On the Infertilities of Life…

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calling, church, community, God, healing, infertility, limitless, limits, meaning, share, spiritual, story, struggle

Photo credit:  https://cbsipandpaint.com/event/tree-of-life/

One of things I am working on this summer is helping our parish leaders plan our fall Women’s Retreat.  In interviewing guest facilitators, one of the facilitators talked about the scriptural theme of infertility.  Having some amazing people in my life who are or have struggled with infertility over the years, I immediately connected with the idea.  But the facilitator expands the definition of infertility as being unable to do the thing you felt you were created to do.

As I have been thinking about this expanded definition of infertility, I have seen that spiritual struggle all around me.  Certainly, I have been aching for those who struggle with literal infertility, knowing what a crushing experience that can be.  But I have also seen that same sense of infertility happen vocationally for people who really thought they would end up in a certain career, only to find their restrictive geography, their family responsibilities, or their inability to take on the time or financial commitment needed to pursue their dream making them unable to do the thing they felt created to do.  As our diocese is looking at electing a new bishop, I am aware that all four of the current candidates have discerned they feel created to serve in this new role, and yet only one of them will be invited into that ministry.

But infertility strikes us in other ways too.  This week I was listening to Kate Bowler’s podcast Everything Happens, and she and her guest were talking about palliative care and mortality.  The two of them talked about how one of the disadvantages of our American culture is a sense of limitless – that we can do anything we want in life.  And what both of them has seen, as a person in recovery from cancer, and a palliative care doctor, is the falsehood, or even the sinfulness, of the notion of limitlessness.  When we think we can do anything our heart desires, we are inevitably disappointed when our bodies, our mortality, or other things outside our control, throw limits around our dreams.  Part of their work has been helping people work through the sense of infertility that comes from that experience, and helping them find hope, healing, and new meaning in life.

As I have been thinking about literal and figurative infertility, I have been wondering whether sharing those stories might be a part of the healing process.  Something about naming the struggle and sharing the journey has power to not only help you move toward invitations to new vocations, but also has the power to encourage others to name their infertilities, destigmatize them, and transform them into something else that can be lifegiving.  If you are looking for a safe place to do that, I invite you to join our community of faith – a place where wounded souls are heard, broken hearts are mended, and new paths are celebrated.  You are not alone.  We would be honored to walk with you.   I suspect we need you as much as you may need us.

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On Neighbors, Kindness, and Baptism…

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baptism, Christian, church, community, covenant, dignity, Episcopal Church, God, identity, Jesus, justice, kind, kindness, love, neighbor, welcome

Photo credit:  https://www.92y.org/event/won-t-you-be-my-neighbor

This weekend our parish’s Faith & Film offering was Won’t You Be my Neighbor, the documentary about Fred Rogers.  My daughter had never seen a documentary before, and I was a bit anxious about her attending for fear she would be bored or the film would be too advanced for her.  Ultimately, it was a risk I was willing to take because although though I knew she had never watched Mr. Rogers, I also knew she would appreciate his message.

But the true test came on the drive home.  As we were riding along, my daughter said, “You know what, Mom?  I think if Mr. Rogers were alive today, he would be a part of WMBGkind.”  Right then, I knew that she got it – that she had been paying attention to the witness of Mr. Rogers and his ministry of teaching children about the dignity of every human being.  That is what kindness is really all about – honoring and respecting the dignity of other human beings – no matter their age, race, ethnicity, gender, sexual identity, socioeconomic status, ability, or even their own ability to show kindness in return.

This Sunday, we are baptizing a baby into the household of God.  As part of that ritual, we will make promises about our own spiritual journey.  We will promise to gather regularly in Christian community, breaking bread and praying together; to resist evil, and repent when we fail; to proclaim the Word of God in word and deed; to seek and serve Christ, loving neighbors as ourselves; and to strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being.  We promise to do what Christ asked us to do:  love God, love your neighbor, love yourself.

I love that my daughter is affirming her baptismal identity at Hickory Neck – whether she sees Christian witness through Mr. Rogers or through her Sunday School teachers.  I love that our younger children and older youth are learning how to live into their baptismal identity – whether through nursery care providers or youth group leaders.  And I love that our adults are still learning to live into their baptismal identities – through preaching, teaching, and our children’s witness.  At Hickory Neck, we are working across generations to keep loving God, loving our neighbors, and loving ourselves.  If you are in need of a community to help you claim that same identity and purpose, know that you are always welcome here – won’t you be our neighbor?

Photo credit:  Hickory Neck Episcopal Church; permission to use required

A Confession and a Call to Action…

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change, church, community, confess, God, grief, gun violence, indifference, inevitability, love, mass shooting, power, prayer, recommit, resignation

Photo credit:  https://www.firstchristianjax.com/event/prayer-vigil/

Over the weekend, a mass shooting happened in Virginia Beach.  Virginia Beach is less than an hour and a half away from Hickory Neck.  Some of our parishioners were colleagues with some of those killed.  There are many Episcopal Churches in Virginia Beach, and I know their priests have been working hard on pastoral care and preparing funerals.  Having a mass shooting so close to home, and certainly within our Diocese, has made this new reality of mass gun violence weightier and more tangible – as if the violence is making its way toward my personal sphere.

On Tuesday, our Bishop joined a worship service at an Episcopal parish in Virginia Beach.  As I thought about the service, I found myself wondering what liturgy they might be using, and how one even constructs a liturgy when you and your community is under such stress.  And then a dreadful thought occurred to me – one that is painful to confess.  I thought, “well, maybe I should develop a liturgy now when I’m not overcome with grief and counseling others, so the liturgy is easily modified for the situation.”

As soon as I had the thought, I crumpled in grief.  This is where I have come.  After years and years of devastating, massive amounts of death, countless pleas for us to change – change something, anything, and sermon after sermon preached about how we must do and be better, I have allowed myself to succumb to inevitability instead of demanding change.  This realization has been sitting with me all week, and it still brings me to tears when I recall my own sense of resignation.

This week, my prayer for us is a bit different.   My prayer for us is that we recommit to working for change.  My prayer is that we not let the sin of indifference or the sense of inevitability paralyze us from being agents of love and change.  My prayer is that we stop letting the sense of powerlessness take away our power.  I do not want to develop a “just in case” liturgy.  I don’t want to have to officiate over such a liturgy.  I want us all to acknowledge that we want to be better, and start doing the hard work of gathering diverse peoples to the table and finding a path forward.  Let’s be the Church – the Church our community needs.

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.  (BCP, 815)

Flip-Flops and Fresh Looks…

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adventure, belonging, casual, church, communion, God, Jesus, mass, meaning, passion, purpose, routine, scripture, Sunday, table, worship

Photo credit:  https://www.facebook.com/events/1137823373087599/

This Sunday, our church is trying something new called “Flip-Flop Mass.”  The concept began with the idea that we wanted to move our “Mass on the Grass” indoors because, let’s face it, even in early June, Virginia is hot and humid.  We also had some rearranging with musical leadership, and we wanted to keep the casual vibe of our outdoor service.  But as we shifted to the idea of an indoor casual mass, the ideas started flowing.  What if we totally rearranged the space?  What if we played with the liturgy and how we interact with Scripture?  What if we not only went casual, but we also went ancient?

What has resulted, after a ton of logistical plans, gathering different supplies, and coordinating with servers, is a worship service like that of the earliest church – an intimate meal around the table reminiscent of the meal between Jesus and his disciples.  I suspect the service will have its fumbles and things we did not anticipate, but I am also hopeful that the service will shift our routine just enough that we thoughtfully reflect on what it is we do on Sundays and what it all means.

Whatever style of church you prefer (and believe me, Hickory Neck manages to artfully offer lots of different styles), I encourage you to join us this Sunday for the adventure.  I suspect whatever you are used to or you prefer, this Sunday will give you the opportunity to engage just differently enough that you experience the elements of worship more powerfully:  the gathering of a community of strangers and friends, seeking a sense of belonging and meaning; a space to wrestle with Scripture, especially when Scripture is sometimes difficult to relate to modern-day life; a fresh way to experience God’s presence, using all of your senses; a place where you can find a renewed sense of purpose and passion for serving the world.  I don’t know about you, but I am thrilled to be invited to experience church with fresh eyes this weekend.

So, grab your flip-flops, grab a dish to share for lunch, grab a friend (or a stranger!), and come to church.  We’ll save you a seat at the table!

On Finding God in Community…

Tags

bubble, building, church, community, conversation, encounter, God, home, meet, moments, people, property

Photo credit:  https://www.spottie.com/blog/meeting-new-people-30

One of the quirks of being a priest is that my work is often outside of the church.  Whether I am meeting a newcomer for coffee, catching up with a parishioner over lunch, or visiting someone in the hospital, I am more often out in the community than sitting in the church office.  The challenge with that mode of operating is that I sometimes find myself with an extra hour here or there between commitments.  So I often take work with me – catching up on emails, reading for a class or sermon, or doing some writing.

Lately, that pattern has meant having all kinds of interesting encounters.  The other day I met someone who was a former parishioner of my church while buying a cup of coffee.  While responding to emails, someone who recognized me from barre class introduced herself to me, realizing we had never formally introduced ourselves, but that she had seen me around town several times.  While doing some writing while waiting for routine maintenance in the local car dealership, one of the salesmen came over to say he was one of my neighbors and we had not yet met.  Sometimes you even have to leave your home to meet those closest to your home!

Research tells us in order to grow your church community, you need to get off the property.  If you want to get to know the people who are not joining you every Sunday, you need to go where they are on the other days of the week.  Of course, just drinking coffee does not mean you will magically meet people – you do actually have to engage others in conversation – even if it is about car brand loyalty, or your favorite new drink on the coffee menu.  Getting off the property allows us to meet people where they are – and to see God in all the wonderful, myriad places God likes to hang out.  Though there are other ways to do that in reverse – holding a Fiber Festival, welcoming a school to your property – you really have to do both to have those God-moments.

All that being said, I confess, I sometimes have an easier job of talking about God.  The collar is dead giveaway.  But my invitation to you is the same.  Take a moment to get out of your bubble.  Go to an event to which you wouldn’t normally go, linger in a coffee shop you do not regularly frequent, or get even more bold, and take your committee meeting off campus and go public.  If you need some Hickory Neck gear to break the ice, I can help you out.  But my guess is you will find those God moments just by being you.  I cannot wait to hear about who you meet and what you learn!

On Giving Voice to Joy…

Tags

articulate, child, church, embarrassed, fulfilled, invite, Jesus, joy, longing, worry

Photo credit:  https://www.triumph30.org/2018/01/11/mastering-the-art-of-joy/

Although I was working this past Sunday, my family elected to take a much-needed post-Holy Week/Easter Sunday break.  I explained the details to our younger daughter on Saturday night, and she threw a fit.  “But I’ll miss Sunday School…and the bread and wine…and the Peace…and Children’s Chapel!”  The more she thought about what she would miss, the more upset she got.  Her disappointment was both heart-breaking and heart-warming.  As a priest, I always hope my children will find meaning in church.  But as a PK (preacher’s kid) myself, I also am fully aware that sometimes you sit in church because that’s part of your role.  Hearing our younger child long for the “stuff” of church filled my heart with joy.

Fortunately, that joy is not limited to PKs.  I talked to another parent on Sunday whose family had been traveling the last couple of weeks.  She relayed that when she told her preschooler that today was a church day, he jumped up a down throughout the house singing, “It’s church day!  It’s church day!”  Combine that with the faces of our children that light up when they reach the altar rail to receive communion, and I know that Hickory Neck is doing something right.  Our teachers and worship leaders are making a big impact – but so is each member who makes them feel welcome, included, and invaluable.

The funny thing is, I think the adults at Hickory Neck feel the same way.  I’m not sure most of them are jumping up and down on Sunday mornings (at least not without coffee), but as I have met and talked with members over the last year, there is a common thread in those conversations:  parishioners come to Hickory Neck each week because they long to be there.  For some, the feeling is easily attributable:  the comfort of music or communion, the connection with fellow church members, or the invitation to step into prayer with others.  For others, they may not even understand why they are drawn to church; they just know they want to be there – something intangible draws them in.

Sometimes I think our inability to articulate our joy and fulfillment we find at church is what holds us back from inviting others to join us.  Perhaps we worry about what negative experiences someone has had and we don’t want to deal with wading through the dark side of church.  Perhaps we worry that we will not explain the experience well enough for someone to want to join us.  Or perhaps we are embarrassed, worried that we will seem more like a child filled with joy than an adult with a persuasive invitation.  Today, I invite you to think about what it is at church that brings you joy – what keeps you coming back every week, and then share an invitation (to Hickory Neck, or to your own church home).  I’ll be sharing some of my joy with you at our Rector’s Forum on Sunday.  I would love to hear yours too!

 

Sermon – Luke 24.1-12, ED, YC, April 21, 2019

Tags

celebrate, celebration, church, confusion, doubt, Easter, faith, Jesus, journey, joy, loud, question, quiet, resurrection, Sermon, unbelievable, uncertain, victory

Easter is one of my favorite days in the church year.  I love how no matter whether we come to church every Sunday or if we haven’t been to church in ages, something about Easter draws us to the Church.  I love the celebration:  the Easter outfits, the fragrant flowers, the boisterous music, and the family of faith gathered at the communion table.  I love the sweet feeling of having emerged from the penitential season of Lent, and counting how many times we can say, “Alleluia.”  There is a loudness to Easter, an unbridled joy, a sense of victory.

What is funny about our experience today though is very little of the boldness of this day is present in Holy Scripture.  In fact, Luke tells a story that is quite the opposite of our experience today.  While we sing loud alleluias and hosannas, all of the characters in our gospel lesson today are in a totally different place.  They are mired in grief, lost in confusion, unsure about what has happened to them.  In a quiet, almost mechanical, numb way, the women who have been beside Jesus his entire ministry and were the only ones remaining at his death, come to the tomb in the fog of dawn, to do the work of tending to the dead body.  In their haze, no sense of closure comes.  Instead, more confusion comes.  Not only is the tomb empty, the angelic figures tell them Christ is risen.  The angels remind them Jesus had explained this to them, and things start to make sense.  But when the women return to tell the men, the men are so resigned and defeated, they mock the women.  Peter goes to check out the story, but even he does not come back with profound clarity.  He is lost in amazement – in awed confusion.  This story tells us very little about what this all means, what we should do, or how we should respond.  Very little about the gospel today is loud, triumphant, or jubilant.

Though I have been begging our musician for years now for more sound at Easter – a timpani to accompany the brass – the truth is, I kind of like how our gospel lesson today takes us in another direction.  Much of what we boldly proclaim today – that Christ is risen, his resurrection brings eternal life, and everything we know has changed – is pretty difficult stuff to believe.  Any of you who has spent time around an inquisitive child or a doubtful friend knows how difficult explaining the resurrection can be.  For our rational, twenty-first century selves, the theology of Easter is not only difficult to articulate, Easter is almost unbelievable.  And when we are really honest with ourselves, in the quiet of our own homes, we sometimes have moments when we are not really sure why we believe what we believe about Christ.

That’s why I love today’s gospel.  Today’s gospel reminds us of how unbelievable the resurrection of our Lord really was.  Sure, Jesus had said he would be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.  But his words sounded crazy at the time.  Now that Jesus’ words have come true, the women are perplexed, terrified, and rejected when they share their truth.  The men are paralyzed, doubtful, and downright mean.  On this early morning, the followers of Jesus only have their experiences of Jesus, their uncertainty of faith, and their attempts to believe the unbelievable.

To me, that is very good news indeed.  On this day as we sing songs about Jesus’ resurrection, and as we hear Peter preach with certainty in the book of Acts, and as we, with joy, proclaim, “Christ is risen!  The Lord is risen indeed!” our gospel story reminds us faith is a journey full of doubt, questions, and confusion.  We come on this festival day not because we are absolutely certain about Jesus.  We come on this festival day because in our foggy dawns, we have had encounters with the risen Lord – even when we did not know how to articulate the encounters.  We come to this festival day because in our pain, suffering, and questioning about life – we have had moments when something from scripture or our faith life suddenly connected and made sense.  We come to this festival day because even in our doubts, there is some small part of us that cannot extinguish hope, that suspects Christ might have actually changed the world.

On this day, the Church does not want our theological explanations of the resurrection.  On this day, the Church invites us to recall those moments, however fleeting or miniscule, where we have encountered, or suspected we encountered, the risen Lord.  Our bold singing of alleluias only needs that small flicker of hope – or maybe our desire for that flicker of hope.  Our celebrating today only needs our presence – our willingness to be here, encouraged by others walking through the fog.  Our proclamation today that the Lord is risen, only needs our willingness to say the words.  The community gathered here today will do the rest.  We will say with you, “The Lord is risen indeed,” until someday we can all claim the astounding love and grace of our Lord Jesus Christ ourselves.  Amen.

The Power of Showing Up…

Tags

anxious, beauty, church, comfort, expectation, gift, God, grace, Holy Week, kids, nervous, pilgrimage

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

Most of you know that Holy Week is my favorite week of the year.  I love the way the week feels like a virtual pilgrimage, walking us from Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, to his last meal with the disciples, to his trial and crucifixion, to his death and resurrection.  Each daily liturgy gives us the opportunity to experience that journey in unique, meaningful ways.  Knowing my passion for this week, my family is gracious every year with my absences from family life that week.  But this year, my husband had an evening work conflict he could not miss, and so I had some options for that night’s service.  I could skip the service – I was not serving that night, and was not physically needed.  I could hire a baby sitter, using some date-night reserves.  Or I could take the girls with me to the quiet service with long periods of silence, knowing how difficult it would be for them after a long day of school.

After much waffling, I decided to try bringing the kids with me.  I really wanted to be there for my own spiritual journey, and I hoped the kids might get something out of the experience.  I prepped the kids endlessly so that they would respect the periods of silence and the experience of those attending.  All in all, for their ages, the girls did amazingly well.  There were certainly a few too many wiggles and distracting noises, but for the most part, they were well-behaved.  I, on the other hand, was a ball of nervous energy.  I know how much I have reveled in the silence of that service and I really did not want to ruin that experience for anyone else.  I found myself so anxious about it, that I realized I didn’t get to experience the service in the way I traditionally do.

But here’s what did happen.  In the midst of trying to prevents disagreements, and minimize crinkling of papers, I was still able to sing and pray the words of the songs.  In the midst of desperately trying to keep kids at whisper-levels, I was able to catch snippets of scripture that hung in my ears and mind.  In the midst of impatient children, I was able to hear my children singing along and see my kids embrace participation – whether in lighting candles, handing out bulletins, or praying at the altar.

Here’s the thing about Holy Week services:  there are a lot of them, and you might not think you are mentally or spiritually ready for them.  You might be curious about some of the services, but are not sure your kids could handle them.  Or you might be thinking you are too tired this week to get anything out of the services.  No matter what is going on with you this week, I promise that if you can get yourself to Church, God will find you.  It may not be in the way you expect, you may not be able to be present as fully as you like, and you might not be convinced it is worth it.  But I promise you, if you figure out a way to get to Church this week, God will break through the chaos of life and whisper a word of comfort, and give you a glimpse into God’s grace and beauty.  My guess is that if you open yourself up to the liturgies of this week, you might just figure out how to carry those lessons into the rest of the Church year too.  The community is gathered this week and welcomes you, wherever you are on your journey, and especially when you do not feel like you have much to offer.  Holy Week is a gift the Church offers to you.  Your invitation is to just show up.

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

Homily – Luke 22.14-23.56, PS, YC, April 14, 2019

Tags

church, death, faithfulness, hope, hopelessness, Jesus, life, Palm Sunday, Sermon, sinfulness, tension

Several years ago, I was visiting a parishioner on her deathbed in the hospital.  We were talking about the things you talk about at the end of life:  the blessings, the memories, the unexpected turns of life.  Whatever fears about death that had been present were long gone.  All that was left was a sense of peace, and a certainty about the eternal life waiting for her on the other side.  I found myself wistful and a little sad, knowing there was nothing I or the doctors could do at that point.  Death was coming.  In the midst of this sacred, serious moment of inevitability, we heard a tinkling noise in the hallway.  Having had a child in a hospital, I knew what the tinkling noise was:  the tinkling sound was the announcement of a new baby being born.  As I explained the noise, the parishioner and I sat in awe – the closeness of life and death were all around us.  We did not have much to say at that point.  The sound of that tinkling just lingered in the room, long after the sound was gone.

I was thinking this week how similar the experience of Palm Sunday is to that hospital room.  We hold in tension so many things today.  We certainly hold life and death in tension:  the joyful celebration of Jesus with palms, and the wailing sorrow of death at the cross of Jesus.  We hold hope and hopelessness in tension too:  the promise of a new king, entering triumphantly, and the despair and finality of Christ on the cross.  We hold faithfulness and sinfulness in tension today:  the bold proclamation of the king who has come in the Name of the Lord, and the shouts of “crucify, crucify him,” just moments later.  Though we might prefer to claim life, hope, and faithfulness, today we must claim death, hopelessness, and sinfulness too.  They are as intertwined as life and death in a hospital.

In some ways, the tension of this day is just what we need in a culture that might like us to jump from the palms to the risen, triumphant Lord.  I am reading Brené Brown’s Dare to Lead this Lent, and one of the hazards to leadership she articulates is numbing.  Numbing can happen in all kinds of ways – through food, work, social media, shopping, television, video games, or alcohol.  The problem with numbing is that we cannot selectively numb emotions.  As Brown says, “if we numb the dark, we numb the light.  If we take the edge off pain and discomfort, we are, by default, taking the edge off joy, love, belonging, and the other emotions that give meaning to our lives.”[i]  When we numb our way through life, we not only suppress the bad stuff; we never get to fully enjoy the good stuff of life.

Today, the Church refuses to allow us to numb.  The Church has us wave palms and sing loudly and smell the sweet smell of victory, with a grin from ear to ear.  And the Church has us listen to the devastation of betrayal, hear the voices of contempt and hatred, and shout for Christ’s death.  Our hearts feel heavy as our minds try to justify all the times we too have betrayed Christ.  We feast as the disciples did on Christ’s body and blood, and we leave in silence as his disciples did from the cross.  Today we feel everything:  life, death; victory, failure; joy, and devastation.  In letting go of our tendency to numb, we open ourselves to the fullness of all that happens on this day.  Only then can embrace the Easter message of resurrection that is to come.  Only when we are fully broken, fully vulnerable, fully present in the tension of this day can we receive the fullness of joy that comes next week.  Only when we are looking into the doorway to death can we understand the depth of joy that comes from the tinkling sound of new life.  So, stay awake with us for just a little while longer.

[i] Brené Brown, Dare to Lead (New York:  Random House, 2018), 85.

On Finding and Creating Sabbath…

Tags

church, creative, everyday, God, Holy Spirit, intentional, intentionality, moments, reconnect, rest, sabbath, space, time

Photo credit:  Elizabeth Shows Caffey; reuse with permission only

“So what do you actually do on your Sabbath?”  It’s a question I have received many times.  Usually, I think people want to make sure I am resting and reenergizing.  Or maybe they are imagining what they would do with a Sabbath day.  Or, maybe just the word “Sabbath” is a little too churchy and weird, and so they are trying to figure it out – does it just mean “day off”?

The truth is, usually my Sabbath day is just that – a day off where I do the same stuff everyone else does on their day off.  I run errands, clean the house, try to go to an exercise class, go to a doctor’s appointment, get my hair cut, or, if I’m lucky, get a nap.  I do not think a single Sabbath has consisted of me “sitting around all day and eating bonbons,” as many have asked.  Luxuriating may happen for an hour, but that is rare, and it never extends to a whole day.  And although I do try to take care of my physical well-being, I can rarely be found praying, meditating, or studying all day.

But this past Monday and Tuesday, I converted my Sabbath to a true Sabbath.  I got away with four other clergy friends, and we took a true Sabbath – not answering work emails (for the most part), not tending to the laundry, not running errands, but just relaxing, sharing stories about our ministries, talking about our dreams, reflecting on our relationships, and even exchanging ideas about leadership.  Of course, there was also yummy food, lots of laughter, sleeping in, and balancing a nice long hike with some comfy time on the couch.  But because we stepped away from the everyday stuff of life and work, we all actually reconnected with the intention of Sabbath – of taking time apart to reconnect with God, with others, and with ourselves.

Now, I know how hard finding true Sabbath time can be.  Lord knows, I am not sure when the last time my “Sabbath day” felt like this much of a Sabbath.  But I suspect that there might be ways that we can create little moments of Sabbath in our lives.  Maybe it’s putting down technology for a few hours.  Maybe it’s mixing up the family’s routine to spend unstructured time together.  Maybe it is neglecting that “to do” list for a few hours to read, pray, or connect with God, others, and/or ourselves.  You will have to be creative to find it – you may even have to just claim it by turning off all stimulation in the car so that the ten minutes of alone time you get is dedicated to Sabbath.  Regardless of the restrictions on your time, Sabbath is actually about intentionality – intentionally creating little blocks of time set apart.  It takes work, but when you intentionally make that space, not only are you restored, and your relationships enriched, but also, you may be able to finally hear the Holy Spirit’s whisper.  I cannot wait to hear about your creative creations of Sabbath, and the new ways your spirit is renewed!