Jun 30 2021 Day 133 Psalms 50:1–53:6

O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.

And so opens our tradition’s daily morning prayer. Every morning, we begin with these words, with the leader starting, ‘O Lord open our lips’, and the gathered people respond ‘And our mouth shall proclaim your praise’. Every day. Today, again I came upon the place in scripture where this opening proclamation originates. Finding these bits of scripture that were cobbled together in the 16th Century is like finding a treasure.

It’s not that I think that our deeply traditional faith would make up things. My tradition is deeply grounded in scripture. Unfortunately, Episcopal churches and other mainline churches have been charged with being not biblically based, or that we don’t know scripture. My tradition is incredibly biblically based. Praying Morning and Evening prayer every day would result in working through the psalms every 70 days, and the majority of the rest of scripture every two years, with the exception of 1&2 Chronicles, and the books in the Apocrypha which many protestant churches don’t read at all.

It was Thomas Cranmer, back in the 16th century who suggested that Anglicans should have a way to pray and read their way through scripture, and the Daily Office was created.

In addition to the bits of Old and New Testaments, and Psalms that are appointed for twice-daily reading, there are bits of scripture taken and prayed daily, including this bit from Psalm 51. These are the treasures I’m finding as I read through the whole Bible, and it grounds my tradition’s Daily Office even more deeply in scripture for me.

O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall declare your praise. It is God who allows me to open my mouth. It is God that could just as easily shut my mouth. It is God who gives me words to say, thoughts to have, musings to write. It is God who could just as easily not. All that I see and think comes from God. My part of this is pretty big too. I could choose to not speak. I could choose to speak something other than God’s light and love. I could choose not to reflect or write or pray, even when I’m full of God’s light, love and reflections.

What this simple opening proclamation says to me is that it is up to God to give me the opportunities to pray, think, reflect and write. It is up to me to do it. If God gives me the reflections and thoughts, I will use that to proclaim God’s praise. That is up to me; it’s my half of the relationship. True, without God’s inspiration and grace I would have nothing to pray or be faithful about or write about. But without my willingness to go along, I wouldn’t pray, have faith or write. It takes two both of us.

That sounds almost heretical, as if I am on par with God. That’s not what I’m suggesting, but I do think that without my consent, God’s best laid plans would lay fallow. (mixed metaphor?)

This is at the core of a spiritual practice called Centering Prayer. The pray-er prays “I consent to God’s presence and action within me”. This irked some classmates of mine, as they didn’t understand why their consent was necessary. But without our consent, God has a much more difficult time being present on this earth. God certainly doesn’t need my hands and feet, but it sure makes God’s work easier, if I consent. Many hands make light work?

So today, I pray that God will grace me with the abilities and insights as God sees fit, and I pray that I will use that and open my mouth to proclaim God’s praise. And I will be more intentional about that two-part prayer every morning when I utter these words.

Jun 29 2021 Day 132 Psalms 46:1–49:20

Mortals cannot abide in their pomp; they are like the animals that perish.



Abide is an interesting and underused word. According to Webster, it means to stay in one place. Pomp is a word we know more, as we see it around and strive to have it ourselves (even if we don’t admit it to anyone). Some other words that have similar meaning to pomp include vainglory, or splendor. We don’t mean to be vain, but we do try for glory, even if it’s in our exaggerated humility.

In any case, this little sentence cuts to the heart of this folly. We cannot rest or remain in that pomp. This psalm goes on to say that even the richest man leaves his wealth to someone else when he dies. It’s transitory – all of it.

So why do we strive for that glory, or that pomp? What are we trying to prove, and to whom?

Perhaps it’s because it’s hard to hear God’s affirmations on earth. I know I am loved, and I know I am enough. And sometimes I forget, and need fellow mortal sojourners to remind me. That drives me on to do something note-worthy. I don’t do this for God’s benefit, but to feed my sometimes fragile constitution. A few social media “likes”, and clearly I’m loved. When I pull up to my home, and it’s tidy, and the flowers are beautiful, clearly I’m an asset to the neighborhood.

To be clear, I’m not suggesting that my motives are wholly impure. But neither are they wholly pure. I cannot abide in this transitory goodness, because it wears off. I need to do it again, or improve the yard, or be a better (fill in the blank). It’s an unending cycle of striving for temporary splendor, even if it’s splendor in my head. There’s no rest, because the rewards don’t last.

I can only abide and rest in God’s pomp, not mine. God’s love and acceptance is unending, so I can stop striving, stop trying to prove something.

This morning, I’m thinking about seeking God’s splendor and abiding in that. Only then, can I truly rest.

Jun 28 2021 Day 131 Psalms 42:1–45:17

My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, “Where is your God?”

More anguish and woes. There is a lot of anguish and woe in this section of psalms. It feels like too much for me. In fact, it it too much for me. But looking around, there is more than enough anguish in my immediate family, my community, my country, my world. Rather than thinking of these pleas as just for me, perhaps I can share the prayers when I read. Pray them for the woes of my sick loved one, my unsettled town, the victims and families of violence, pandemic, economic ruin. I can read a psalm and pray for the homeless, the orphans, those with no one to pray for them. When I’m feeling like I’m sufficiently woeful and prayed up, I’ll read the psalms and pray for someone else’s woes. There are enough to go around.

The accompanying reflection for this section of psalms is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer and asks us to think about what trials tell us about the times we live in, the time between Christ’s resurrection and whatever comes next, whether that’s Christ’s literal return to earth, or my joining Christ’s world at the end of my days.

I’m reminded of a community breakfast I had the honor of working for years. It was full of some of the community’s most down-trodden and broken people. We served nearly 200 people twice a month. And yet you could find glimmers of hope and love in the midst of that crowd. I am not suggesting that this group of humanity was somehow more grateful because they were being served, or were any less grateful because they were homeless. But I was always struck when they found or showed grace, despite their challenging circumstances. Their circumstances had stripped them of some of the pretense that I walk around carrying – which shoes should I wear for my walk, should I go to the store for a really good tomato, what about the crabgrass in my front yard, and should I try to go out for a walk even though it’s going to be 115 degrees. These folks were worrying about their next meal, and possibly the only meal they’d plan on for the day.

Because the layers of wealth and self-pretense had been stripped away, it felt to me like a thin place, a place where the curtain between humanity and God was very thin. As an observer to their raw humanity, it felt like the rawness contributed to the closeness of God. I got the same sense at orphanages in Kenya and Guatemala, and at the ICE detention facility in Oregon. God is in the muck. Sometimes, it seems the muckier the closer.

If I take time to look, I see God in the grime. Although I need to look, it’s easier to spot for me God in the darker, dirtier, harder places, than in the shiny, clean, frequently fake places (including churches). But while I can spot God in other people’s mess, it’s harder to feel that thin space in my own muck. I’m too busy in the middle of things, to look for a thin veil, let alone wonder what’s on the other side.

This morning, I’m thinking about the thin places where I’ve most viscerally felt God, and how they’re most always grimy. I’m thinking about the thin veil in my world and God’s kingdom right there. The muckier the better.

Jun 27 2021 Day 130 Psalms 37:1–41:13

And now, O Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in you.

The psalmist is going on and on about his woes and his enemies, and praying to be saved, because then he’ll get back at his enemies. We all have woes, and while sometimes I find these sentiments unfortunately familiar and therefore comforting, today, I’m tired of them. We all have woes, big and little.

Side note, someone once expressed some distress about their kids and followed up with an apology that their trouble wasn’t anything like mine. To be clear, I do not believe there is any hierarchy in woe. To be hurt, or sad, or afraid is exactly the same, regardless of the prompt. My woes are no bigger or smaller than the next persons. Pain is pain. Fear is fear. Anxiety is anxiety. So while I have a particularly ugly woe these days, my thoughts about woe, and God, and redemption are equally valid for anyone’s woe.

Today, I’m thinking about waiting. In the midst of all of the psalmists woes, he acknowledges that his hope is in God, and questions what he’s waiting for. This struck me this morning, as I feel like I could be in a time of waiting. There’s a lot in my life that’s unsettled, and I sometimes feel like I’m waiting for the next opportunity, or the next crisis, or the next hospitalization, or the next vacation. But really, I don’t need to be waiting for anything. My today is exactly where it’s supposed to be, and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

To wait, or to feel like I’m waiting signals that this moment isn’t precisely perfect, that I need something else, I’m waiting for something else. But I’m not. My hope is in God, and God’s timing is perfect. This moment is perfect. Yes, there’s a lot feels unsettled in my life – job, deacon assignment, parenting a very sick loved one, inability to plan vacations, facing a day of record breaking 115 degrees. I have a lot of proverbial balls in the air. It would be easier on my organized self if some of these balls would land, and then I’d figure out how to respond. And yet none of those unsettled things are in my control. Additionally, I am precisely in this place with all of those things unsettled.

It’s a version of ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’ – this sense that I’m waiting for something – anything – and all will be well. But all is pretty dang well right now, even with these balls in the air. I have full confidence that my unsettled world will settle in God’s time. In the meantime, I need to work on addressing my unsettled mind, and stop waiting for things. My hope and trust is in God. Waiting is a low-level discontent that I don’t want or need. Today, I want to relish in my day and life, and stop waiting for something else.

Side note - Happy, happy birthday Katherine, my oldest friend! Life is sweeter because of you. 

Jun 26 2021 Day 129 Psalms 33:1–36:12

Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the LORD rescues them from them all.



This is one of those sentences that I struggle with. First of all, why do the righteous have many afflictions? Don’t we pray that God protects the righteous from these afflictions? Is that just wishful thinking? I’d like to think not. As someone who aims for righteous, I pray to be protected from the many afflictions. And still, afflictions happen. Does that mean God isn’t loving? No. It isn’t either/or. Afflictions happen apparently.

Then the prayer goes on to say that even there are afflictions of the righteous, God will rescue the righteous from all of the afflictions. What? Again, is this just wishful thinking? If not, how could the righteous have so many afflictions to begin with?

As a human being in 2021, I have many afflictions. We all do, whether it’s political unrest, economic instability, health concerns, job issues. I would be happy if the Lord would rescue me from all of these things. I’d be happy if the Lord would rescue us all from all of these things. And by rescue, I mean to make the problems as I perceive them go away to my satisfaction. Illness gone and pandemic gone, for example.

Perhaps the problem is that I’m deciding what rescue looks like, and what constitutes an affliction. Take my loved one’s illness. It seems like an affliction to me. But my loved one mostly thinks it’s wonderful. The illness resulted in some dreams happening, like being a social media star. They’re happier than they’ve been in a while. And I’m having the opportunity to love and care for them in a way that I haven’t ever.

And rescue? What’s that? Does that mean that the way I’ve framed the problems is accurate and my understanding of the resolution is the only one that counts? It’s awfully easy to assume if things don’t turn out the way I want them to, that good did not come. No rescue occurred, because it didn’t come in the way I imagined.

Take for example my paying job. I find myself out of work for the first time in . . since I started working in college. Because my faith community was largely at my office, with regular daily prayer, I’ve also lost that. There are plenty of ways I could have imagined ‘rescue’, but none of them involved me settling in to a new day routine, that’s full and enjoyable and restful. I’m exploring new hobbies and opportunities, that would not have been an option before. I was seeing the affliction as the loss of work, and the rescue as . . I don’t know - getting a better job right away, or figuring out how to hold on to parts of the work that were meaningful. But instead, perhaps the affliction was the job, and the rescue was losing it.

This feels different than making lemonade from lemons. It feels more like remembering that people do have afflictions. And that God does rescue us, even if we don’t recognize it.

This morning, I’m thinking about how to view the things I see as afflictions, to see if they’re really the rescue that I cannot see.

Jun 24 2021 Day 128 Psalms 29:1–32:11

In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame;



Such a simple request. Dear God, in return for my faith and trust in you, please don’t let me be shamed. This sentiment comes up several times in this section of psalms. Shame is such a powerful emotion. It causes us to do all sorts of things, and apparently was a big concern of David’s.

And yet, I wonder if Jesus felt shame, as he was paraded through town, beaten and carrying his own executioner’s tool – the cross. I wonder if he felt shame as he was hanging on the cross, with all of his friends watching, and then abandoning him. Or when his mother watched until the end. I wonder if he felt anger, defeat, disappointment, confusion. Or shame.

Webster says shame is both the feeling you get when you know you’ve done something wrong or foolish, and the feeling of humiliation or embarrassment. One definition includes a sense of wrongdoing, while the other just is a feeling of embarrassment. I can imagine Jesus didn’t feel he’d done anything wrong, but I wonder about the feeling of having done something foolish. Did he worry about what he’d committed and said, given where he was hanging? Or did he have a sense of being embarrassed, with the friends and foes watching him be humiliated?

Shame is not something we should befriend, and yet sometimes it’s hard. With my sick loved one, it’s sometimes easy to feel some sense of shame. There is a cultural stigma on schizophrenia, and more specifically, the resulting behaviors. There was a time when my loved one was connecting online with a rap star, talking ‘live’ on a social media platform. People made copies of the videos, one of had 3 million viewings. Our loved one was very symptomatic, and the comments of the video were unkind. Our loved one has since shot videos of herself in the bathtub, resulting in a temporary ban from that social media platform.

Our loved one also frequently elects to not wear pants, both inside the house and outside. And modifying this behavior is not something I can do. Taking them out in public is always a challenge. Their filters on what to say that’s appropriate is non-existent. I know that the shame of caregivers is real, especially in settings where they most need support.

If I were to bring my loved one to church, I cannot imagine the looks, whispers or comments. Even from the best, most loving congregation, it would be hard for me to not feel some shame or embarrassment, absolutely caused by the behavior of someone with an uncontrollable brain disease. That’s ridiculous on two counts. I should not feel shame out with my loved one. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, and their ‘wrong behavior’ is caused by the illness. And I shouldn’t be embarrassed. I wouldn’t be embarrassed walking with a bald woman going through chemo, even though both would be battling a disease. Perhaps more depressing is the notion that I would be prompted to feel shame, with the stares, comments, whispers. I don’t like it at the store. I definitely wouldn’t like it at church.

And of course it would happen at church. As much as we all want more young people at church, there is always that person who scowls as the child is acting… childish. And if we can pass judgment and scowl at a cherubic child, what would happen with someone with schizophrenia.

O lord, in you I seek refuge. Let me never be put to shame. That’s a prayer both for my constitution, and a prayer for the tolerance and compassion of those around me. Today, I want to recognize that sense of shame that arises in me, and try to recognize its source. If it’s a misplaced sense of personal correctness, I will acknowledge that this brain disease is nothing I can control, nor can my loved one. If it’s caused by external forces, I will remember that the attitudes of others do not need to affect my outlook.

Jun 23 2021 Day 127 Psalms 25:1–28:9



“Come,” my heart says, “seek his face!”



Psalm 27 is a prayer of confidence in God. It has numerous exclamations of gratitude and confidence in God, including ‘he will conceal me under his tent’, and ‘if my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up’. I like these pithy affirmations of faith. It’s like morning affirmations, where you repeat something that you want to be true, speaking it into reality.

And in the midst of these affirmations, there’s this sentence I find precious. “Come,” my heart says, “seek his face!” As someone who spends an inordinate time in my head, I love this notion that the heart speaks, distinctly from the self. Come, my heart says. David is acknowledging that sometimes, it’s his heart that beckons him on to seek God’s face. From this I gather that the rest of David, the parts to which the heart is speaking, was either disinclined to seek God’s face, or too busy doing something else.

For those who spend more time in their heart center, this may not feel as critical as it does to those of us who spend time in our heads. It’s easy for me to think that everything comes from my head – all of my intentions and desires, plans and even my feelings. I think therefore I am.

This simple sentence reminds me that the heart is also a place from which my intentions, desires, plans and feelings originate. It’s as if my heart has to work extra hard to get a word in edgewise, from my over-functioning head. My head has been well exercised and rewarded, perhaps to the point where the other parts of me are at risk of atrophy.

As I reflect on my world, I can see this in play with my sick loved one. I frequently respond to them from my head, from what I think should happen, or what I know logically. However they are in no place to have logic applied. What I think should happen doesn’t really matter. I can contrast that from how my husband responds. He clearly responds from his heart, and it is lovely to watch. Granted, sometimes it doesn’t make any sense (to my over functioning head). He would probably find nothing stellar about this pithy heart-driven sentence. 

This morning, I’m thinking about my poor under-developed heart center. I need acknowledge it, listen to it, exercise it. To be clear, I’m sure my heart has driven me in some of my actions. And I think I’ve just not acknowledged its role, or given it an appropriate place in my world. Today, I will seek to listen to my heart, and to see what it’s calling me to seek.

Jun 21 2021 Day 126 Psalm 21-24

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?



This is a very familiar bit of psalms. In my tradition we read the entire psalm 22 during the stripping of the altar on Maundy Thursday, or the Thursday before Easter. This line is also read during the retelling of the Passion, both on Palm Sunday, and Good Friday, because this is the prayer Jesus recites at from the cross. It’s powerful to me to think that God-incarnate read these God-inspired words as we mortals were executing him.

The reflection for this morning’s readings is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who reflects that the psalms are powerful precisely because God-incarnate prayed the psalter. As a good rabbi, Jesus would have prayed the psalter repeatedly. And by his use of this specific line at his execution, it’s clear that the psalms became for him a deep and resonant part of his outlook. It is because we see God-made-man pray with the psalter that we have a model of how to get more out of the psalter ourselves.

I am grateful for this slow and persistent walk through the psalms. I don’t always love the poetry, but I do appreciate that this book of scripture contains probably every human emotion. These emotions were originally captured as David wrote the psalms. But through Jesus’ use of the psalms, God was able to understand these human emotions in very practical, mundane, human ways through Jesus’ experience as a human.

When David originally wrote, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”, it was a human petition to an invisible God. When Jesus prayed the same words, it was God-made-man realizing just what those words meant for us. Jesus cries on behalf of all humanity, acknowledging the sense of abandonment we feel sometimes. And Jesus cries out as the one to whom the prayer is offered, to God-immortal. It’s a perfect example of absolute empathy, of God being able to fully understand our human trials and joys, through Jesus’ life, prayers, and death.

This morning, I’m thinking about who’s recited the psalms through the millennia, about their trials and joys, and about a God who intimately knows what it’s like for us, because of Jesus’ praying the psalms.

Jun 19 2021 Day 125 Ps 17-20

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.

This morning, I’m sitting on a very humid, very lovely porch of a short term rental in Pittsburgh. There are loads of song birds, and some bird that’s whoo whoo whoo-ing. We awoke to thunderbolts and lightening (not very very frightening). Yesterday, was a long travel day to get from Portland to Pittsburgh. Every time I go ‘back east’, I’m reminded how far the west coast is from virtually everything. Even using the term ‘back east’ is indicative of the west coast’s distance. People use the term ‘back east’ to refer to anything east of say, Colorado. In any case, it was an early morning flight, a layover in Seattle, and a long flight from Seattle to Pittsburgh. We’ve come for a long weekend away, and to visit dear friends who were going to Pittsburgh for the weekend. I’m loving the warm, muggy morning. It’s reminiscent of growing up in Chicago, after 30+ years in the incredibly moderate and not humid Northwest. Today, we’ll go get pierogis with our friends, and maybe catch a baseball game. It’s nice.

This morning, I’m thinking about seeing things in new ways, and then bringing back that new perspective back to the old ways.

This sentence, ‘Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you’, is a sentence I think I first recalled hearing after I’d started my discernment to get ordained. Once you contemplate some change like that, you start noticing things you hadn’t noticed. This was a sentence many preachers prayed immediately before starting their sermon. I doubt it really started the early 2000’s, but that’s when I first noticed it, because I was noticing what preachers did with a new eye. Hmm. Why are they doing that? Do I want to do that?

Today, when I came upon those words in Psalm 19, I was again startled. When a phrase from scripture becomes something that is memorized and recited without the scriptural citation, it’s a meaningful and yet untethered phrase. For as often as I pray the Lord’s prayer, I’m always a little startled to read the words from Jesus, ‘and when you pray to your father, pray like this – Our Father in heaven..” Of course the words come from some scripture, and when I stumble upon something familiar, it brings that scriptural grounding back into my prayers. May the words of my mouth….

So with this little phrase, it burst on the scene for me in the 2000’s, and I’ve put it neatly in the category of things that preachers say out loud or pray in their hearts, before sermons. And today reading that phrase on a porch on the other side of the US, I realize that category is way too small. Yes, it’s important to pray that God’s in my words and heart before I preach, but it’s also important that God’s in my words and heart before I open my mouth – ever.

To be clear, I’m grateful I have a toolbox for preaching. Without it, and without sticking this phrase in it, I probably would have skimmed over those lines amidst all of the laments and petitions from this section of Psalms.

I want to take that prayer out of its tool box and invite it into my every morning, every time I open my mouth, every time I take a walk to pray, or lay down and get wrapped around the axel of my own chattering brain.

Likewise, I want to take this relaxed vacation morning, sitting on the porch in the dripping humid weather, back to my regular life. I don’t need to hurry up and do anything. Categories and toolboxes and habits are wonderful to create some sense of order in our brain and lives. And occasionally, we need to reevaluate it all to make sure it still makes sense.  

So today, as I make breakfast and visit with friends, let the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

Jun 17 2021 Day 124 Psalm 13-16

How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?

The commentary along with today’s psalm reading is from Eugene Peterson, and he writes about laments. He reports that 70% of the psalms are laments, and that laments are patently missing from modern day woes. True, we have societal, political, climate, pandemic, scandalous woes. True, there’s lots of reporting, gossiping, editorializing and studying woes. But there is a lack of lament. Not so in the psalms.

As a society, we are beginning to come out of this season of pandemic, and there is much rejoicing going on and being planned. I am wondering whether we should learn from the psalms and spend time lamenting. I don’t suggest this because I love feeling bad, or beating my hand on my chest, woe is me. But there is something honest and raw in acknowledging what’s been lost. It seems like as a culture, we could stand with some grieving.

To be clear, I don’t suggest this lamenting because I’m good at it – far from it. I’m one of the least likely people I know to wallow, or grieve or lament. But I suspect personally, I could stand with some lamenting too. My husband and I see a counselor because life in our home is kind of challenging sometimes, and we need to be rock solid. Our counselor said something interesting to us about trauma. We were talking about trauma informed counseling or ministry. She suggested we were living a trauma informed life. Whether it’s because we’ve gotten used to our household circumstances or because we’re numb, it mostly doesn’t feel traumatic. Her response was that we were handling things with grace because we didn’t pretend it wasn’t hard; we acknowledged the trauma our loved one is experiencing, and by proximity, us too. Side note, there are studies indicating that caregivers of people with schizophrenia have a significantly higher incidence of PTSD than the normal population. I can believe it!

Acknowledging the trauma is a great first step. But we haven’t ever really lamented, rending our hearts and not our clothes. I suspect that’s true with many of us. Even if we’ve acknowledged a loss, we try hard to put on a good show, that we’re all right. Maybe we, individually and collectively, should work on lamenting. We frequently get it right at the death of a loved one, whether it’s the week-long mourning of sitting shiva or a memorial. We give ourselves permission to lament and grieve. But we experience losses throughout our lives, that go unacknowledged. I know when I’ve got too much unacknowledged grief when sappy commercials make me weep. It’s time for a good ol’ lament.

This morning, I’m thinking about finding a few of the poignant lamenting psalms and committing them to memory, so I can pull them out for the big and little losses I experience. I’m also thinking about how to help create in a communal lament for what we’ve lost in these past 18 months.

Jun 16 2021 Day 103 Psalms 9:1–12:8

O LORD, you will hear the desire of the meek; you will strengthen their heart, you will incline your ear to do justice for the orphan and the oppressed, so that those from earth may strike terror no more.

Psalm 10 is a prayer for deliverance from enemies. The wicked do all sorts of bad things, trapping and tripping the orphan, poor and oppressed, believing God will do nothing. This prayer refutes that, acknowledging that God sees and knows all, and will deal justly with the wicked.

Side note – I know that I have dealt wickedly at times, and I hope God will deal both justly and mercifully with me. That’s one of my challenges with these hellfire psalms; it’s easy to assume that I’m always on the side of the righteous, and that the people I’ve deemed as my enemies are the ones who deserve the justice. On the other hand, my slip-ups were simply momentary lapses in judgement, so God will certainly deal with me with more mercy than justice. I don’t think everyone who reads the psalms gets to be on the side of the mercy-deserving-righteous every time, otherwise who would be the wicked? I think we’re all on both sides of that battle, all the time. But I digress.

I’m struck by the simple petition in this prayer. God will strengthen the heart of the oppressed. It doesn’t say that God will remove from them all woes, or kill the oppressor. Rather, God will simply strengthen their heart. God will listen and do justice for the oppressed, but to the oppressed, God will strengthen their heart so that those from the earth may strike terror no more.

To me, this sounds like a God-given fundamental change or bolstering of the internal constitution of the oppressed, rather than a guaranteed change in the external conditions in which they find themselves. I love this, because it supports lots of wisdom I’ve read and tried to practice. I genuinely don’t have power over anything beyond my reactions and thoughts, as much as I’d like to try to change what’s beyond me. But with a God-strengthened heart, I can withstand so much more.

Yesterday, for example. My sick loved one was on substance-altering bend. We were supposed to go out to dinner, but that clearly was not going to happen. They decided they wanted to slam their bedroom door repeatedly: open-slam, open-slam, open-slam. The reason for this? They wanted to get into their bedroom, but the door wasn’t working right, so they had to keep trying, louder and louder. My affronted self-righteous heart went downstairs, threatening to take the door off the hinges, nose to nose with my belligerent who was ready to rumble. Not one of my finer moments. That moment passed, and by the time it was time to settle down for the night, I was feeling calmed and genuinely strengthened. Our lovely sleeping porch was likely not going to be the place to settle in, as our loved one was continuing their boisterous, mostly happy social media entertaining directly below. It was loud. Without malice or martyrdom, I suggested we sleep inside.

It’s not just that I proposed moving inside, it’s more that I did so with love and acknowledgment that our loved one was sick, stoned, and unable to alter their behavior that night. I couldn’t have changed their behavior or decibel if I’d wanted to. But my heart was strengthened to better equip me to respond to what was happening around me.

This morning, I’m thinking about all the ways God can strengthen my heart, so that I am better able to be loving and non-reactive to what happens around me. It’s not my job to change what’s going on beyond my personal bubble; that’s God’s to work out.

Jun 15 2021 Day 102 Psalms 5:1–8:9

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?


Before moving to Oregon, I’d never seen a shooting star. Not in Seattle, not in Des Moines, not in Chicago. But sitting on our back porch without city light pollution, we saw them all the time. That was one of the first times I was awe-struck by the moon and stars. Stars are amazing enough; even in the city we could see stars. But to see stars that were fizzling out, thousands of years ago – that was amazing.

I don’t understand astronomy or astrophysics, but I do know that there is only a limited array of substances from which all things are made, and that I’m made from the same stuff as the moon, stars, trees, oceans, animals, sidewalks – everything. That is amazing. Whether you think it’s amazing because of the science behind it all, or the mystery behind it all, it’s astounding, really.

Not only are we all made from the same stuff, but I know that God loves each of us, as God’s most precious. The vastness of God’s love for humanity is mind boggling, if you imagine the 7.8 billion people God loves. And God knows my getting up, and sitting down, my thoughts, dreams, and fears. That means that God’s love is not only wide, but deep. God knows the number of hairs on my head, and grains of sand, and keeps the oceans in their place.

Again, whether the awe stems from God’s handiworks, or the mysteries of physics, biology, anatomy, and engineering, we live in an absolutely amazing world.

This morning, I’m thinking about the breadth and depth of God’s creative powers and love. When I head out on my walk in the morning sunshine, I will pause to be grateful for all of the created beauty, and wonder how God can care for us mere mortals at the same time.

Jun 14 2021 Day 121 Psalms 1-4

 But their delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law they meditate day and night. (Psalm 1:2)

Today, I begin the waltz through psalms, and at the pace set by the “Pray through the Bible in 365 Days”, Psalms will take about a month. I must admit that I’ve only recently warmed up to the psalms. How many ways can you express joy, anger or fear? But after a couple of years where my life has taken some unexpected turns, I have come to appreciate the nuanced expressions a little more. Additionally, my tradition’s practice of daily set morning prayer includes a psalm every day. Over the years, I’ve prayed the psalms numerous times. I’m not getting to the place where sometimes when the beginning line is cited, I know the responsive line, or I know how the psalm ends. Definitely not always, but increasingly.

The challenge for me when reading the psalms is that frequently, the mood of the author does not coincide mine, and then it’s hard to read or digest. Given the number and variety of psalms this happens more than not. On those occasions, I try to listen, appreciate, and let it go. I try not to argue with the author about why he doesn’t need to rail at God, or why there isn’t anything good to rejoice about. I also try to note what the underlying sense of the psalm is. Is it joy because of someone else’s success? Fear of oppressors, fear of God, fear for someone else? It would be great to be able to look up in my internal card catalogue and find precisely the right psalm for today’s emotion. Sometimes that works. And in most every case, there is a psalm to reflect the sentiment du jour, I just need to find it.

The phrase that’s picked out for today’s reflection is from Psalm 1, and notes how we can delight in God’s law and meditate on it day and night, and to round out the prayerful reflection, there’s a commentary from Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He writes, “daily, quiet attention to the Word of God which is meant for me, even if it is only for a few minutes, will become for me the focal point of everything which brings inward and outward order into my life.” Yes!

I didn’t think this was the case for me, but I do know that when I start my day with a scripture and prayer filled meditation, it sets my whole day off better. I’ve even become one of those people who has a few memorized verses, that I can pull out when I need them. Those verses come from a deep resonance in my soul, rather than from rote memorization, and they mean a lot to me.

This morning, I’m thinking about the discipline and resulting blessing of praying with daily scripture. Even when I don’t feel like doing it, and even when I don’t have any ‘aha moments’, there’s something satisfying in that practice.

Jun 13 Day 120 Job 38:1–42:17

I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.

Finally, God speaks. God starts with a lengthy reminder of all of the things God does that humans cannot: cutting a swath in the rain for thunderbolts, telling the seas where to stop, created the storehouses of hail and snow. God appears displeased with Job’s petitions, asking, “shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?”

Job repents, acknowledges that he spoke what he didn’t understand, and things he did not know. God accepts this, and then proceeds to tell the friends that they had it all wrong. Where Job complained about his woes and was forgiven, his friends tried to explain Job’s plight. Job must have done something wrong. Job didn’t pray hard enough. God isn’t just or God isn’t listening. These arguments angered God more than Job’s objective and justified grousing.

This is great news for anyone dealing with anything challenging. It’s ok to be upset. And we shouldn’t jump the explanations of Job’s friends. God is just. We haven’t done something wrong. It’s not about our prayers. God is listening. This story does dissuade us from the wrong explanations, but it doesn’t do a lot for the right explanations. I am left with the firm belief that sometimes things happen in the world that I cannot explain and certainly don’t seem like part of any of MY plans. And God’s plans are bigger and better than mine. I don’t know what’s next, but I believe God does.

Getting to the end of Job, I was expecting to write a lot about what Job teaches us about God and trouble. I was, however more struck by the accompanying reflection by A. W. Tozer. He reflects about the relationship between humanity and how we perceive God. “What comes to our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.” Hmm. He argues that in history, no society has ever risen above its religion. When we have a limited small vision of God, that’s as far as we will go, small and limited. He also says this happens about whole faiths traditions. The most important things about a church are what it believes and says about God, as well as what it leaves unsaid. A small or judgmental image of God leaves us to become small and judgmental, individually and collectively. Wow.

It’s not what we do that matters most, it’s what we believe about God, because we will always be drawn to that image, and if our image is expansive and loving, that’s where we end up. I want to always believe in a God that is all-loving, all-welcoming, all-accepting, all-merciful. I want to always be a part of a faith community that believes that too, so we can all move towards that vision of God’s kingdom come. Job didn’t diminish God, even in his trials. He didn’t make God less loving or just. But his friends did.

It’s an unseen mysterious connection between what we believe about God and how we behave. And I’ve seen it in my home, in my better moments. When my loved one is especially snarly, I can be all-loving because I believe God is all-loving and God loves my snarly loved one, and asks me to too. When my loved one goes to the store in a sweatshirt and underwear, I try to be all-accepting, because God accepts my pants-less loved one, and asks me to accept them too. That’s not to say that I condone or encourage pants-less attire, but sometimes it happens. Other times, I’m not so loving or accepting.

This morning, I’m thinking about the idea that humanity will never grow beyond its thoughts about God, and conversely, how we can grow beyond what we previously thought possibly, as we’re striving towards a bigger image of God.

Job 32:1-37 Jun 12 2021 Day 119

“Hear this, O Job; stop and consider the wondrous works of God.”

Job’s three buddies are trying to give him an explanation of his troubles. Along comes Elihu, a fourth ‘helpful’ friend. I must admit that I got lost in the 5000 year old poetic prose, but I think Elihu is trying to explain that God is good, and good to good people. Job is afflicted, ergo he must have done something bad. And what’s worse, Job is whiny, complaining about his troubles. (If anyone who knows more reads this and can kindly correct my understanding, please do!!)

To prove his point, Elihu talks about the thunder of God, of all of the beautiful creatures, of God’s all-powerful nature, and God’s justice. He asks Job to stop and consider all of the wonderous works of God. I’m sorry, but this is patently not helpful.

At this time, Job has lost his wealth, his children and his health, because of some silly wager between God and Satan. I absolutely believe God is wonderous, and all powerful, and just, and merciful, but in the midst of these trials, it is not helpful to remind Job that God is good. God doesn’t seem very good to Job at this point.

I will admit I’m probably one of the worst at this, offering platitudes and comments like “look on the bright side..”. I want to fix, or help fix. And I can equally admit that when I’m the recipient of this well-intentioned-but-ill-received counsel, it is not helpful.

Some years ago, I had a stalker. I’ve since obtained a stalking order, and they’ve moved on to other targets, when not in jail. But at the time, it was all-consuming. They’d contacted previous and current employers, written all sorts of horrible stuff about me on their blog, and grabbed pictures of my family and friends and posted that on their blog as well. At one point, I was beyond exasperated. I called a dear friend, and explained the latest chapter in the saga. She said that I shouldn’t worry, I was safe, and the stalker wouldn’t hurt me. Unfortunately, this was said to allay my concerns, but was absolutely unknowable. The stalker was mentally ill, and I was set in her sights. We genuinely didn’t know if I was safe. Luckily, I was close enough with my friend, I explained that wasn’t helpful, please try again. She asked for time to think about it, and called a while later with Ephesians 6:13, which I still hold dear. It follows the well known bit about putting on the breastplate and helmet and full armor of God. And after having done all you can, just stand.

I couldn’t know what was going to happen with the stalker, but I could get prepared, and then actively stand, knowing God was standing with me whatever happened. While there’s power in standing, there was even more power in receiving counsel that was genuine, and not resulting from a hope things were going to be ok.

Similarly with my current sick loved one. Well intentioned people offer counsel and words of encouragement that aren’t, really. This is a permanent illness, where my loved one’s capabilities or “base line” is being eroded. Good days won’t lead to more good days. They aren’t a sign of ongoing clarity, or a tidy resolution. If my child had cancer, I wouldn’t be advised to offer up some ‘tough love’, to make sure they pull their weight in the house chores. I’ve been advised that the illness could be resolved with an exorcism, avoiding kitty litter, a high fat diet, or exercise. Thanks for the suggestions. And it’s not entirely helpful. Not only do I not want to introduce a new diet, I couldn’t implement for a strong-willed very sick person anyway.

And it’s not especially helpful to hear that God is just and good and wonderous. I know that to be true, but it also sounds like a way to explain that if something bad is happening, it must be something I did, because all-loving God wouldn’t. I imagine that this is how Job is feeling at Elihu’s eloquence.

So after bashing the well-intentioned counsel I’ve received, what would be helpful? I’m not sure. Prayers for peace, calm moments, tolerance. Friendship and companionship not because I have crappy things at home, but because friendship and companionship are always beneficial. Doing nice things without asking what I need.

This wasn’t intended to be a rant, and I apologize if it sounds like that. And if you’re supporting someone dealing with a problem, be cautious when offering advice unless you actually have experience with the crisis. And if you want to offer some helpful supportive comments, be careful it doesn’t sound like Elihu. Just look at all of the wonderous things God has done. Bah Humbug.

Jun 10 2021 Day 118 Job 22:1–31:40

[A]n upright person could reason with him, and I should be acquitted forever by my judge. . . But he stands alone and who can dissuade him? What he desires, that he does.

Job continues to respond to his friends’ thoughts about Job’s trials. You’re being mistreated because you sinned. Because God isn’t listening. Because you haven’t prayed enough. Job responds with his faith-filled responses. Here he’s explaining that if things were like his friends were describing, then an upright person could just reason with God, and all would be well. Unfortunately he continues that God stands alone and no one can reason or dissuade him. What God desires, God does.

But isn’t that why we pray? Didn’t Moses convince God not to destroy the Israelites? Although it’s really tough for me to get my head around, I think both ideas are true, even though they are seemingly mutually exclusive. Yes, God cannot be reasoned with. God cannot be bargained with. What God desires, God does. And yes, prayer matters. God listens, and God changes their mind. (Note: I’m not feeling feminist when I refer to God as they/their. But neither do I think God is male. Given the fact that as Christians we believe in the Trinity, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to describe God as they/their, regardless of whether that’s because I like the gender-neutral pronoun, or because it’s reflective of the plural nature of God.)

So if prayer matters, if good doesn’t result from my prayer, does that mean I haven’t prayed hard enough, God wasn’t listening, or God wants to punish me? I don’t believe any of that. I guess I believe that God has a master plan that affects me and everyone around me. Given that pesky free-will, sometimes we mess up that plan, because we behave in ways unanticipated by God. Plans change to reflect and accommodate changes in our world.

Also, God appreciates our connecting with God about things in our world. God knows implicitly what’s in my heart, but God also wants me to explicitly talk to God about it. My conversations, or prayer, can affect God’s plans, as God sees fit. What God desires, God does. Sometimes, what God desires aligns with what I think is right, and other times, God has other plans. In those instances, I don’t get the benefit of knowing what God’s plans entail.

This morning, I’m thinking about that tension between believing God does what God desires, and believing that both prayer matters and God is good. If I pray for a particular outcome, and it doesn’t turn out that way, I believe God’s ultimate plan will be better than whatever I could have conceived, even if I cannot see that outcome now.

Jun 9 2021 Day 117  Job 15:1-22

One dies in full prosperity, being wholly at ease and secure, his loins full of milk and the marrow of his bones moist. Another dies in bitterness of soul, never having tasted of good. They lie down alike in the dust, and the worms cover them.

Poor Job. He’s covered with sores, his flocks and herds have died, as well as his children. His four friends join him and unfortunately, they don’t help much. They’re pretty certain that God is just, and does good things for good people and bad things to bad people. Because of this certainty, clearly Job must be a bad person as evidenced by all of the bad things happening to him. Alas, no. Job explains that he has been a good and faithful servant. Even in the midst of his woes, he utters that great line made more famous by Handel, “I know that my redeemer lives”. Job retains his faith.

He also points out that the idea that good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people is patently not true. Plenty of bad people live their lives in comfort, at ease and secure, while other bad people dies with bitterness of soul. They lie down together in the dust.

There is no magic formula for what we must do to garner God’s good graces. There is no tit for tat. We are loved and cherished by God not because of anything we’ve done. Conversely, there’s nothing we can do that will result in us not being loved and cherished. We are loved not because of who we are or what we do. We are loved because of who God is, and what God does. In my tradition, we believe the bonds between us and God are indissoluble. This is good news for all of us who try to do good. I cannot blow it enough that warrants God withholding God’s love. Nothing.

The flip side is also true. God does not punish the wicked in this life. There is no quid pro quo for badness or evil. Job is not being troubled because of anything Job did. Plenty of bad people skate through this life seemingly unscathed. I know that my redeemer lives, and on the last day, God will stand and judge the earth. I don’t know what happens to the truly evil bad people, but I fully believe that it’s something that they need to account for, when they meet God.

Having bad things happen certainly is cause to question the all-loving, all-powerful God. Even Jesus did it on the cross. My God, My God, why have you forsaken me? But the bonds of love are indissoluble. Job worried about what he’d done, but when pressed by his friends, he rightly pointed out that God is not interested in transactional relationships, either for our good, or for our ill. God’s grace and love is always available.

This morning, I’m thinking about the freedom in realizing that bad things really do happen in the world, without there being a causal relationship between my actions and God’s reaction. I’m not that powerful; it isn’t about me. Meanwhile, God will always be there.

Jun 8 2021 Day 116 Job 6:1–14:22

He deprives of speech those who are trusted, and takes away the discernment of the elders.

Job is lamenting his tribulations, and becomes despondent. He acknowledges that God knows all things and contains all things and defines all things. The accompanying reflection is from Joan Chittister, and focuses on stability. I needed to hear that.

Stability, she writes, is staying put in the midst of trials. Of fixing my eyes on something greater than me, and just staying where I am. She suggests that when we can focus on something greater than ourselves, when smaller things come and are turbulent, we’re more likely to withstand the trial, because we’ve set our focus on something greater. In my world, this makes so much sense. I have doggedly fixed my eyes on God’s love and grace, and when lesser things risk upsetting my applecart, I can be stable in my presence, even in the midst of the problems.

Even as Job is despondent, he’s crying out to God which is a clear sign of faith. If he’d lost his faith, he wouldn’t be talking to God. That is some powerful faith, to shake one’s fist at God, and trust that God can handle it.

While Job is shaking his fists, he also notices that God deprives the speech of those who are trusted and takes away the discernment of the elders. Hmm. This speaks to me. God takes away the very things that those elders felt they had, which was the power of discernment which comes from age. Or God takes away the speech of people who are trusted. We must assume that the trusted and elders have done nothing in this little sentence to warrant God’s removing the very gifts and talents they have. Job is saying that God just arbitrarily takes these things away from good folk.

So is this capricious of God? Does God get pleasure in thwarting the elders and trusted? I certainly hope not. I can’t explain why God does what God does, any more than Job could. And I’m not even sure it’s my job to question why. Rather, I can think about what now. If the elders have been stripped of their discernment, what do they do now? If the trusted don’t have speech, what now? How is God present in this moment, and where is God calling the elders now?

I cannot explain why my loved one is sick, or any possible rational reason; I am not God, and cannot see what God sees. And what now? What am I to do now? Where is God calling me now, given all of the new circumstances in my world?

Sister Joan’s notion of stability helps with this. I don’t need to question why, or try to fix things. I just need to stay focused on things larger than myself, in the midst of the storm. And let that larger force help guide me to whatever’s next.

Jun 7 2021 Day 115 Job 1:1-6



[T]he LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.

Satan has bargained with God that humanity is not truly grateful for God, but only for the good things God grants. God suggests that Satan take a look at Job, and to have do what he will, but spare Job’s life. Satan destroys all of Job’s flocks and herds, and kills all his children. In response, Job blesses God, acknowledging that God gives and God takes away. Wow.

I must admit that these past few months I’ve felt a little like Job, particularly with the tribulations of my sick loved one. That was before my unanticipated loss of work. After that, I was pretty sure the open sores from Satan’s game were coming next, as they were the next test of Job.

I know that I have an excessive deference to authority, and to what’s supposed to be. I follow rules. Perhaps it’s this rule following tendency that’s allowed me to stick with the notion that God is loving and good. All the time. That’s what I’ve been taught, so that’s what I believe. In a silly but perhaps illustrative analogy, I remember arguing with a friend in grade school about a box of pencils. The box said there were 144 pencils in the box. My friend asked how I knew. I couldn’t understand her question. There are 144 pencils because the box said so. Plain and simple. God is with me, and good, because that’s what I’ve read and been taught. Plain and simple.

I also know that I have a gift of faith that comes from God, in addition to my rule-following obsession, and for this, I am eternally grateful.

My challenges with Job’s story as well as mine have more to do with motive. Why would God let Satan have his way with Job? God isn’t killing Job’s family, but he allows Satan to. Why would my loved one be facing this crappy disease, after a really crappy first few years of life? I can hold on to faith during these times, and I know God is present, because the box said 144 pencils. And my uncertainty comes from imagining a situation where a loving, present God would allow crappy things to happen.

I had a lovely conversation with a friend about Job recently (I never thought I’d write that sentence!). She explained that God is not transactional; Job couldn’t do anything to guarantee a change of situation, and neither can I. There is no quid pro quo. I understand that, but definitely don’t like it. If only I could do something so God would make my loved one better, or kinder, or happier. If only.

Later in the story of Job, his friends throw up lots of explanations about why this has happened, and how Job should be responding. I will read those with interest, as well as Job’s response. I don’t understand, but I hold on doggedly to the notion that the first step is to praise God in all things, as Job did.

This morning, I’m thinking about blessing God in the midst of trouble, and how that sets the narrative as the rest of the story unfolds.

Esther 5:1–10:3 Jun 5 2021 Day 114

[T]hat they should make them days of feasting and gladness, days for sending gifts of food to one another and presents to the poor.

Esther and her guardian uncle Mordecai have saved the Jewish people from the destructive plot of Haman. The day the whole lot of the Jews were to be destroyed was turned into a day of celebration. The word for ‘the lot’ is pur, which is the root of the Jewish celebration, Purim. Purim starts with a day of fasting and reading of the book of Esther. As is written in Esther, Purim also includes giving gifts to friends and family, and donating money to the poor.

There is something deeply rich about celebrating something in the same way and manner as is prescribed in scripture written nearly 2500 years ago. People throughout time and space have been sending gifts of food to one another and presents to the poor to honor the events in Esther, a book in scripture containing zero references to God. I love this.

Clearly there is a deep understanding to the people from the 4th century BCE through current day, that God is at work, even if God’s name isn’t invoked or praised or refenced at all. It’s like Jung said, bidden or unbidden, God is present. In my own life, when I feel like there are patches where God is absent, it’s just because I’m not looking or noticing God. Even in the crummy times, God is present.

The religious honor given this seemingly secular story of Esther is a great reminder that religious honor and celebration can and should include seemingly secular stories. When good things happen in the world in corners where God is not intentionally bidden, the religious community should still celebrate God’s victory in the world, just as the Jewish people continue to celebrate Purim. We can celebrate the successes of secular people, even atheists, as an example of God’s work in the world.

The other part I love about the celebration of Purim is that it is a celebration called out in Scripture. In our Christian faith, we have many celebrations but few are called out in this level of detail. To me, that means that the celebration itself can morph and be subject to the whims of the times, without the grounding force of scripture to tether it. For example, our celebration of Christmas didn’t begin until more than 300 years after Jesus’ birth, and didn’t become a regular holiday until 500 years after that. There’s evidence that the date of December 25 coincides with a pagan holiday to celebrate the passing of the winter solstice and the lengthening days in the northern hemisphere. That rhetoric was picked up by the Christian community, and soon it became a wonderful truth that Jesus was born just as we all needed longer light days (in the northern hemisphere). Don’t get me started on Easter, which was named for a pre-Christian goddess Eostre, and the celebration itself was a pagan festival to celebrate spring. And we don’t even agree with the Orthodox Christians on the date of Easter. Our monotheist scripture doesn’t mention the goddess of spring or December 25.

To be clear, I’m not knocking our lovely traditions of Christmas and Easter. They are important ways we’ve marked our faith, in the absence of scriptural clarity. And we should recognize that the celebrations are constructed by humans, and have morphed over time and will continue to morph. How many people celebrate an entirely secular Christmas and Easter?

We need to hold on to the details of our celebrations lightly, recognizing they’re rooted in very little, and where we find something deep and true, we should hold on to that. For example, there’s a chant sung at the Easter service starting Saturday night, normally by a deacon. That chant goes back to the 600’s. It’s not spelled out in scripture, but it’s one of the older components of our Easter Vigil. I’ll hold on to that. Pentecost is also mentioned in Scripture, so that’s one I hold tightly. This morning, I’m thinking about the depth of my faith, and about how much of the celebrations are constructed by well-intentioned people of faith throughout the ages. I’m also thinking about how God is present even when not mentioned, and how some of those moments, like Purim, should be celebrated too.

Jun 4 2021 Day 113 Esther 1:1–4:17

Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.

Ah, the Book of Esther. It’s a sweet story, surprisingly absent of any mention of God. Esther is a young Jewish girl who ends up the queen of Persia. Because the Jews followed the law of Moses and not the law of the King, they were deemed a threat to the King and a plot was made to kill them all. Esther’s uncle knew of the plot and told Esther, and he told her that she would not be spared, even as the queen. He suggests that perhaps she came to become queen for just a time as this. His sentiment indicates some greater power at work that resulted in her becoming queen. There’s the God connection.

One thing I like about Esther is precisely this absence of overt God language. God is present even when God isn’t explicitly named. The result of God’s providence is evident all around us, all the time. And I’d even suggest that of course Esther’s story made her for just that time. Not just that moment, but every moment.

So what does that say about our lives? Are we made for just this time? What about this time makes me especially well-suited? How could this be part of any master plan?

I don’t assume to know the master plan, but I absolutely believe I am right where I’m supposed to be, doing just what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t always get it right, but I’m caregiving for a very sick person. Sometimes that care looks like loving attention, and other times it looks like tougher arguments, intended to further their sense of self-sufficiency. And in my poorer moments, it looks like frustration and unnecessary grousing. Every day is a combination of both.

Now, I have more free time to take care of things, including walks, naps and exercise, along with cooking, cleaning, and gardening. All of this is seemingly critical. I was made for such a time as this.

When I stay connected to God, my life is as it is supposed to be, even if the circumstances don’t seem like it. Like Esther’s story, my days aren’t all about worship, and all my language doesn’t reference God. But as long as I am connected, God’s fingerprints are all over my story. How are you made for just a moment as this?

Jun 3 2021 Day 112 Nehemiah 11:1–13:31

The joy of Jerusalem was heard far away.

The people have finally returned to Jerusalem and the Temple, and they celebrate. The author even points out that the women and children celebrate, and their joyous celebration was heard far away. That idea makes me smile, of hearing other people’s joy carrying through the air.

And this was not a people without strife, as they’d just recently returned from captivity in Babylon. And still they celebrate. Their celebration wasn’t because their world had somehow become trouble-free, and perhaps the joy was even greater because of their woes.

I’m reminded of the practice of gratitude. There’s a new craze of gratitude journals where you capture something good about the day, every day. Or there are morning practices that include noticing gratitude. At one time in my busier days, I had a planning notebook that included pages for noting what was happening every day, week, and two different month formats. On one of the month calendars, I simply jotted a few words in (nearly) every day of things I was grateful that day. The practice forced me to seek and find the joy in the day, even if it was otherwise a crummy day. I also really enjoyed looking back at the month and remembering the momentary joys, all captured on one page.

When I pause to find something to be grateful about, only then can I celebrate. And those are little celebrations that happen throughout the day, and flow naturally from the observed and intentional gratitude. This morning’s walk included a walk around a large man-made pond that several duck families call home. One family originally included 3 ducklings. Over the past week, there’s only one duckling left. But today, the mama duck was sitting on the side, and I didn’t see the duckling. But as I passed her within 3’, she ruffled her feathers, and there was the baby duck tucked safely under her wing. I was grateful, and did a little happy dance. My own mini-celebration.

And for me, these little celebrations teach me something about larger celebrations, whether they’re holidays, or social gatherings or parties. Without first making space to intentionally be grateful about something, even a big shindig can be lifeless. No happy dance. There have been plenty of parties where I’m definitely not feeling the festivities. The party itself was fine – all the right people and causes. What was missing was my sense of gratitude. That’s what makes me want to celebrate.

This morning, I’m thinking about the relationship between gratitude and celebration. I think you can’t really celebrate without first being intentionally grateful. And I think the reverse should be true. For every time I find something for which I’m grateful, I ought to find my own way to celebrate. Even if it’s a happy dance at the pond.

Jun 2 2021 Day 111 Nehemiah 8:1–10:39

And Ezra said: You are the LORD, you alone

And so begins Ezra’s lengthy recount of God and God’s goodness. God alone made the heavens, the earth, and all that is therein. God called Abram, and created more descendants than stars in the sky. God brought the people out of Israel. And yet the people rebelled. Then God allowed bad things to happen to the people. The people repented, and God saved them again. And yet the people rebelled. Then God allowed bad things to happen to the people and the people repented. God saved them again. And again. And again.

It’s a lengthy recount of the hot and cold relationship the people have with God. And still God saves.

Where have I seen patterns of God’s faithfulness in my life? I haven’t had the tumultuous relationship the people of Israel seem to have had with God. At one point, I met with my parish priest and explained that my relationship with God was more like an old married couple, that takes the other for granted but knows they’re rock-solid. Sometimes a little underwhelming even. It was after that conversation God shook things up and I felt called to ordained ministry. God’s got quite a sense of humor and timing.

But where I don’t have the turmoil, I do see patterns. At times when I could have given up on God, God has persisted, and graced me with faith. When my son was struggling through high school and dropped out, I wasn’t angry at God. I prayed, and genuinely awaited some clarity (albeit with plenty of anxiety and motherly worry). Now, that boy is finishing law school. When my mom and then dad died, I turned to my faith community. When my loved one started their descent into this insidious brain disease, I didn’t blame God. There has been plenty of fist shaking at God, but that indicates a strong relationship, I think. We don’t argue with people who don’t matter.

So my history of God’s faithfulness shows me a constant gift of faith, especially when it’s most needed and least likely.

This morning, I’m thinking about God’s constancy in my life to give me faith. Where has God’s faithfulness appeared in your life?