your house and been overwhelmed by the mess of it, you may relate to these scattered thoughts of mine.  Yesterday I was reading a short devotional on my phone and the commentator compared God's grace to dust.  Yes, dust.  The tiny particles floating in the air all the time - but that we can only see in the sun's light.  My pet peeve!  I abhor dust.  I get so annoyed by what seems like mounds and mounds of never-ending dust in our house.  And dusting is just a joke we play on ourselves.  We think we're getting rid of it, we think we're cleaning, but in reality we're just moving the dust from one place to the next! It's the same with vacuuming.  Sure the vacuum picks up some stuff, but other dirt flakes or dog hair resting ever so gently under the dining room table or huddled in the corner are only getting blown to another location in the house - it's a tease!

I am embarrassed to say - dust is a bane of my existence.  So how on earth could this commentator compare God's beautiful grace to the nuisance of dust?!

Because...like it or not...dust is every where.  All the time.  Every day.  Right in front of our faces.

And....like it or not...grace is every where.  All the time.  Every day.  Right in front of our faces.

Most of the time we have no clue that dust is accompanying us at our dinner table.  But when the sun shines, when it beams through our front window on a clear, cold winter's day, we see it...tiny particles floating in the air, seemingly carefree and happy to be annoying the crap out of us.

And...if we're honest, most of the time we have no clue that God's grace is accompanying us at our dinner table - or wherever we might be.  Yet when the sun shines upon some aspect of our lives - whether literally through our front window or metaphorically in an act of forgiveness or compassion or friendship or love - we see it....as though it is a tiny dust particle floating in the air, seemingly carefree and happy - and, sometimes even, annoying the crap out of us.

With dust and grace, we have two options.  We can do what I typically do:  say a few choice words while going after the Pledge and a rag, cursing because I just did this yesterday.  While at the same time yelling at the dogs to stop scratching because it only makes the problem worse.  And by that point my entire mood has shifted.  I'm frustrated and edgy and completely self-absorbed by the absolute mess of my house and I know all too well I'll have to do this again tomorrow.

Or - the other option - is to accept dust and God's grace as a part of life.  It doesn't mean we have to like it all the time, either.  We can try to remind ourselves that even the cleanest houses have dust particles floating in the air.  And we can try to remind ourselves that even the people we disagree with most or dislike most are also recipients & bearers of God's amazing grace...God's grace cannot be isolated or controlled or kept neat and tidy for a select few even though we wish it were that way sometimes.  This realization can increase our capacity for compassion, understanding, and kindness.  (Because if you think about it, that's the hardest part of being human.  We know we don't have to love everyone, but we really have to be kind to everyone.  Our world shows us that kindness & understanding can be a matter of life or death).  

If we can accept both dust and grace as integral parts of life, then perhaps we will calm down for a moment and realize that we spend too much energy trying to keep everything so neat and tidy and mess-free so that by the time we've finally given up, we are too exhausted to do anything else.  Especially anything that really matters.

So, if God's grace is like dust, I will try to let it be.  Let the sun show me that those tiny flakes of grace are there, floating and present all the time.  There for me.  There for you.  There for (insert name).

I'll take in a deep breath, which is likely accompanied by dust, exhale and realize - hey, I'm still alive and okay.  It really is okay!

I'll say a prayer of thanksgiving (rather than a curse) for the beauty of the sun shining over a frosted winter yard and beaming into my front window.  I'll hug my dog only to make her have to scratch some more.  I'll watch the dust recirculate through the air and, with all my strength, I will push away the urge to grab the can of Pledge.  I'll breathe and realize it's still okay.  There is important work to be done in this world, and with God's grace, I have a part in it.

The dust will be here tomorrow.  And all of us will still be okay.  How do we know that?

Because the beautiful, perfect and often messy grace of God will be floating around us too.  And, hopefully, we'll breathe it in.

The Dead Tree

In a field behind the house where my grandparents used to live, my Nana would take us to see a dead tree that was still standing.  It felt like an adventure, an exploration.  On pretty Spring days, two young girls with their grandmother, would venture into the great unknown to discover a treasure that no one knew about.  In reality, we probably walked no more than 50 yards from the end of their back porch to the foot of the tree.  When we reached our destination, we froze in mouth-opened awe.  (I wonder now how much time Nana was trying to "kill" with this great adventure.)  There it stood with a sense of self and uniqueness.  Its frailty unmatched by the surrounding greenery, its trunk wearing thin and the leaves browned and crackly.  The dead tree looked tired and worn.  Its branches pointed upward as if to say, "I've done all I can in this life, I have nothing left to give."  We looked on at it with such wonder.  What did it mean to us to be in the presence of something that was no longer alive, yet stood here in front of of our very eyes?  It was a mystery to us - this dead tree.  A mystery beyond our understanding that pulled us back again and again.  "Let's go see the dead tree!"  As if it were the only one of its kind.

And so each time we went, we paused in wonder and disbelief.  Unknowingly considering the connection between life and death.  Unaware of our burning desire to understand the mysteries that filled the world around us.

Mysteries and questions about life….about death….about resurrection…  that continue to call me out on pretty Spring days for an adventure, an exploration - a journey to find God.

What now?

I asked myself lots of questions when I started this blog (a couple of years ago?).  The loudest question I asked myself was:  am I really going to keep up with it?  The insecurity that lies in the root of the question taunted me.  And it still does.  Do I really have anything important to say?  There are millions of amazing blogs, thinkers, writers, theologians, people out there - so what?  A post every now and then - why bother?

How many times do we ask ourselves that question?  There is something I really want to do, but is it worth it?  I really don't have the time, and it's not a "make or break" thing, so why bother?

The season of Easter is a good example of this.  We've done all this work for the whole six weeks leading up to it.  We've given something up, taken something on, prayed, gone to church, attended special worship services, we've considered our shortcomings and, kind of like on New Year's Eve, promised God that we will work harder - pray more - live wiser.  And then the awesome day of Easter arrives with bells and whistles, wearing new clothes, beautiful flowers, and smiles on the faces of everyone who walks through the church doors - whether they've been there since last Easter or not.

And then Easter is over.  Now what?  What now?

I'm reading an Easter devotional for the first time ever.  Who would have thought someone would write a devotion about Easter?  That seems ridiculous!  The good news is here, Jesus is alive - we don't have to think about it or work at it anymore, right?!

I guess not.  Unless….unless you've ever asked yourself the question, why bother? 
And the more you think about it - the more the nudging and the yearning and the desire grows.  The desire to be a little more than you think you are.  The nudging from God that speaks to your heart.  The yearning to have more from this life than the joy that seems to conclude on Easter night because life picks up per usual on Monday morning.

There's gotta be more, right?  Right?  How are we going to keep up with it?
What now?

When it comes down to it, no.  I don't have anything more important to say than anyone else.  My words are just that - words in the cyber space vacuum of thoughts, ideas, and posts.  But there is something about writing that I love.  There's something about sharing my thoughts and connecting with people that gives me meaning and draws me to God in a whole new way.  And, so, I've decided to bother with it.

What about you?  What now?
Jesus is alive.  Hooray!  We celebrated it a couple weeks ago, and guess what - we'll celebrate it again next year!  Woohoo!
So does it really hold much significance to us in our every day lives?  Or is it just too easy to make it about one particular day and then... carry on per usual?

God is going to keep doing the work of resurrection whether we buy in or not.  Sure, God would love us to participate, but when it comes down to it, whether we run off in terror like the women in Mark's Gospel or not, the hard work of overcoming the hate, violence, injustice and sin in the world is still going to happen.

So what now?  How do we live our lives as though we believe this good news we dress up for on Easter Sunday?
When I watch the news and find that another senseless shooting has occurred, or when I sense the nausea that comes with the beginnings of yet another election season in our country, (which just makes me want to curl up in a ball and never look at Facebook or watch the news again)….

And when I realize that, yes, the calendar does go beyond Easter Sunday….
Then I realize why I want to bother.  Because we really are supposed to live differently.  We really are supposed to love more.  We really are supposed to follow a God who breaks all the boundaries of division.
Huh.  So what now?  I guess, now….we do the work of resurrection.  We do the work of life.

I am excited to see what that looks like.  And I am excited to see if I can keep up with it.

Writing to God: Easter Sunday

2 Corinthians 1: 19-20
Mark 16: 1-8
"Amen"

Darkness covered the face of the Earth, O God, and you said "let there be light."
Yes.

Your people, just released from the chains of slavery, wandered in the cold, dark maze of wilderness, and you guided them at night by a pillar of fire.  You said, once again, "light."
Yes.

The world's darkness had become too heavy to bear.  And your star of light shone brightly in an ordinary town, to ordinary people, for more than ordinary purposes.  You said again, "let there be light."

Yes.

The day of death, despair, hopelessness, and loss is over.  For something amazing has occurred.  You said, one more time, "let there be light."

And Jesus became the Christ.  Life began anew.
Yes.

It is not a one time thing, my God, that you have done this extraordinary act.  You do not make a play and then leave the game.
Oh no.

The light of resurrection shines anew all the time.  Every day.  We cannot be blinded by our preconceived notions or our same ol' status quo ideas of living.

Jesus is Alive!

Thank you, God.
Help us to show this life - your life - in our words, our actions, and our prayers.  There is nothing that can extinguish your light.  For your light is love.

Yes.

I pray for the courage to live it every day.  For the goodness of your beloved world.
Yes!

Amen.