Wonky

I'm doing okay. I feel like I need to keep reminding myself of this, especially since I caught myself leaning over the toilet with scissors in my hand. I was thinking of cutting my hair like I cut my toenails and suddenly a little voice said, "Tari, is this a good idea?" I realized I am not a master with scissors under the best circumstances and this was not going to turn out well so I convinced myself to set the scissors down and take up the clippers instead. 

And groom the dog.

And ask my husband to cut my hair, which went surprisingly well. It got me started thinking about what's making me wonky and what's keeping me stable.

What makes me wonky:

1. Electronic church: we will keep doing it until we can safely gather, but I don't remember all the things I need on a Sunday without any technology so I'm bumbling regularly. I'm embarrassed that we forgot to turn on the right microphone this Sunday and a checklist would probably be helpful, but it feels like it all changes every day. I remember once doing a day camp at a church around Toledo that had transitioned from suburban to inner-city. The pastor gave us a deer in the headlight look and said, "I don't know how to do ministry anymore." I'm having some of those moments.

2. Texting and emojis: I find myself communicating with texting more and it is not my favorite. Emojis exhaust me. I spend way too long figuring out what color of heart to send and then swear in frustration and send an eggplant instead. Eggplants say everything that needs to be said. 

3. Not hugging: I stink at communicating with emojis but I make it up with hugs. It's hard not to hug people. I had a dream that someone came in to my office asking for a hug and I didn't know what to do. 

4. Feeling anxious about getting sick, or worse, getting other people sick: The weight of living responsibly in community is heavy. Trying to make right choices feels overwhelming and the judgment for whatever choice is made feels hostile. And wearing my mask fogs up my glasses.

What keeps me grounded:

1. Walking the labyrinth: I have appreciated this prayer tool in the sanctuary greatly during this time. All the twists and turns that lead unexpectedly to the center keep me trusting life will do that also. We're thinking of doing one in the parking lot too!

2. Seeing people I love at worship: Zoom is exhausting, but there are those wonderful moments where we get to see everyone and it sounds like the chatter of a Sunday morning.

3. Teaching my kids how to cook and eating together at normal times:  All my kids are taking turns cooking; Elijah is making stuffed shells tonight. And we are eating together before 8 pm.  Normally, during school, we all are going in lots of different directions so dinner is much later. I am enjoying dinner together with games or a movie following. 
Sophie just made ginger cookies too so all is well. 

4. Hiking: I'm thankful to live in a place with lots of space to explore. The trails have gotten a bit busy so I'm branching out to kayaking. 

Please keep checking in with yourself to make sure you are okay. If you're drinking too much, getting angry with people around you, or bending over a toilet about to cut your hair then you might want to make a list of what keeps you stable. 

Crocus

If you had told me a couple of weeks ago that I would see flowers again, I'm not sure I would have believed you. The snow and ice were still pretty thick and more was coming. I'm not complaining; I love winter.

But, I had forgotten. 

I forgot the colors and life that burst forth when the ice and snow give a little space. I also had forgotten that I bought a bunch of crocus bulbs I never planted, but my beloved did as a surprise. 

And there they are - SURPRISE!

They are stunningly beautiful and bold. May I live my life like a crocus, willing to risk being bold and beautiful in a world still chilled and gray. May I risk loving even when all looks dead and bare.

That seems to me some of what the message of Easter is, or at least the message of my favorite Easter hymn (and Kirt's least favorite).

Now the Green Blade Rises. 

It's not the triumph of trumpets like other Easter hymns; it still has some of the minor key of Lent. I feel like I can live in the subtle hope of this song in a way the trumpets never quite capture my heart.

The final verse is my absolute favorite:

When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain,

your touch can call us back to life again,

fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been;

love is come again like wheat arising green.

Negative Tides

Negative tides are one of my favorite times to hit the beach. We ventured out on Saturday, along with half of Juneau, but luckily it was a really big beach. A negative tide reveals critters you don't get to see any other time. Sometimes they are beautiful and sometimes they are on the gross and slimy side. I was a little too amused by the screaming of children at the beach as they discovered squirming sculpins and squishy sea cucumbers. 

I feel like we are in a negative tide. The water has been pulled back and we are revealed without our normal defenses and distractions. It's laying bare some beautiful and grotesque stuff about ourselves. 

I'm not opposed to such revelations. I think we are at or healthiest when we are most aware of the places in our lives that are still in bondage and not yet redeemed and we are at our most dangerous when we put ourselves in the good category and imagine the world would be dandy if we could just get rid of the bad. 

There's a reason we start most worships with a confession, "I am in bondage to sin and cannot free myself, I have sinned in thought, word and deed by what I have done and by what I have left undone." We begin with a negative tide, revealed, without excuses looking at what we normally hide in shame. 

It can be beautiful and grotesque, but I find myself marveling at my own being as much as I do as the critters clinging to exposed rocks.  Hmm. That's me with some destructive patterns and thoughts; that's me with some creativity and grace. I observe, wonder, and hopefully cut others a little more slack when their negative tide reveals something new.

Easter

The chaos unleashed when I try to sew

I spent way too much time on my hike today fantasizing about my first cup of coffee on Easter. I could imagine the sound of the grinder, the smell, the warmth in my hands, my face way too close to the steaming cup of joy. I'm glad I gave up coffee this Lent instead of swearing. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have made it through learning Zoom and how to sew masks without regular muttering and random exclaiming of "sh@#". 

At one point, I realized that I was more excited about drinking coffee on Sunday than I was about Easter. This caused a pang of guilt. In my defense, Holy Week is so completely different this year that I still can't quite wrap my brain around not celebrating my favorite worships in the flesh with some of my favorite people. 

I also realized that even in a "normal" year, death and resurrection are a little tough on my brain. I can visualize my coffee and I have a clear sense of predictable reward. That helps me get excited, but the mysteries of this holy week are not predictable. 

They are beautiful, profound, and tremendous, but definitely not predictable.

We will spend this week telling the stories of unconditional love in the washing of feet, betrayal by friends, torture, death and finally the empty tomb. Resurrection stories are a little slippery. Jesus is never where or how people expect him, but he surprises them with something new and freeing and empowering. 

I'm not sure I can predict those moments Jesus still manages to show up and surprise us with life when we only expect decay and death, but I trust he does and try not to get too detailed and controlling about it. 

I ground my life in that trust, but I'm still really excited about my first cup of coffee next week.