Sitting in Jesus' Lap

As I child I learned about Jesus in Sunday School and in books of Bible stories.  One of my favorite images was that of children gathered around Jesus, with one or two seated in his lap. My faith was more surface faith as a child, but I could picture myself in Jesus' lap.

Today, in my 75th year, I sometimes imagine myself in Jesus' lap.  If I'm troubled or scared or uncertain, I hop up in Jesus' lap.  And I'm comforted.

We all have hard stuff in our lives, some more than others.  I'm blessed to have less than what I'm certain others carry.  Sometimes I imagine I have more than I actually do.  That's where the tidying up of my spirit and my soul comes in.

Still, this day I have the real deal.  And it's not my hard stuff, rather that of a dear, dear family member who is in poor health.  I'll journey to her this day and spend the next couple of days with her.

I'll be in Jesus' lap as my flight takes off, and again as I share time and troubles with her.

Traveling Mercies.

Reflection

For me, this Lent is about reflection. Looking back as well as considering the now.

What has brought me to this day that I shall retain?

What shall I discard?

Last year during Lent I read "The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up".  I immediately set upon de-cluttering my home - my closets, drawers and cabinets.  Whatever ceased to give me "JOY" was gone- passed on so as to provide joy for another.  It was freeing!

Now I find my mind and my soul need some de-cluttering.  There are burdens I carry that are based in habit more than reality; things that I could probably release through prayer and practice. There's a lot of unnecessary clutter that plays through my thoughts.

Virginia Woolf said: "My own brain is to me that most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring, roaring, diving, and then buried in mud.  And why? What's this passion for?"

I would add, what's the need being served, and could I discard?

Grow a Holy Lent

The Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, led by Bishop Rob Wright, issued an invitation this Lent to participate in a conversation about how to love like Jesus. Jesus taught us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. To love our enemies. Love Everyone. The challenge given us is to look inside ourselves to try to see what loving like Jesus means.

Each week during Lent the conversation will focus on one specific area about how to love like Jesus. Ideas will be offered, questions posed. 

I know I don't now love like Jesus. And I know I never will. But I do want to love more like Jesus. I'm joining this conversation. 

Ash Wednesday Airborne

Much of today was travel -- driving from the mountains to the city, then flying 5 1/2 hours on a diagonal route across the country.

I was fortunate to have time in the middle of travel to pray the Litany for Penitence in the sanctuary of the Cathedral of St. Philip. 

".....we confess to you and to one another....that we have sinned by thought...by word...by deed."

Then time to gaze out the window, watching the miles pass as the sun set, pondering how to "renew a right spirit in me." 

Greeted at the end of my journey by a welcome of smiles and hugs. Then at last covered in slumber. It will be well with my soul. 

Ash Wednesday

A crucial meeting, followed by travel, keeps me from attending Ash Wednesday services this year.  In its place, I have "Ashes on the Fly" at Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson airport.  The Reverend Donna Mote, Episcopal Chaplain at ATL, provides ashes to travelers arriving or departing on Ash Wednesday.  I found Donna on the E Concourse before my flight to Seattle.

"Remember, from dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return". 

In an essay entitled "The Weight of Ash", the Reverend Deborah Lewis writes: "It's an odd and intimate gesture, brushing someone's hair aside to mark her with death." And so in that moment I receive a reminder - of what I am, and what I will be in the end.  She says that when one receives the touch of the Imposition of Ashes, we are to listen for God's reminder, and walk away marked.  This is who you are.  Remember.

Remember.  Feels like that should be my Lenten discipline this year.