Pastoral Prayer: Listen & Testify

I offered this as the pastoral prayer in worship at Central Christian Church, Lexington, Kentucky on January 18, 2015. The previous week we celebrated the Baptism of Our Lord and remembered or anticipated our own baptisms. The theme of the week was "The Darkness of Incivility" particularly pertaining to racial strife and conflict. 

Holy God,
Fresh from the waters of baptism, secure in the knowledge of our beloved-ness, we meet our first faithful challenge: to listen.

Not to interject
       or interrupt
       or even to interpret.
To listen.

Teach us to listen before speaking, for we've had the microphone too long.
And before we endeavor to give voice to the voiceless, let us listen to their stories from beginning to end.

For the un-named, voiceless, hidden parts of our own stories, we pray for the courage to testify; that in sharing we may find that we are not alone.

Teach us what it means to accompany one another.
What does it mean to accompany Nigerians as they are slaughtered by militants?
What does it mean to accompany the French as they mourn?
What does it mean to accompany those whose homes are ravaged by typhoons?
To accompany those whose neighborhoods are controlled by poverty, fear and violence?

We know that when we open our hearts we will receive what we need to live faithfully. So break open our hearts. Give us eyes to see clearly, ears to listen carefully, hearts to receive, and tongues to speak wisely.

Teach us to listen first. To pass the mic. To testify. To pray and to support.

You are relentless in your love for us, and for this we give you thanks.

Amen.

#BlessedAreTheCrazy: Making It Work

What follows is part of my own journey with depression. It might resemble yours. It likely will not. Mental illness is NOT one-size-fits-all. For an awesome resource on mental illness in the church, read Sarah Lund's book Blessed Are The Crazy. For an honest laugh at depression, click the photo below.

I still remember the day it clicked. It wasn't like a ray of sunshine or a rainbow or anything, but it was an epiphany. A star shining in the night. A weight shifted into a more comfortable place to carry.

You see, I was called to ministry at age 13. This career is, literally, all I have ever wanted. I tried to try on different career options but God kept calling me, pulling me, driving me into leadership in the church. It's where I am at home. I am called. 

When I began to experience depression and anxiety in college, my heart sank in more ways than one. The depression told me, and I believed it, that I could not be a good minister if I was depressed. The depression told me, and I believed it, that I would never be able to care for a congregation if I couldn't take care of myself. And depression definitely prevented me from caring for myself. 

My journey with mental illness led me to see a counselor toward the end of college. Through counseling I realized that my depression would be more easily managed with medication. I began taking medication a week before I left for Divinity School. I began to identify as a person who would live with mental illness for the rest of my life. I was thrilled by all the things I was learning and experiencing in graduate school. I was terrified by my daily struggles to do simple things, though much improved once I found the right medication regimen. The rigors of grad school continually changed my schedule, routine, and efforts at being well. I continued to rely on medication to manage my stress and anxiety. Much of my stress and anxiety stemmed from a deep conviction that I couldn't be a good minister if I was depressed. I was convinced that I would never be good enough for the job God called me to do. 

During grad school, I began to explore the sources of my depression more fully with therapy. I was no longer just coping, I was seeking the source. I started to question the things that depression claimed were true, but I still clung to my greatest fear: that I wouldn't be a good minister. Many people tried to tell me that I would be fine, that it would get better, that knowing mental illness from the inside would help me have greater empathy with others. I couldn't hear them over the heartbreaking things my depression told me. 

The epiphany came in the fourth floor ministry suite in Swift Hall at the University of Chicago Divinity School. I was sitting with my peers in our pastoral care practicum. On the topic of chronic mental illness and pastoral care, I shared my biggest fear: that I wouldn't be a good minister because of my depression. Perhaps it was the vulnerability that allowed me to hear it, or perhaps she phrased it differently than others, but my professor said to me, "McKinna, you can make this work for you, not against you. You will likely always struggle with this, but it can become one of your strengths. It doesn't have to be your weakness."

Something shifted. I continued to question the claims of my depression, but I also began to converse with it as a respected partner. No longer did it lord itself over me (well, most days), but I stood on equal ground with it. I carried it with me in my purse alongside my Bible. Most importantly, I no longer believed that it would hold me back in ministry. Instead, I began to believe that if I learned to use it well, I could be the sort of minister I felt called to be: good, faithful, steadfast, and trustworthy. I began to realize that the more I punished my depression, the more it would fight back to injure me. But when I treated it like I would a small child, I was able to gently interact with it in a more constructive way. I started to see past the lies that depression tried to tell me about myself and into the truths it was telling me about the world. That there are shadows and they are real. That sin lingers like a scar on every human heart and undermines the foundation of all of our institutions. Depression made me come to terms with the facts of life: that many of us struggle to survive, others are handed a tool-kit for success, and there's little rhyme or reason to any of it. It was only THEN that I was able to ask, "What's God got to do with it?"

The answer to that question, "What's God got to do with it?" is for another blog post, and perhaps, I'll just be trying to live into the question my whole life long.
I'm okay with that.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

My ability to manage and question my depression is the only reason I survive it. Throughout grad school medication was a crucial piece of the management puzzle, as was weekly therapy, really good friends and roommates, and steadfast mentors who stared down the shadowy valley with me. I had to find my way to the manageable place before I could learn to work with depression.  Now that I am out of the stress-machine of grad school, my symptoms have changed. I no longer need daily medication, and I only see my therapist every other week. I have mostly "good days" or "okay days." I have very few "bad days" anymore, but when I do depression works me over and hangs me out to dry. On those days, depression is my enemy and I hate it. On those days I questions the truths I know: that my friends love me and care for me, and I treat my family and friends poorly. On those days I bargain with the world by saying, "I will survive this day by staying in bed, breathing slowly in and out, and eating mac-n-cheese out of the pan I made it in. And that's enough for today."

There are so many who spend weeks, months, years in that desperate place and to you I say: Fight it. Fight it hard. Please don't believe the lies. Surround yourself with people who will sit with you in the dark place and show you that you are not alone. Call the hotline, call your therapist, and pet your dog/cat/gerbil/fern.

You're not alone. Not now, not ever.

If you need immediate help, the national (US) suicide prevention hotline is 1.800.273.8255.

A Christmas Eve Prayer (for all year 'round)

Loving God,

Mary and Joseph likely didn't expect a stable for the Savior they knew was coming. The shepherds were just trying to get in an honest night's work and a little shut eye under the stars. Fast forward and the Magi were probably looking for someone a little more, um, royal.

But they opened themselves to your way of doing things in order to receive and be a part of the greatest love story ever told.

Your way of doing things is different than ours. It is all at once whimsical and wise, sacred and mundane. It is peace in the middle of a war zone. It is justice rendered in a corrupt court. It is music ringing out in the darkest night. It is light that will not be extinguished. It is crazy, sacrificial, unreasonable love that stands up to fear. Your way of doing things is different than ours. And we are so glad for that.

Teach us your way: we need peace in the middle of war zones, justice in corrupt courts, music in the night. We need a baby in a manger, and a savior in Mary’s arms. We need to love our enemies and with our food we could feed thousands if we could only learn how to share. We need Jesus, and tonight a child is born unto us. Break open our hardened hearts to receive your Son.

Teach us to pray with humility- for our vulnerable earth, for the poor and needy, for the cold and naked on our doorsteps. Teach us to act with courage- to give more than we knew we could, to look the stranger in the face and dare to see something holy. Teach us to believe with abandon- that love makes a difference, and that peace is possible. Teach us to walk in your footsteps and to be a part of your story: the story that has the power to change the world… and maybe even change each of us.

Steal our hearts tonight, we pray, and show us the way to your kingdom.
Amen.

Practices

My news feeds and brain is spinning with all the cool things by friends and colleagues are doing for Advent.

Whether it's reading stories with your kids, trying to set healthy boundaries on your time, working out, or praying, it seems that Advent is a great time to try a something new. After all, God is getting ready to do a new thing! Maybe we can join in!

For me, I've been feeling a little intellectually stagnant. I have lots of interests but little time to devote to them. My work days have been full of tasks and it's left little time for reading or learning. By the time I get home I find that I don't have much energy for anything that requires brainpower.

In an attempt to remedy my continual brain-fart, I'm going to watch a TedTalk every day for all of Advent. If I have time or find a particularly good one, I'll post about it here.

I'm not sure what I'll watch when, but I'll be starting with my TedTalks pinterest page every day.

Do you have suggestions? Let me know!

Here's what I'm watching today:

#SixWordTable

At church on Sunday, we sang that good old hymn “I Love to Tell the Story.”
But what it the story? We celebrate the Lord’s Supper every week, but what are we really doing here? What is the story of this table?

There’s a popular practice among people who tweet. We challenge each other to tell a story in six words. You might try to tell a six word love story, six word tragedy, or even a six word gospel or a six word bible.

Today I asked myself if I had only six words to tell the story of this table, what would they be?
I wonder what YOUR six words would be? I came up with a number of possibilities before I found one that felt true enough. I’ll read them to you now:

Filled with grace, bread
send me. (ehh, feels kind of clunky)

Receive body/grace,
offer self, service (still clunky, try again)

Belonging here,
I am sent out. (we're getting somewhere)

Room at the table for all (yeah, I like that)

I am home
Jesus is here (on to something...) 

Dear God, Dear God,
Help me. (sometimes this is all I've got when I get to the table)

But here’s the one that I settled on today:

I love you. Tell my story. 

Christian Century: Ambiguous Labor Pains

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now (Romans 8:22).

This year at Vacation Bible School I told the story of Jairus’s daughter. My plan was to have one child pretend to “sleep” and then be raised up by Jesus. But it turned out that all the children wanted a chance to be Jairus’ daughter. So around I went, taking the hands of “sleeping” children and touching their foreheads and saying something like, “Get up! Jesus makes you well.”

As I went around raising these children and sending them off to craft sheep out of marshmallows, I could not help but think of all the children who will not be raised up. I thought of my friend who had recently miscarried. This week, I think as well of the little ones on Gaza’s beaches and on our own borders. Pregnancy, birthing, raising children, losing them—all these acts leave me speechless. 

Get the rest at The Christian Century Blog!

Devotional: Scripture and the Bone of Song

I am often frustrated with scripture. It is mysterious, contradictory, out dated (on an initial read), contains varying genres, and upon reading large portions of it I feel quite sleepy.

The thing is I want more from my scripture. I want it to leap off the page and speak to me! I want to shimmer with energy in my hands. I want to see the world through the eyes and words of the author of whatever portion I'm reading. Instead, I end up with interrupting thoughts about my to-do list and a yearning for coffee.

My favorite singer/songwriter wrote about the canon of classic songs in a piece called "Bone of Song," which is linked above. 

As I've been hearing this song lately I thought that he could have been writing about the canon of scripture, too. He writes about finding an old jaw bone as he walked in the woods and when he runs his hand along it he hears songs (the fall of Troy, Auld Lang Syne, Magnificat, Your Cheatin' Heart) and though some of the songs are written in foreign tongues and dead languages he can read it all the same. There's a blessing written on the bone, older than all the rest saying, "Leave me here I care not for wealth or fame. I'll remember your song - but I'll forget your name."

I wonder if the Bible itself might be akin to the Bone of Song of which Josh Ritter sings. Full of varied music by many composers and poets, etched into the collective memory of a people who have interpreted the words differently throughout the ages. This holy text cares not for wealth or fame. It doesn't even care what I want from it. It is just here, waiting to be discovered, ready to sing if I'll listen.

The refrain of the song is this: "Lucky are you who find me in the wilderness/ I am the only unquiet ghost that does not seek rest."

Perhaps I have been approaching my Bible in the wrong way. Though it is old and her authors are long dead, perhaps she does not seek to rest and be still. Perhaps she is unquiet and waiting to be heard. Perhaps she is waiting for me to let go of my own "stuff" - expectations, desires, even my name - in order to hear the whisper song of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps I must leave my comfortable desk chair and wander in the wilderness before these words will speak.

God of Song and Living Word, You are unquiet. You are speaking. Help us listen. As we turn to your Word, let us set aside our own desires and expectations and listen instead for what you might say. We know that you hear our prayers and know our hearts. Let us also know YOUR heart. Amen.

Sermon: Crazy, Courageous, Changing Church

Check out my sermon on Romans 8:18-27 here.
This was delivered two weeks before our new senior minister arrives and excitement as well as anxiety is high. In the sermon I mention that every minute a woman in this world dies of complications with pregnancy or childbirth. You can help make a woman's birth a bit easier by making it more sanitary and giving her the right supplies by donating a Safe Motherhood kit here.

The scripture is below:

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

A Very Happy Birthday

Every year until this one, I've had a "summer break" birthday. That meant that I wasn't in class on my birthday (yay!) and that my friends or I were out of town (boo!). For the past few years I've been in grad school, and that meant I was writing papers on my birthday or have had them hanging over my head.

This year my life is different.

This year I am at work on my birthday. It's summertime, still, which means that as I hand out bus passes to our homeless guests here at the church I'm also handing out cold bottles of water.

This year I am church on my birthday. I'm still writing and reading, but this time I'm writing newsletter articles and doing sermon preparation.

This year I am living my call on my birthday, and that is the best gift I could have asked for.

Nearly 13 years ago, God found me in a circle of my friends from youth group. We were standing on my youth minister's front lawn as she prayed. While she said words of blessing over us I had three thoughts that came to my mind: 1) I could do this!* 2) I want to do this!* and the most important one: 3) I should do this!*

*"this" is defined broadly as ministry; more narrowly defined as being a kick-butt minister of the Word, praying prayers, singing songs, seeking to love the unlovable (which some days includes myself), and helping to build God's Kingdom here on earth. 

Nearly 13 years ago, God found me in a circle of my friends being blessed by a powerful and faithful woman. In that moment, God called me to ministry. Since that night, I have stood in many more circles of friends. I have been blessed by many powerful and faithful women (and men). I am humbled by the challenge, companionship, and hilarity my friends give me. I'm inspired by the powerful, faithful, vulnerable women and men who have shared their blessing with me. My cup truly overflows.

On my ordination day, my best friend gave me a ring that says: "I am not afraid. I was born to do this." I later found out that this is a quote attributed to Joan of Arc (who, coincidentally, was called by God through a vision at age 13, just like me). The ring is not a closed circle, but rather like a jump ring. The openness of the ring reminds me to keep my heart similarly open, but the ring itself reminds me of my commitment to God's call, the Church, and my ordination vows. I wear it daily.

This year on my birthday: I am humbled, blessed, loved, unafraid, and living God's dream for my life.

Thank you, Jesus. 

On Matthew 11:28, my newsfeed, and my yoga mat

I cried in my yoga class yesterday. I was twisting and bending in some god-awful pose that hurts-so-good and the tears just started and would not stop. After releasing from that pose, the tears cleared up but my guard was up and I couldn't help but wonder why I had cried. During our final pose, corpse pose, the tears came again. I left feeling shaky, weepy, sad, and confused. I had gone to class seeking a yoga high, and but all I got was a yoga cry. Apparently yoga crying is a thing and not all that unusual, but I'm still feeling kind of weird about it. I was unable to leave it "on the mat" as many yoga enthusiasts say.

When I opened up my facebook newsfeed this morning, this is what I found:

- #yesallwomen is still trending on twitter, giving voice to women everywhere in the fight against misogyny.
- Maya Angelou died today at age 86.
- Cute animals doing cuteness in a cute place. Squee!
- A friend's mother died after a long and difficult journey with cancer.
- Vacation pictures! Gorgeous! (Also, jealous!)
- This blog post. That blog post. All the blog posts.
- A really good sermon!
- Baby pictures! He's sitting up on his own! She has a full head of hair!
- Weird people from high school friend-ing me. No thanks.
- A Buzzfeed list.
- The Onion article.
- Another engagement.
- Multiple women have posted about the loss of their pregnancies.

What an incredible cross-section of the human experience. And it all (even the good stuff) weighs heavy on me today. Even though I'm not writing this from my yoga mat, I feel like crying all over again. My own life, like my newsfeed, seems to hold all the feelings all the time. As I hold all of my "news" items alongside the suffering and anxiety in my congregation, the lives of my friends, and my own life I understand more fully that Jesus' words and promises are for all of us, including me.

Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

How do I lay down this heartbreak, this heavy burden? Was it ever mine to hold? What does it mean to exist in this world and not be weary? I ask because I do not know.

On days like today when I walk through waves of grief, anxiety, fatigue, joy, gratitude, uncertainty...
On days when I just sit in my office and try to find the words to pray...
On days when I contemplate the promises of God alongside the realities of life...
On days when I shake my fist at the sky for the unfairness, the loneliness, the powerlessness of ministry...

Into this day God breathes life and love.
Into this day God walks with me.
Into this day God sees the tears, the shaking fists, the bowed shoulders and God hears the prayers and the sighs too deep for words.

Into this day God speaks hard-to-believe-words-of-comfort:

 “Come to me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest. Put on my yoke, and learn from me.
I’m gentle and humble. And you will find rest for yourselves. My yoke is easy to bear, and my burden is light.” -Mt. 11:28-30 CEB

Lark

My quest to blog every day for Lent has not gone all that well, but I'm back to it as we prepare for Holy Week.

As spring continues to emerge after a cold and difficult winter, I've been listening to Josh Ritter's "Lark" a whole lot.

The chorus sings:

I am assured, yes

I am assured, yes

I am assured that peace will come to me

A peace that can, yes, surpass the speed yes,

of my understanding and my need. 

In the wilderness, it's hard to remember the trees that rustle as if to kneel and listen
Or the priestly green answers dressed in labyrinthine

I've had a hard time hearing the heartbeat of a lark, or a lark in my heartbeat. 

The chorus of "Lark" makes reference to Philippians 4:7 (the peace of God passes all understanding). The verse preceding states "Rejoice...The Lord is near." As Holy Week approaches, we grow closer to Jesus. He's coming to Jerusalem and the palms are rustling in anticipation.

The Lord is near. Rejoice. Peace is coming. Christ is coming.

Maybe soon I'll find the lark in my heartbeat.  

Still Beautiful: She Came Down

I was thrilled to be a guest preacher at First Christian Church of Georgetown, Kentucky this past week and I've posted the audio file of my sermon here, along with the most perfect photo from back-on-pointe!

It's 16 minutes long and I read the scripture (2 Cor. 4:7-12) within the sermon.

The major sources (other than scripture) that I used were Kristine Culp's book Vulnerability and Glory: A Theological Account, Amy Frykholm's See Me Naked: Stories of Sexual Exile in American Christianity, and I reference Carol Barnett's incredible composition "The World Beloved: A Bluegrass Mass" musically and verbally. 

Preaching With a Broken Heart

Shortly after my most recent move, my long-time boyfriend and I ended our relationship. The very next week, I was scheduled to preach.
As a part of a multi-pastor church my colleagues graciously offered to step in and preach in my place, but I was stubborn. I decided that I wanted - no, NEEDED - to preach.

All week long I struggled with the gospel text. In between jags of crying, I tried to read commentaries but I couldn't focus. I made notes. And more notes. And more notes. But all the notes were just interesting facts I learned about the scripture and little questions to ask. Nothing substantial had come to me, and when I needed the gospel to speak to me I just could not hear a thing. As I stumbled, tired and exhausted, through the week the sermon still would not come. I had no idea what it would mean to preach the gospel on that text.

Get the rest at The Christian Century blog!

 

Art credit: Kirsten Malcolm Berry

Follow up: What's at stake here?

I'm so grateful for the response that the last post inspired here, on facebook, and in some personal emails and fbook messages.

Considering my audience (mostly churchy types who, using Tillich's language, have an Ultimate Concern), your responses were totally right on. When one has an Ultimate Concern it's easy to lose one's self in the concern, worry, and work. To that end, we must also remember that God wants our well-being, and yes, happiness. Not everything must be at stake all the time. To believe that everything is at stake all the time - and that it is up to ME (singular) - is a form of ego. Many of you rightly pointed out that faith in God means believing that God is the One who will put all of our little efforts together. It's up to US, not ME, and God will assist our collective effort. And thank God for that.

My rant was more of an indictment of those who would rather distract themselves, change the channel, or avoid the hardness and heartbreak of being a person who gives a crap in a hard, hard world. For example: the girl in middle school who, lacing up her brand new Nike's, listened to me talk about sweatshops and the country her shoes were likely made in. Her response: "Well, at least they have a job. Not my problem."
[Granted: I was pretty obnoxious and self-righteous in middle school.]

Another example: Asking someone you love dearly what they want out of life and having them respond with a blank stare. There's more to life than just today? Like, a future? And maybe a purpose to life and our relationships? What a novel idea.

What can I do, then, as a pastor to folks like this? Folks who, when I'm being honest, are not that far from where I am some days. It's hard to care. It's hard to figure out how to address the many issues that confront us on a daily basis. Sometimes you just have to back away and binge-watch Buffy on Netflix.

But when you emerge from the Netflix/Buffy cave.... What then?

I am constantly thinking of Dorothy Day: "I wanted, though I did not know it then, a synthesis. I wanted life, and abundant life. And I wanted it for others, too." 

How do we find that abundant life for ourselves and for others? Or, since we're all incredible and individual creations of an awesome God, how do YOU find it? 

#reLent

A rant: What's at stake here?

In my line of work, I often ask this question of myself and others.

Depending on the situation, the answer is easier or harder to discern, but there is always something at stake.

Perhaps it is one's feeling of belonging to the church and therefore to God. Perhaps it is one's perceived value as a leader. Perhaps it is a measure of control in this one, tiny, area of life. Perhaps what's at stake is one's identity. Or happiness. Or integrity.

Perhaps the Kingdom of God is at stake. As I said, it's easier or harder, bigger or smaller, depending on the situation.

I repeat: there is always something at stake. If there's nothing at stake, you're doing it wrong.

What I mean is this: life is risky. A faithful life is especially risky. You're making claims about reality, eternity, and the way things ought to be. You're making decisions not just for yourself, but for others, and you're committing to live a life that benefits and serves people beyond your immediate family. In a faithful life it's not possible to say, "That's not my problem," or "I just can't deal with that." Whether the "problem" is in Syria or your backyard, it's up to you to make a difference.

[Caveat: This is not to say that one single person can solve ALL THE PROBLEMS. Sometimes you have to choose which battes to fight. And there certainly are situations in which one has no control, whether because you have no power or your power has been taken from you. But the fact that you can't necessarily make a difference doesn't mean that you can abdicate any and all responsibility, or that you then have license not to care.]

Perhaps another way to ask the question: For what are you willing to go to bat? What do you want or desire so much that you are willing to sacrifice and fight for it?

It's a sinful and sad reality that many cannot answer these questions. When asked, many respond with blank stares. "I don't know. What do you mean? Like, I want to be happy... Does that count?"

Every philosopher and theologian of all time rolls over in their grave whenever someone over the age of 11 says, "I just want to be happy." [Another caveat: if you're drunk and whining, you might be allowed to be awfully inarticulate and selfish. I'm talking about a real conversation, here.]

Happiness is certainly a valuable part of the equation. But happiness, in the proper sense, is a bit bigger than one individual life. For one's own happiness is in many ways dependent on the capacity and ability of others to attain their own happiness, and the capacity for society to sustain the happiness and wellbeing of the whole. If your own "happiness" depends on the slave labor of others, then that's not happiness. That's oppression.

So I ask you, what's at stake for you? For what are you willing to sacrifice? Dare I pose the existential question: What's the meaning of [your] life?

Lent

In all seriousness, though, Lent is probably my favorite season. People challenging themselves...confronting their mortality which makes God's grace and resurrection all the more powerful...purple paraments...the assurance that God is with us in the wilderness...

I would say A word (that ends with -uia), but I can't. 'Cause it's Lent. So, here's a picture of grumpy cat instead (thanks maryhomegirl)

A reminder for every day

All the little things

Today was full of lots of wonderful, small, glorious things:
Hot coffee
Sunshine
A long walk at the arboretum
Phone calls with two dear friends
One Lindt chocolate truffle
Driving with the windows down
A very adorable and happy baby
The smell of that happy baby's head
The dear friend who gave birth to that baby, who is one of the most wonderful people I know
A nap in the sun
Really yummy honey mustard salad dressing
A sweet cat who steals my pillow
A clementine orange
And a roof over my head

For all these things, and more, thank God.

Synthesis

"I wanted, though I did not know it then, a synthesis. I wanted life, and abundant life. I wanted it for others, too." -Dorothy Day, The Long Loneliness