Lent Photo a Day: Refuge

Much like yesterday’s word, “prosper,” “refuge” is a word we all know but rarely use. And also like yesterday’s word, one of the few usages that comes to my mind is a Bible passage: “You are my refuge and my strength.” I don’t even know where that’s from, except that it’s probably a Psalm. A quick Google says that it’s Psalm 46:1, and it also says that the word “refuge” is used throughout the Psalms in reference to God: “In You I have taken refuge,” “He is my mighty rock, my refuge,” “You are my strong refuge,” “It is better to take refuge in the Lord,” “You are my refuge and my shield,” etc., etc.

I usually try to avoid overly blatant Christianity in my blog so more people can relate to what I have to say, but the word “refuge” strikes too much of a chord in my Christianity for me to not focus on it. God is, to put it simply, too much of a refuge for me to ignore Him on this topic.

“Refuge” itself is such a weighted word: it implies not only fleeing from something, but it also implies throwing oneself on the mercy of another. When I think of someone who is seeking refuge, I picture someone who is fleeing from persecution, usually unfair persecution. I picture a political refugee with a price on his or her head. I picture someone fleeing from abject poverty with no chance of getting out of it. I picture someone begging, pleading, to be set free from some kind of horrible persecution and repression. And I picture someone who is appealing to another for help, whether it is a person, a country, an organization, or God Himself.

I would not consider myself to be persecuted, and yet I often feel that I need refuge from my own comfortable, first world life. When I feel overwhelmed by my responsibilities, I seek refuge. Not usually a physical refuge (although with two small children who follow me around more closely than my own shadow, sometimes it IS a physical refuge), but an emotional refuge. I need Someone who will take on my burdens for a moment. Someone at Whose feet I can lay everything that is resting heavily on my shoulders, everything that is clutching at my heart, everything that is frightening me. I need a refuge Who can be my strength when I have no strength.

And whenever I need that refuge, God is always there, waiting for me with open arms. My refuge and my strength.

Refuge.

Lent Photo a Day: Prosper

I’m enough of a geek that the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the word “prosper” is, naturally, “Live long and prosper.” But the second thing that comes to mind is one of my favorite Bible passages, Jeremiah 29:11: “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.’”

The interesting thing about the word “prosper” in these two passages is that it’s almost a reversal of itself. In “Live long and prosper,” prospering is something that is happening to you. It’s internal. It's passive. But in the Bible passage, prospering is something that God is actively doing for and to you: He is causing you to prosper. Prospering isn’t just something you do for yourself or that just happens to you that benefits you; it’s something you can do for someone else that benefits them.

Prosperity has been a goal of American culture ever since the country was founded. We strive to prosper, to be successful, to be financially sound, to fulfill all our own needs. But what about the other sense of the word? Do we strive to help others prosper? Do we try to help others be successful and financially sound? Do we actively work to fulfill their needs? Do we prosper them?

As a Christian, I believe that I am created in the image of God, and that I am charged with striving to be more like Him. So how am I prospering others and not harming them? How am I giving others a hope and a future? Am I sharing the prosperity that God has given to me?

Prosper.

Lent Photo of the Day: Breath

Your breath is something that you usually can’t see. Of course, in the cold, dry winter weather, you can sometimes see it when you go outside, or if you breathe onto a cold windowpane. But most of the time your breath is totally invisible. But even though you can’t see it, you know it’s doing its job.

Your breath has one main job, obviously: to keep you alive. Your breath pulls in life-giving oxygen when you inhale and gets rids of toxic carbon dioxide when you exhale. If you hold your breath for long enough, you pass out. If someone smothers you so you can’t breathe at all, you die. Bringing in oxygen is the single most crucial function of your breath.

But your breath also has many other jobs. Speaking, for example, cannot be done without your breath. Your larynx creates the sounds of speech, but it cannot do it without your breath passing through it and causing vibrations. Keeping your throat clear is another. Without breath, you cannot cough to clear something blocking your airway. Another convenient, if somewhat less important, function is warmth. How often have you used your breath to warm your hands, or trapped your breath under the bedcovers to warm your whole body? And on the opposite end of the spectrum, how often have you used your breath to cool off a hot bit of food or to soothe a burned finger?

Just because your breath can’t be seen doesn’t mean that it isn’t important, or that it doesn’t matter. You can’t see kindness, but kindness matters. You can’t see freedom, but freedom is important. You can’t see justice, or love, or God, but what you can see, much like with breath, is their effect. Don’t be fooled: sometimes the most important things in life are the things that you can’t even see. Like breath.

Breath.

Lent Photo a Day: Peace

My world is filled with some kind of noise nearly every moment of every waking hour. I wake up in the morning to the sound of little voices down the hall (sometimes chattering happily, sometimes screeching painfully). Through most of the day, there is a constant background noise of voices from the television or radio, of music playing, of traffic going past, of ringing telephones, of children playing in the next room, of my husband deep in conversation on the phone. It isn’t necessarily unpleasant noise, or even unwelcome. But it is nearly constant. So on the rare occasion when there is a moment or two of peace, it’s noticeable. And pleasant. And very, very welcome.

This morning, for some reason, my kids were reasonably subdued when they got up. I settled them in the downstairs playroom with their breakfast, without turning on the television. They ate quietly, without squabbling or talking or constantly calling to me as they often do. I came upstairs to make myself a cup of coffee, and didn’t turn on the radio, as I usually do in the morning. And then I noticed the local mourning doves wandering around on the porch, looking hopeful, so I went outside to give them their breakfast. I noticed that it was as unusually quiet and peaceful outside my house as it was inside. Unlike just a few days ago when the trees in my yard had been so full of noisy birds that I could hardly hear anything else, now I could only hear one single bird, perched so high in the branches that I couldn’t even pick him out, happily singing his spring song to the blue sky, whistling in short bursts with long pauses in between, as if he were waiting for his lady love to reply.

I stood there for several minutes, feeling the warm sun on my face and the cold flagstones under my bare feet, smelling the damp smells of early spring, listening to the alternating silence and song from the tree above. And I felt peace.

Peace. 

Lent Photo a Day: Call

As a stay-at-home mom, when I hear the word “call,” I immediately think, “telemarketer.”

My husband recently subscribed us to a service which compares every phone number that calls our house to a list of known scammers, telemarketers, and con artists. If the number matches one on their list, the service automatically answers the phone and then hangs up, which means that I hear the phone ring just once, then disconnect. So I never even think about answering a call until the second ring.

This service has been remarkably successful in getting rid of people who are concerned that my computer has a virus, people who want to let me know that I’ve won a free vacation, people who are excited that a relative has left me a large amount of money, my dead grandmother who is stranded in Mexico, and the occasional Nigerian prince. It is somewhat less successful in screening out chimney cleaning services, ninety million well-intentioned but annoying charities, and paid fundraisers.

Of course, in this day and age of caller ID and call screening, even after that second ring I take a look at the phone screen and decide whether I want to take the call or not. I receive several mail-order prescriptions from the world’s most annoying pharmaceutical company (motto: “We’ll Call You As Many Times As It Takes For You To Say, ‘Fine! Just Send Me the Damn Meds!’.”), which means that every month, like clockwork, they call me seventeen times in a row to remind me that I might need to refill one of my prescriptions, although they’re never able to tell me which one. Silly me, I thought that when I declined their automatic refill service, it meant that they would let me decide when I needed more medications, but apparently it actually means that they will call and hound me several times a day over the course of several weeks until I call them back and refill my prescription, whether I need to or not.

But I digress.

What I am trying to say is that receiving a call is not the exciting feeling of personal worth and achievement that it used to be many years ago. I no longer feel wanted or special just because my phone rings. A call is no longer a flattering request for personal contact, it is not the longing of a loved one to hear my voice; it is more likely a stranger out to pick my pocket. And that is sad.

Thanks to modern technology, “personal” contact is more likely to come in the form of an email or a text message. Which is convenient, in a way, because I can finish what I’m doing before I read an email or a text, instead of having to interrupt making dinner or brushing my teeth or trying to put a child down for a nap to answer the immediacy of a ringing phone. But at the same time, it lacks the personal connection of hearing a familiar voice. An emoticon is no substitute for laughter, or a catch in the throat. There’s just something special about getting a call.

Call.

Lent Photo a Day: Live

There are a lot of different ways of understanding the word “live.” In its most basic sense, it’s purely a state of existing: if you’re breathing, if your heart is beating, you’re living. But in another sense, living requires more than merely existing. If all you’re doing is breathing, that’s not living. Living requires experiences. It requires doing things. It involves thinking about things and affecting the world around you and making choices. You can choose to just be, or you can choose to really live.

And in between those two extremes, there’s a whole spectrum of “living.” Toward one end, there’s spending a lot of time alone, and toward the other, there’s constantly being around and involved with other people. One end is mostly observing the world around you, the other is actively working to change the world around you. One end is passive, the other is active. And each of us needs to decide where on the spectrum we want to be.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing to be at one end or the other. Both have advantages and disadvantages. One end takes more risks and is therefore more dangerous, but with a greater chance of a big payoff. The other end is safer and more peaceful, but lacks the adrenaline surge of the first. Who is to say that one of those options is intrinsically better than the other? For one person, the fear of the danger is more painful than the reward of the possible payoff. For another, the excitement of the possible reward more than offsets the security of not risking the odds. Where on the spectrum you choose to live should be determined by your own unique set of scales.

And yet, it’s healthy for all of us to explore other parts of the spectrum. The more cautious among us can benefit from taking the occasional risk, and the daredevils among us can benefit from trying out a more passive role now and then. The cautious livers may be missing out on some excitement, and the risky livers may be missing out on some serenity. Until you bring yourself to actually try another role, how do you really know it’s not for you?

So try moving around on the “living spectrum.” It doesn’t have to be a huge jump, just a little nudge to one direction or the other. Try something new, whether “new” means more risky or less. Break out of your usual box. Push that envelope.

Live.

Lent Photo a Day: Celebrate

Today is Palm Sunday, part of the Christian celebration of Easter. On Palm Sunday, Jesus Christ was welcomed into Jerusalem, riding on the back of a humble donkey, cheered by thousands of people who covered the dusty road in palm branches and waved palm leaves in celebration. Today, Christians around the world will reenact this celebration by singing “Hosanna!” and waving palm branches.

To me, one of the most moving parts of any celebration, particularly any religious celebration, is a sense of unity. Even if you are alone, you are not alone in your celebration. Every celebration is, in some way, a celebration of community. Whether you are at home with your own family lighting Shabbat candles, or sitting in a steadily darkening Tenebrae service with a dozen other congregants, or in a temple full of hundreds of other worshippers raising your voices in a unison chant, there is an entire community celebrating with you. Somewhere in the world, there are other families lighting Shabbat candles, other congregations dimming the lights to celebrate Tenebrae, and other believers chanting the same ancient prayers. Even when you celebrate alone, you never celebrate alone.

Celebrate.

Lent Photo a Day: See

“Oh be careful, little eyes, what you see…” When I was a little girl, this was one of the songs we often sang in Sunday school and vacation Bible school. The verses included, “be careful, little ears, what you hear,” “be careful, little feet, where you go,” “be careful, little hands, what you do,” and “be careful, little mouth, what you say.” Whether or not you believe the rest of each verse (“There’s a Father up above, and He’s looking down with love”), this is wise advice for any child – and for any adult.

As the parent of two small children, I’ve become more aware of the things around me that aren’t really appropriate for children, and it makes me aware of just how inured to certain things I’ve become. For example, I might be reading in the living room and have a movie on the TV that I’m not particularly watching, but when my kids walk into the room I suddenly realize that there’s graphic violence and blood that they definitely don’t need to see – and really, neither do I. And if I’m working at my computer and have a website up that uses some profanity, if my 5-year-old-who-reads-everything-out-loud peeks over my shoulder, I don’t want him exposed to that – and frankly, I don’t particularly want myself exposed to it, either.

Please don’t misunderstand me: there’s nothing wrong with a certain amount of TV and movie violence and blood and guts, and if other adults want to drop f-bombs into every sentence, that’s their prerogative. My problem with it is that it’s not something I want for myself – and yet, I let myself be surrounded by it. And it takes my children being exposed to it that remind me that I don’t really want to be exposed to it myself. Or at least, if I’m being exposed to it, I want to be conscious of it, instead of just having it around as a presence I’ve gotten so used to that I no longer see it.

My children help me to see the world around me more clearly. Their presence forces me to re-evaluate the way I live my life. Because they see me, and they copy me. And if they see me allowing things I don’t want in my life into my life, they see them as being perfectly normal and acceptable. I want them to see me consciously choosing what I surround myself with based on my own moral code. When they are adults, maybe they’ll have a different moral code than I do, but I want them to be aware of their own moral code, and to consciously live their life by it. I want them to think, and I want them to see.

Be careful, little eyes, what you see.

See.

Lent Photo a Day: Meditate

I’ve never been one for meditation, at least not in the sense that most people imagine it. I don’t take a specific, regular time every day to find a quiet place and consciously clear or focus my thoughts. I don’t practice yoga that teaches me to relax my body and calm my mind. Even when I go to bed at night, my brain is usually spinning with thoughts until I fall asleep. The rare quiet time I do find is filled with prayer, which is a form of meditation, but it’s not exactly clearing my mind of thought.

But every now and then, I do escape from the busyness of my external and internal worlds. Sometimes it’s snuggling in my bed, listening to the rain on the roof. Sometimes it’s soaking in a hot bathtub full of bubbles. Sometimes it’s in front of a crackling fireplace. Sometimes it’s sitting on the porch, watching the sun rise or set. Sometimes it’s relaxing next to (or in) the pool. But wherever and whenever it is, it is my chance to relax my body, and then to relax my mind. And I think that perhaps I benefit from it all the more because it is rare, and therefore treasured. 

In our busy worlds, I think that too few of us (myself included) don’t take the time to meditate. We don’t give our minds a chance to rest, a chance to escape from our own hectic thoughts. We rarely focus our thoughts on only one thing, and most of our thoughts are focused on externals – things that we need to get done, problems that we need to fix, issues that we are charged with solving. We rarely give ourselves a mental breather. But our minds need a break, too.

So for the remainder of Lent, I am going to try to find at least a few minutes every day to close myself away from the external, to clear my thoughts, to give my mind a rest, to relax and to focus. To meditate.

Meditate.

Lent Photo a Day: Seek

“Seek” is not a word that most of us use in our everyday vocabulary. “Hide and Seek,” maybe, or the Biblical quote, “Seek and ye shall find,” are two of the very few times we might use it, or we might occasionally describe something as being “highly sought after.” But most of the time, we don’t “seek” things. We just search for them. So what’s the difference?

The dictionary actually defines the word “seek” in terms of the word “search”: Seek means “to go in search or quest of.” The word “quest” is also defined in terms of “search”: Quest means “a search or pursuit in order to find or obtain something.” And one last definition: Pursuit means “an effort to secure or obtain.” So seeking is a search involving effort, for something specific that you are trying to obtain. The implication is that the object you are seeking has significant value. You search for your lost car keys; you seek a lost treasure.

So what is it that most of us are seeking in this life? What is it that holds significant value for us? What do we put effort into obtaining? 

If we measure effort by the time we spend doing something, most of us must be seeking something to do with our occupations – after all, we spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week (and usually more) at our jobs. So is it a paycheck that we value? A professional reputation? Personal satisfaction in a job well done? Some combination of those things?

Maybe we should measure our effort not by time, but by passion. What is it that we are passionate about? What do we do that revives us, that excites us, that moves us to action? Is it a hobby? Charitable or philanthropic work? Are we seeking to challenge ourselves physically or mentally? To help our fellow man? To make the world a better place?

Or perhaps effort should be measured by our mental investment in the outcome of our seeking. How important is our quest? How concerned are we about finding or achieving it? How much does the success of our seeking matter to us? What will happen if we never find what we seek?

However it is you choose to define what you’re seeking, we’re all seeking something. Wealth, wisdom, fulfillment, a happy family, a better world, God. We all seek, and we all find, although we don’t always find what we were seeking. But sometimes, it’s just the act of seeking that’s important.

Seek.

Lent Photo a Day: Truth

I read an article the other day in which the author declared, “I’m not a liar. But Facebook is.” She went on to say that the image of her life, as created by her Facebook comments and photos, was much rosier than her actual life. In a way, she was creating a lie about herself.

This is probably true of most of us. We use social media mostly to share happy moments, to revel in our small (and large) successes, to announce good news. We occasionally gripe or vent or complain, but despite that, most of us unintentionally post an incomplete picture of our lives, and one that paints us as happier, more successful, and more fulfilled than we actually are.

So today, I am going to admit some truths that aren’t always seen on my Facebook or my blog pages.

I love my kids, but some days they drive me crazy. Like, crying in the bathroom crazy. Like, sending them to their room so I can calm down crazy. Like, meeting my husband at the door with my car keys in my hand at the end of the day crazy. 

It took me years – literally years to potty train my kids. I fake my way through a lot of parenting. I act like I know what I’m doing, but I’m totally flying by the seat of my pants. I let my kids watch TV and play with their Kindles a lot more hours of the day than I should. Sometimes I don’t take them outside to play because I don’t feel like going outside. I don’t offer them vegetables as often as I should.

I love my husband – a LOT – but there are times when I really, really want to punch him in the nose. Or at least Gibbs-slap him for being clueless. Sometimes we yell at each other, usually about stupid stuff. When I get mad at him, I do stupid, childish, passive-aggressive things like making him get his own dinner plate, even though I bring everyone else’s to them. Or I bring everyone’s clean laundry upstairs and leave his in the laundry room or on the stairs. (I strongly suspect he has never noticed either of these things, but it makes me feel better, in a petty, vindictive kind of way.)

I am terrified of home schooling. Even though part of me knows I am perfectly qualified to do it, at least for a few years, another part of me is sure that I’ll leave him unprepared for life and he’ll end up in some boring, dead-end job because I didn’t teach him to use a ten frame properly.

I make it a joke on Facebook, but I really do let my kids run around without pants on a lot of the time. And there are still a lot of days when we don’t change out of our pajamas until after lunch. Sometimes we don’t brush our hair or teeth till then either. And sometimes not even then.

I let them do stuff they probably shouldn’t, like climbing up the stairs on the other side of the bannister, or sliding down the bannister, or going outside with bare feet or no coat when it’s only 45 degrees out, or riding their bikes in the driveway without a helmet.

So my life’s not quite as perfect as it probably seems on Facebook. But it’s still pretty good. And that’s the truth.

Truth.

Lent Photo a Day: Mercy

Yesterday’s Photo a Day subject was forgive; today’s is mercy. So what is the difference between forgiving and showing mercy? The dictionary defines forgive as “to grant pardon for or remission of; absolve. To give up all claim on account of; remit. To grant pardon to. To cease to feel resentment against.” It defines mercy as “compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy, or other person in one’s power; compassion, pity, or benevolence.”

It’s a pretty fine distinction. I’m not even sure I understand the subtleties completely based on these definitions. But to me, the difference is that mercy is given to an offender who is under your power. Mercy is undeserved forgiveness. Mercy is the byproduct of love and compassion. Forgiveness can be given grudgingly. Mercy cannot.

Some of the most beautiful words ever written about mercy are spoken by Portia in Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice”:

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."

Here are a few other wise words about mercy, spoken by the famous and not-so-famous:

“I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.” – Abraham Lincoln

“For children are innocent and love justice, while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy.” – G.K. Chesterton

“The Lord’s mercy often rides to the door of our heart upon the black horse of affliction.” – Charles H. Spurgeon

“Mercy is the stuff you give to people who don’t deserve it.” – Joyce Meyer

“Because it strikes me there is something greater than judgment. I think it is called mercy.” – Sebastian Barry

Mercy is given when judgment and justice are deserved. Mercy is a blessing both to the one who offers it and the one who accepts it. Mercy is a washing away of an offense, as if it had never happened. Mercy is starting fresh. Mercy is cleansing. Mercy is purifying. 

Mercy.

Lent Photo a Day: Forgive

Of all the people in my life who need my forgiveness on a regular basis, the ones who are at the top of the list most often have got to be my kids. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids. My kids are generally good, well-behaved, thoughtful, lovable kids. But they are kids, which means they screw up and lie and disobey and get into trouble on a regular basis. Most of the time they’re so genuinely penitent and sweet that they’re easy to forgive. But then there are the days when they’re crazy and whiny and wired and tired and naughty and loud and frustrating all day long. There are days when I go to bed exhausted with the playroom still looking like this because I don’t have the energy either to make them clean it up or to clean it up myself.

When I look at this mess, I don’t find it easy to forgive them. They know that the rule is that you put away one toy before playing with another. They know that the rule is to pick up all their toys before bedtime. They are perfectly capable of putting things away neatly. But sometimes they just don’t do it. And they force me to be the bad guy who orders them to clean up, who stands over them like a prison guard, scowling and scolding, while they whine and plead. And sometimes I resent them for it. Why can’t they just clean it up quickly and be done with it in five easy minutes instead of drawing it out into half an hour of agony on both sides? Why can’t they understand that if they just obey, everyone wins?!??? WHY CAN’T THEY JUST CLEAN UP THEIR BLOODY TOYS?!!!!????

And the answer to that is, because they’re kids. And that’s what kids do. They test their limits. They try to get people to do stuff for them. They shirk responsibility. They whine and they complain. And they need forgiveness for their attitude. But you know what else? So do I. I need their forgiveness for my attitude. I need them to forgive me for my short temper, for my impatience, for my anger. I need them to forgive me for letting them get away with stuff sometimes, which just makes it harder when I do enforce the rules. I need them to forgive me for letting my bad day become their bad day.

And that’s a lesson they can teach me, even as I’m teaching them the same lesson: How to forgive.

Forgive.

Lent Photo a Day: Celebrate

For today’s “Celebrate” photo, I thought that I might be able to find a green sprout peeking out of my garden somewhere. I went outside and peered between the front bushes where the hostas often sprout early in the spring. I looked around the side of the house where ferns sometimes spring up. The area in front of the driveway where the bulbs are is still buried underneath several feet of crusty, sooty ice and snow. The few places where there was visible soil, there were no sprouts of green grass, no leaves getting ready to unfurl, no snowdrops about to burst into bloom. There was muddy dirt, and there was muddy snow. The only glimpse of green I could find was a manky old green sweatsock that had appeared in a melting snowbank a day or so ago, source unknown.

It was ugly against ugly, the filthy green against the filthy white. It certainly didn’t put me in the mind to celebrate. But as I glared at it in disgust, I realized that despite its ugliness, there was plenty of beauty around me. It was warm enough that I had come outside wearing a short-sleeved shirt and no coat. The rays of the sun had a golden quality that tinged the snowbanks with their glow and cast artistic shadows all over the yard. Dozens of different kinds of birds were singing happily in the trees. Overhead, a lazy jet made soft whooshing noises in the sky. Down the street, I could faintly hear the happy voices of boys playing street hockey. A neighbor walked by with his dog, softly whistling to her.

It’s not yet time to celebrate the re-awakening of the earth, the growth of the tiny green things, the rebirth of lawns and gardens. But it is time to celebrate the coming of spring: looking forward to those awakenings, to that growth, to the rebirth. There may not be baby birds, but there are eggs. There may not be sprouts, but there are seeds. There may not be spring, but there is anticipation. We can anticipate. We can hope. We can celebrate.

Celebrate.

Lent Photo a Day: Believe

The word “believe” is used in many different contexts: “I believe in God the Father, maker of heaven and earth,” “I believe I’ll have another piece of pie,” “I believe in global warming,” “I believe that children are our future.” It is applied to religion, to personal opinion, to politics, to science. It means accepting something as true, whether it is provable or not. You can’t prove that God exists, you simply believe it – or not. In the fact of conflicting scientific information, you choose which evidence you believe. In the case of pure opinion, you analyze the evidence on your own and believe what you feel is right.

Sometimes, a belief is held so strongly that it holds firm even in the face of direct evidence to the contrary: “I don’t/won’t/can’t believe it!” There is no proof when it comes to beliefs; believing is simply what your mind – and your heart – has determined to be true. It’s difficult to fight your own deep-seated beliefs.

Lots of beliefs are controversial. Not everyone believes that God exists, or that vaccines are safe, or that abortion should be legal, or that Chris Rock is funny, or that Leonardo DiCaprio deserves an Oscar, or that Democrats are better than Republicans. Holding some of those beliefs – and expressing them publicly – can lead to arguments, hurt feelings, even bloodshed. But there are a lot of beliefs that would make the world a better place if more of us held them. What would the world be like if we could all believe the following?

I believe that everyone has a right to his or her opinion.

I believe that the world is a wonderful place.

I believe that we need to take care of each other and the world we live in.

I believe that children should be loved and nurtured.

I believe that art of every kind should be encouraged.

I believe that everyone has something to contribute.

I believe that life is a gift.

Believe.

Lent Photo a Day: Endure

It was more than seven years ago that my now-husband first put this diamond ring on my finger, and nearly seven since he added the wedding band. In those past seven years, we’ve been through a lot.

We’ve lost pregnancies, parents, siblings, friends, jobs, our tempers, our health, and occasionally our minds. We nearly lost one of our own children once. We’ve survived one child in college and two in diapers. We’ve made it through the terrible twos (twice). We’ve redecorated two different rooms and lived to tell the tale. We planned a major home renovation without killing each other. If it’s true that “whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” then we’ve become pretty strong. We have learned to endure.

The word “endure” implies some kind of solid foundation. If something endures, it has a root, a base, an underpinning, something that allows it to weather a storm without breaking, if not without bending. Bending, in fact, is often crucial to enduring. A building designed to endure an earthquake cannot be rigid; it must be able to flex and bend and accommodate shifting ground. But it must have a deep, sturdy base to adhere to. If it is rigid, it will snap when outside forces buffet it. It must be able to give way a little. And if it is not firmly fixed to its base, it will be swept away. Without a base, it cannot endure.

My marriage has endured for these seven sometimes tumultuous years because of its base: our mutual faith in God and our mutual respect for each other. The former gives us our strong, sturdy, unshakeable base. And the latter allows us to give in a bit, to bend and flex and make allowances. The first holds us firm; the last gives us freedom. Together, they have allowed us to endure.

Endure.

Lent Photo a Day: Wilderness

Wilderness can come in many forms. Wilderness is a place that is untamed by mankind, but it can be either barren or overgrown. We think of early American settlers as crossing the wilderness: cutting paths through forests, clearing bushes to build their homes, leveling the overgrown plants to plant their own cultivated crops. We also think of Moses and the Hebrew people being lost in the wilderness as they fled Egyptian slavery. Their wilderness was sand and rock and sun and drought. It needed to be tamed, not by cutting back the overgrown plants, but by coaxing plants to grow by digging wells and adding nutrients to the soil and providing shade. Both forms of wilderness needing to be tamed, and yet very different from each other.

This morning, my front yard looks like still another kind of wilderness. This wilderness is cold and white and barren and ice-covered. There is no warmth for plants to grow, the soil is buried under both fresh and packed-down snow and ice, the plants have not yet attempted to peek out their green shoots from the hard soil.

But even in the wilderness, there is life. I expected last night’s snowfall to have left a clean, even, unbroken coating over the lawn. But by the time the sun rose, there was already evidence of small explorers, travelers through the white wilderness. Long before dawn, our local rabbit had left a trail of little bunny prints poking around the yard.

He peeped under the bushes to find a bit of tender green, to test the soil for softness, to hunt for fresh growth to nibble on. Even in the wilderness, he knew there was sustenance, if only he could find it.

And even as I watched, other creatures followed the trail he had blazed: birds hopped around looking for seeds and bugs; squirrels chased each other, digging at the roots of the trees for last year’s acorns. They were not afraid of the apparent barrenness of the wilderness, for they know that it is not truly barren. It is simply waiting for the warmth of spring to release its treasures of blooms and bugs, of color and energy, of growth and beauty. The wilderness is waiting to be tamed, and to share its sustaining reward.

Wilderness.

Lent Photo a Day: Celebrate

Particularly when our children are very young, there are plenty of exciting milestones for parents to celebrate. We celebrate the first smile, the first step, the first word. When they’re a little older, we celebrate when they learn to read, when they learn to ride a bike, when they learn to drive a car. When they become young adults, we celebrate when they graduate from high school and from college, when they get married, when they have children of their own. Each milestone is satisfying and exciting. But there is perhaps no developmental milestone quite so satisfying, quite so exciting, quite so freeing, quite so worthy of celebration, as potty training.

For the past five years, diapers, pull-ups, diaper pails, and the wiping of small bottoms have been an integral part of my life. I had to deal with other people’s bodily fluids multiple times a day, every day. I was at the biological beck and call, so to speak, of my children. But this week, I am able to officially declare that our family is a complete family of underpants-wearers!

I do not declare this fact lightly. I took on the task of intense potty-training my youngest child about a month ago, during her February break from preschool. She spent the entire week running around free of diapers, pull-ups, and underpants, happily “bare-bummed.” Every hour, I would call her to come sit on the potty. Each time, we would slowly count to ten as she did a “try.” Sometimes we’d reach ten without any action. But other times, we’d both open our eyes wide as we heard the unmistakable sound of peeing. And then her face would blossom into a wide grin of excitement, pride, and wonder, and she would giggle with delight. And so would I. We’d high-five each other, sing Daniel Tiger’s song reminding her to “flush and wash and be on your way,” and then I’d reward her with a piece of candy.

As the days wore on, we’d venture a bit further into the world of “big girl underpants.” Santa had put a few pairs of Disney princess underpants in her stocking (he was apparently as eager to get the pull-ups out of our house as I was), but we obviously needed a few more pairs, so we went to the store and she got to pick out some new underpants, opting for the “My Little Pony” collection. Then we were ready for our maiden underpants outing. We went to the grocery store, doing a “try” right before and checking several times during the trip to see if she needed to go again. We made it home with dry pants. She had an accident less than an hour later, but we made it through our outing accident-free. Celebrate!

After a few more days of practicing wearing underpants without pants around the house and then underpants with pants, we were ready to try a day at school. I warned her teachers and asked them to encourage her to go during the day. I packed extra pants just in case, but she made it through without an accident. Again, she had one after we got home, but it was a minor setback. Celebrate! Later that week, she went to her gymnastics class wearing underpants under her leotard. I was a bit nervous when a try at home and one at the gym right before class produced nothing, but she made it through class dry and clean – and then made it through the rest of the day at home with no accidents. Celebrate!

But the real trial came this past weekend when my husband and I attended a two-day conference spanning Friday evening and Saturday all day, and the kids had a sleepover with friends. Luckily, one of their kids is at about the same stage of potty-training as my daughter, so the parents were unfazed at the thought of possible accidents and were more than willing to risk an accident or two. I wasn’t sure how her training would be affected by a different, although familiar, house, and an unfamiliar potty. I needn’t have worried: my daughter was fascinated by the thought of using a different potty and not only did she not have any accidents, she hardly needed to be reminded to use the potty, but ran in herself whenever she needed to go. Celebrate!

And so, I am boldly declaring that my house is now a diaper-free zone (at least during the day). And I am ready to celebrate!

Celebrate!

Lent Photo a Day: Search

As the parent of two small children, I spend an awful lot of my time searching for things. Searching for a single sneaker, searching for a doll we can’t possibly go to the grocery store without, searching for that sippy cup of milk that I know is somewhere in the house, searching for my car keys, searching for a beloved toy that was just here a minute ago I swear.

The thing about searching for these kinds of items is that they’re never in a logical place. If I’m looking for one of the kids’ shoes, I don’t even bother looking in the shoe basket in their room or next to the front door. I know it's not there, because that would be the logical place for it to be. It's never in a logical place. I’ve found shoes between the couch cushions, behind the fridge, under the dining room table, at the bottom of the toy box. My lost car keys are never in my purse or my coat pocket or still stuck in the doorknob or in the drawer in the front hall. They’ve appeared in the refrigerator (no, seriously, I found them there once), inside one of my shoes, in the laundry basket, and on the piano bench. The missing toys and dolls are never merely misplaced among the rest of the toys and dolls in the toy box or in the kids’ bedroom. Oh, no. They’re sitting in my best saucepan in the kitchen cabinet, wedged inside the picnic basket on a high shelf in the laundry room, or tucked into a Rubbermaid tub full of Christmas decorations in the spare bedroom. I’m pretty sure there’s still a sippy cup of milk somewhere in the house that I haven’t found, and probably won’t until it explodes like the biological timebomb it is.

So I’ve learned to get creative with my searches. I no longer think of where something might have been dropped in the normal course of its use; I don’t even bother to retrace the steps of the user. That would make too much sense. Wherever the missing item is, it’s somewhere that makes absolutely no sense for it to be. Therefore, I always begin my search in the least likely places. I shed all pretenses of logic and try to think of places that the missing item has absolutely no reason whatsoever to be, and that's where I look first.

The weird thing is that when I ignore logic and just search, I find stuff. Sometimes I even find the stuff I’m looking for. But more often than not, before I find what’s missing, I find some other stuff that I didn’t even know was missing. Or I find stuff that wasn’t missing, but that was still worth finding. While I’ve been searching in random places, I’ve found all kinds of delightful tidbits left by my children. I’ve discovered creative Lego aliens. I’ve stumbled across dolls dressed up in human clothing, and - best of all - I’ve found lovely bits of artwork that I never would have noticed if I only looked in logical places. All because I was searching, even though what I found wasn’t what I was searching for.

Search.

Lent Photo a Day: Practice

We’ve all heard the old joke: How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.

Practice is often associated with discipline. When I think of the word “practice,” I immediately think of two things: musical instruments and sports. I spent countless hours practicing my flute and my French horn during my childhood. Every practice session began with boring warmup exercises, like long tones and scales and intervals. Only after going through a series of dull drills was I supposed to continue on with working on the pretty melodies and interesting pieces that I enjoyed playing. As I improved and matured, I understood how the boring parts of practicing served to make me a better player, and how they contributed greatly to my ability to play the “fun stuff,” and to play it well. But at the time, practice was a hated but necessary evil. Similarly, my friends who played sports began their practices with boring stretching exercises and repetitive and uninteresting skills drills. The boring parts of practice felt like the price we had to pay to get to do the fun stuff, and even when we understood that there was a valid reason why we did it, we never really liked it.

“Practice” is a word we use in our home quite a bit these days. We don’t do formal music lessons or sports yet, but my 5-year-old son has reached the age where he recognizes what he doesn’t know, and he’s frustrated by skills he hasn’t yet mastered. And every time he struggles with a new skill, I remind him that new things take practice.

In his preschool class, every morning begins with writing practice: the children carefully practice writing their full names on a chart. By the end of the week (or the month), you can see how much their practice has improved their letters: the first line is often wobbly, with letters of all different sizes, some facing backwards, some floating far above the line, some drooping below, a mix of lowercase and capital letters. But by the last line, the letters are neater and more uniform, showing more confidence and mastery. The charts are visible proof that practice makes, if not perfect, at least marked improvement.

Even as adults, we sometimes need to practice new skills. If we are laid off after a decade at the same job, we may need to practice our resume-writing skills, or our interview skills. If we learn a new skill, like knitting or skiing or digital photo editing, the only way to become proficient is to practice. Practice is, even in adulthood, a necessary evil. But it is also the only road to mastery. 

After all, the only way to get to Carnegie Hall, whether you’re 7 or 77, is practice, practice, practice.

Practice.