Sunday (two days ago) was Children's and Youth Sunday at our church. It was GLORIOUS and watching preschoolers and elementary kiddos and youth lead worship reminded me of how quickly time passes.
Y'all - this was on vacation at least 15 years ago but I swear it was 15 minutes ago...
I record this fact because, while I didn't write a blog post daily, I DID write daily - and the writing consisted of liturgy and approximately 6 drafts of the sermon I gave at 8:30 worship, and a 7th draft that made its debut at 11am worship. Publicly confessing this feels like a mea culpa, but when I got to feeling really slack about keeping up with my proclaimed Lenten practice, it dawned on me that writing doesn't have to look the same way every day. Then I felt better acknowledging I'd engaged in quiet reflection and spent time grounded in God's presence despite not having a daily 'product'. Isn't that a sign of the times - thinking we have to produce something to "get credit" for following through? What a silly half-truth I told myself for the entirety of last week! Presence is the more important part of this practice notion, I've decided. Taking time to slow down, be fully present in the moment, savoring each word that appears on the page and wondering if it's just the right one, that's the practice. The product, perhaps, comes after we've practiced enough to feel like we've approximated capturing exactly the image/feeling/thought springing up from within.
Yesterday I wrote a newsletter for parents of children and in it I suggested a few ways to help make Lent more concrete for minds that aren't quite ready to deal with abstractions. Funny enough, the concrete suggestions are what jolted me into realizing the power that comes from practice. It reminded me that the earth gives us clues about how to move through liturgical seasons and what a privilege it was to bear witness to some of them on Saturday when I played in our yard and cleared out flower beds. I discovered the bare winter ground that had just months before let go of last year's growth and taken time to shed its old skin was making space for this year's springtime blooms. Seeing little stalks of Hosta peeking through the soil made me slow down and walk more carefully, so as not to step on them. Clearing out leaves from a flower bed revealed the lilies we planted two years ago had multiplied and made me slow down and use the rake a little gentler. I also discovered the harsh freezes we had this winter killed seven hydrangeas we planted last year, so I pulled them up and slowed down to grieve their loss a little.
Being outside in the sunshine, amid the new growth, clearing out the old growth, was a reminder that I have to do those same things internally, too. The world is harsh, just like those winter freezes, and it's taken some beauty away in the past year. AND - the world is surprising and beautiful and resilient, with miracles to celebrate all around us. This Sunday's Children's/Youth Sunday was the perfect reminder of miracles during this season of pruning and preparation. The new life that buzzed in our worship space was a tangible experience of the renewal we are preparing for at Easter. The practice of pruning and preparation, while laden with hard emotions and experiences, makes the new growth, blooms, and resurrections all the more meaningful. As a diehard preschool teacher to my core - last week reminded me it's so much more about the process than the product - as a worship leader, a mama, a yard lady, and a human. My prayer is that I do better at slowing down, remembering that truth and giving myself, and other people, more space to lean into the process. May it be so.
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