Socks

I've given up on matching socks. I still do the obvious ones, but I've come to a point where I have so many single socks that I just look for two that are the same thickness and call it good. This has led to Chewbacca on one foot and chickens on the other, but I'm not sure anyone cares. 

Except my husband. Don't tell him.

I'm starting to feel much the same way about the Church. There was recently an article in our Lutheran magazine about the Future Church. It sounds like a great plan to make the church relevant and sustainable and I'm thankful someone is working on it. 

But there is a part of me that cringes at the idea of the Future Church much like I do when people say "children are the future of the church." 

They aren't. 

They are the present. 

We can only live in the present with a vision of God's future that may or may not include the Lutheran Church. 

There was a lot of talk about innovation. And I suddenly felt tired. 

I've got nothing new up my sleeve that will make the church relevant and sustainable. No music, technology, sermon, or program will do it. 

I am called to act out and tell the story of God's saving love. If I don't trust in the power of love to save, then I'm screwed regardless of how innovative I am. 

I'm less about innovation and more about improvisation. We have lots of mismatched socks and now we need to figure out how to use them as socks for the Gospel of peace.

I look at what we have right now in front of us and then ask the question how can we use what we have to tell the story of a people gathered, loved, and sent into the world as witnesses to abundant love. It's not always relevant, sustainable or innovative, but sometimes it reaches those who need some loving and sometimes it flops.  

We're not in charge of saving the world; we share the news that it has been saved so you don't have to be a self-absorbed jerk. 

I've become kind of attached to mismatched socks. I get a little more life out of some of my favorite ones long after their partner was eaten by the washing machine or Mr. Bumpy. The combinations surprise me  and make me giggle. And sometimes I do have to throw the socks away because they have served me well and now my toe sticks out.

Air Fryer

I could do an infomercial for my new air fryer; I love it enough to tell you about it for a good 45 minutes. 

Even more, I love it enough to demonstrate all the cool things you can put in it and create crispy goodness. 

I now divide the world into things that can go into the air fryer and everything else that isn't quite as wonderful. Crispy cumin potatoes could be the most amazing things ever. 

We all need to have systems to categorize objects so now you know mine.

We also have systems for categorizing people and they can be as distorted as my current obsession with the air fryer. Skin color, gender, sexual orientation, abilities, clothing, hair, tattoos, weight, political party and age all go into our initial assessments and judgments. 

There's something in our DNA that makes us do that, but I would argue that the core of faith is to step out of that categorizing and approach people as adventures. How can we replace judgment and categorizing with curiosity and serendipity?  

People continue to surprise me when I let them and I've found folks are easier to love when they are adventures. It takes at least a good five minutes for people to move beyond sound bites, but then there are stories and I find myself delighted and drawn in even if my first impression was negative. 

I'm reading Life is a Miracle: An Essay Against Modern Superstition by Wendell Berry and there is a lovely quote where Berry talks about King Lear's transformation where, "He has given up his life as an understood possession, and has taken it back as miracle and mystery." 

People aren't possessions or objects that fall neatly into control and categories; we are miracles and mysteries. Let us approach ourselves and others as such.  

This was on our kitchen table and I have no idea where it came from, but it makes me laugh.

Crushes

I really wanted a cheeseburger while hiking today. I'm sure my body started this obsession because I gave up heavy meats for Lent and I was in the middle of the wilderness.

But then my mind wandered to shoving an entire McDonald's cheeseburger in my mouth in the second grade to impress Aaron Ramroth. I had a crush on him and surely this feat would woo him. 

That didn't work. Gagging and spewing food everywhere has never convinced a crush to like you.

I rewatched Pretty in Pink recently, with some horror, but the part that wasn't rapey was Molly Ringwald's dad telling her they are called crushes for a reason. 

There is something about that obsession with what we don't have that is crushing for the heart. This strange last year has made FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) even more intense and I've found hearts around me aching for otherness. 

How crushing it is to long for what one doesn't have, or what I often see in my office, a refusal to make decisions because it means you have to say no to some things. 

Martin Luther talks about a god as wherever we hang our heart. I like that. It feels open and freeing instead of crushing and confining. 

The question is where will we hang our hearts. On my better days, I let it hang in the eternal love I witness in Jesus. It's an opening and freeing space where I can make choices without being bound up with fear of regret or failure. The gift of love is that it sustains us through either. 

On my not so amazing days, I obsess over cheeseburgers.

Tracksuit

I came home from Ash Wednesday worship and put on my new velour tracksuit. Someone bought it for me as a joke on my latest birthday and it looked really comfy so I put it on and then pretended to speed walk around the house.

I've never been on the cutting edge of fashion, except maybe when I had everything seersucker, but I do think tracksuits might be for those who have quit trying. 

Yes, velour + tracksuit is amazingly comfortable, but then I caught a look at myself in the mirror.

There I was with the ashes smudged on my head looking like Maxine on a Hallmark card. 

Mortality smacked me in the face and I started to laugh. 

You are dust and to dust you shall return. 

Awesome.

I'm embracing tracksuits for this last sprint to the finish line. 

Yes, I will still make some attempt at attending to my appearance; I was able to withstand the temptation to get the pants at Costco advertised as "Ladies Comfort Fit". 

But I'm also going to enjoy some tracksuit time. 

I don't really have anything profound for this Ash Wednesday, other than how relieving it was to giggle at finitude. Yes, time will stop my breath and decay my body, but God's love and a tracksuit can sustain me until it does. 

My daughter makes it look way cuter

Helmet

I don't want to die doing something stupid. I'm not willing to bet on those chances because I make lots of ridiculous decisions, but I don't want one to identify me posthumously. 

I also don't want to die from ALS, but I feel less in control of that. 

So I wore my helmet today when we skied out to the glacier. Being on the lake and in the caves is a risk since all this stuff is moving and conditions can change in the blink of an eye. But that risk feels comparable to eating potato chips. Yes, it may kill me, but it brings me enough joy that I'm willing to take the risk.

I'm not a huge fan of helmets. I don't like to have my head covered and I look like a dork, but I appreciated the little extra protection today. 

The wind was blowing on the lake. 

I should say howling, and it was also cracking. 

The thin layer of ice on top of the snow and on the cliffs was breaking apart and whipping across the lake like sideways buzz saws. 

It was slightly terrifying to have thin sheets of ice rocketing through the air towards my head. There was a moment I stopped and savored the horrific Indiana Jones' experience of sharp objects trying to decapitate me. 

I'm not sure a helmet would help in that situation, but at least I made an attempt to be safe. 

Maybe that's how I feel through all this pandemic stuff too. I want to attempt to be safe. I know there are tons of hypocrisies in what many of us are doing. I try to be faithful about wearing my mask, but also not digging the mask I wear from beneath my car seat or out of the trash. I fail and I forget, but I don't lie to myself about risks or belittle and chastise others. I figure out my comfort and willingness to risk, I try not to do anything that would endanger others, and I wear my helmet when sharp ice sheets are hurtling towards my head.

Cards

 I'm so thankful I was raised in a house where we played cards and that my family continues to enjoy playing cards. Cribbage, euchre, and hearts are my favorites and carrying a deck of cards to restaurants, ferry trips, or church meetings has entertained us for many an hour. 

I appreciate cards not only for their entertainment value, but their amazing life lessons:

1. Pay attention to body language. Playing cards is not only about the cards in your hands, but also having a sense of what other people have in their hands (without mirrors or getting up to get a drink so you can look).

2. You don't have to talk. I'm happy to chat when playing cards (unless it makes you delay your turn), but there is no pressure to fill every moment with conversation. I used to take Sophie to the long term care with me when she was little to play Crazy 8s with a fellow there who had a stroke and could only swear or sing. That was fun. I'd have to help Sophie out every now and she'd start yelling "card looker" and the fellow would start swearing and there would be a ruckus. I truly loved those moments because it was hard to visit and know what to say, but we had fun playing cards.

3. Learn how to wait your turn and how to lose/win gracefully. You should watch me when we play cribbage because I will steal the deal if I can get away with it. A lot of the card games I like have big advantages for the dealer and you have to learn to wait until your time comes, unless the other person isn't paying attention. This may not be the winning hand, but there is always next time. Winning or losing one round doesn't define you for life so don't take it too personally. 

4. There is a symbiotic relationship between luck and skill. Unless you're playing war (a card game I hate) or you're a genius at statistics, then you live in the tension between skill and chance.  Cards help me figure out how much risk I am willing to accept. I've learned how to assess the hand I'm dealt, the chances of it winning, and when I need to cut my losses. These are helpful skills, especially when decision making is paralyzing because of the fear of missing out on something, failing, or looking like a fool. Assess, risk, and adjust. 

5. Play more. Cards engage something in our brains and relationships that watching a movie doesn't. Don't get me wrong, I love watching movies, but playing cards actually makes us grow in our relationships with each other.

Freedom

I thought Bernie Sanders came to Juneau. 

I saw it. 

Except he was sitting on top of the welcome sign with his legs crossed and had the cutest mittens on so I probably should have known. 

I called the kids in to look at this picture and asked why he would visit Juneau in the middle of winter.

They proceeded to laugh at me. 

Hard. 

"It's a meme, mom." 

"I'll meme you." 

Just like that, the image of Bernie Sanders at the inauguration has shown up everywhere and I realized again how hard it is to tell what is real. Granted, I should have been able to pick up that the tiny Bernie on top of a sign was not real. 

But my brain wanted to believe what it saw. Just like my ears want to believe what they hear.

Recently, I've been hearing lots about the First Amendment. Just like Bernie showing up everywhere, I'm finding mention of "freedom of speech" bubbling up in random conversations.

I decided to read it.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

That's a thoughtful piece of legislation. I got a little distracted reading the different Supreme Court decisions regarding the breadth of this freedom. It's enough to say that our freedom to say whatever we want wherever we want is not actually protected. 

One of my favorite examples of this weird twisting of the freedom of speech was when someone texted me a heated tirade and called me a b*&%$. The person defended it with freedom of speech and then I gave them more freedom by relieving them of employment. I suppose you are free to say what you want, but you aren't protected from the consequences nor are you guaranteed a forum for your freedom. 

I'm incredibly thankful to live in a country where First Amendment rights are protected and I'm thankful to live in a country where we can argue in the courts regarding the boundaries for that freedom. I don't want child pornography protected and I'm less than thrilled with protecting the burning of crosses or flags. I'm not a lawyer, but these are some of the things the courts wrestle with. 

Now is a fantastic time for a civics lesson for all of us. Do some research and stop posting Bernie memes or arguing the freedom of speech means you are protected to say whatever wherever.