People who come to church already get the forgiveness thing, but we go to the people at the train station going into a full day, to all the places where we fail and realize we are not perfect. Now they can start the day with a reminder that that is not the last word. ~ Rev Emily Mellott, author Ashes to Go

Today is Ash Wednesday, the day that launches the liturgical season of Lent, the 40 days of prayer and repentance before Easter Sunday.

In spite of my wildly eclectic church background, my only church experience with Lent and ashes was during my 3 years in Oregon at the tiny Episcopal church. Somehow, somewhere, I’d gotten the idea that observing Lent was a cross between old school superstitions and New Years Resolutions. To the dear saints at St Matthews, it was something else altogether.

For 3 years, I spent one Wednesday in February with ashes on my forehead. Something radical has been happening all over the county since 2007. From bus stops to subway stations, from McDonald’s to Starbucks, you can find pastors and priest quietly talking to cabbies and consultants, to the weary and the seekers, giving Ashes to Go. The Church is bringing the church to the people.

For some, Lent is a time of prayer and fasting. For others, it’s a time to reconnect with God through revived resolutions. If you’re giving up something up for Lent, may God bless you with an increased sense of Him in whatever you choose to forgo.

For all of us, this could be the time we ask: What are we giving for Lent this year? Possibly more kindness, more compassion, more patience, more love, more hope, more grace? To all the places where we fail and realize we are not perfect, we can start the day with a reminder that that is not the last word.

Nearer My God to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me;
Still all my song would be nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I’d be nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!

There let the way appear steps unto heav’n;
All that Thou sendest me in mercy giv’n;
Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!

Then with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I’ll raise;
So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!

Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upwards I fly,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!                           ~ Sarah Flower Adams

It’s been a while since I’ve shared an old hymn for my Sunday Song. Nearer My God to Thee was written by British actress, poet and hymn writer, Sarah Flower Adams (1805-1848).

I love this hymn. More and more it’s become the prayer of my heart:

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me;

A Canadian survivor reported that the orchestra was playing Nearer My God to Thee on April 14, 1912 as the Titanic slowly sank to it’s watery grave.

Still all my song would be nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!

I’m a huge fan of The Piano Guys. This video is visually stunning and melodically beautiful. I hope you enjoy it. Only Steven Sharp Nelson is featured here (so it’s really a cello guy) but most of their music is a piano/cello duet like none other.

Grace and love to you as we travel together, seeking to be always, nearer our God to Thee.

My anger protected me only for a short time; anger wearies itself out and truth comes in. ~ C.S. Lewis

I’m in a place I’ve never been before. As I sat looking out of the window, I saw a beautiful little bird. He sat on a branch for a long time, only flying away when I made a move to get my camera.

I looked it up in the Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds. It was a Vermilion Flycatcher. This is how it was described: In southern Texas it is conspicuous, often nesting near houses. The bright colors of the male have earned it the Spanish name brasita de fuego, “little coal of fire.”

Reading about this little red bird made me think about anger. It, too, often nests near home and burns like a little coal of fire. We express anger in so many ways. For some, the fire ignites almost instantaneously at the first sign of contradiction, or criticism or bad driving. Others fan the flame by repeated retellings and dwelling until anger blazes up.

Some try to snuff it out by burying it in hurt and sorrow. But the little coal still burns in the belly. Anger may be only one letter short of danger, but it’s not the getting angry, but the ways we share or deny it that cause our problems. The trouble is finding the countermeasure. Maybe Jack has found it for us. Anger wearies itself out and truth comes in.

Where do broken hearts go
Can they find their way home
Back to the open arms
Of a love that’s waiting there                                                      ~ Frank Wildhorn

It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m wondering where do broken hearts go today? In our Hallmark culture, we know today is a happy day of cards and candy and kisses. We’re a Day oriented people. We know we’re suppose to feel thankful on Thanksgiving Day, joyful on Christmas Day and loved on Valentines Day

But where do lonely hearts go today? Do they force a smile, or send cards, or bake heart-shaped cookies while they mute the TV commercials? Do they bury themselves in work, or escape into a world of denial or addiction, or watch the dance while feeling the leprosy of not be chosen?

Today is a day for lovers. The Lover of our soul calls out: Let my love be your Valentine. You are forever etched in my heart. I carved our initials in the rough wood of a cross. Can you find your way home, back to My open arms of a love that’s waiting there? Will you be my Valentine?

You is kind. You is smart. You is important.                        ~ Aibileen Clark

I read Kathryn Stockett’s The Help long before it became a New York Times Best Seller or was featured as an Oprah’s Book Club book. Last night I rented the movie from the Red Box outside of a tiny grocery store in a little town on the Texas bayou.

My favorite part of the book was also my favorite part of the movie. It was when Aibileen said those 9 precious words to little Mae Mobley.

It made me wonder – would we be any different if we all heard those words over and over – from the time we first knew words, until the day words lost their meaning? What if someone who really meant it, said it to you, your whole life: You is kind. You is smart. You is important. 

And what if you began to believe it? As I was writing, I had to stop and ask myself what my own reaction is to those 9 words. Do I see myself as kind? Reasonably. Smart? Not particularly. Important? No.

And then, an equally telling question. Do I thank others for their kindness? Do I value their wisdom? Do I make them feel important?

Words matter. Maybe we could just start with 9 and build from there. You is kind. You is smart. You is important.

Sleep my child and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night;
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
I my loved ones’ watch am keeping,
All through the night.

Angels watching, e’er around thee,
All through the night
Midnight slumber close surround thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones’ watch am keeping,
All through the night

While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping,
All through the night
O’er thy spirit gently stealing,
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling,
All through the night.

Sleeping has always been a challenge instead of a respite for me. Even as a child, I was given to sad or frightening dreams. Added to that, for the past 10 years, I’ve been on a med for RLS that carries nightmares as it’s primary side effect.

I was trying to choose this Sunday’s song on Friday when I received an email from a friend whose daughter has a really rough time sleeping and often wakes up frightened. This Sunday song is a Lullaby for Aubrey and all for whom sleep is anything but peaceful.

Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night.

The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past… we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. ~ Chuck Swindoll

I had a bad day.

I woke up with headache. The internet wouldn’t connect. I spent hours on the phone trying to resolve an issue with Direct TV. It rained most of the day.

I got a little bad news and some good news that was bigger than the bad news. It didn’t matter.

It’s nightfall and my headache is just a dull one. My Verizon WiFi won’t connect but the intermittent park internet seems to be working. The TV still can’t find the satellite but I don’t watch much TV anyway.

The rain stopped late in the afternoon. I watched two white egrets fish and two strange looking ducks walk the banks of the bayou, conversationally quacking. Normally I would have been enthralled by the egrets, laughed at the peculiar ducks and found the sunset lovely. Normally the good news would have outweighed the bad. But not today, because today I chose to have a bad day.

Do you know what I mean?

All day long, I knew the weight in my gut was the one I was allowing to rot there, but I just didn’t feel like taking out the trash. It’s an odd sort of selfish indulgence. Today I lost all opportunity to be of any encouragement to anyone.

I had a bad day, untouched by my abundance of blessings, my lack of need and the outpouring of grace in my life.

Will tomorrow be better? Yes. Could today have been a good day? Yes.

Everyday is a new day to choose. I have the same one string I always have. Today I chose to play it low.

If you’ve been reading TMG for a while, you know about my jukebox brain. I couldn’t help but think of Daniel Powter when I was writing this.

We all build internal sea walls to keep at bay the sadnesses of life and the often overwhelming forces within our minds. In whatever way we do this—through love, work, family, faith, friends, denial, alcohol, drugs, or medication—we build these walls, stone by stone, over a lifetime. One of the most difficult problems is to construct these barriers of such a height and strength that one has a true harbor, a sanctuary away from crippling turmoil and pain, but yet low enough, and permeable enough, to let in fresh seawater that will fend off the inevitable inclination toward brackishness. ~ Kay Redfield Jamison

If you’ve spent much time by the ocean, you understand the importance of sea walls. If the walls are too high, they prevent the tidal influx of new salt water replacing the old and the harbors and coves become brackish. But to live without the sea walls altogether would mean certain devastation.

Part of maintaining the shore line is to build sea walls. Part of maintaining the heart is to build healthy boundaries. It’s tricky. One of the most difficult problems is to construct these barriers of such a height and strength that one has a true harbor …  but yet low enough, and permeable enough, to let in fresh seawater that will fend off the inevitable inclination toward brackishness.

When we shut ourselves off from the insight and input of others, we become brackish. Brackish water is the habitat of creatures like catfish and gar and eel and puffer fish. It has a peculiar smell.

I returned from a week without internet to some distressing emails. We all know about online bullying. There’s also online God-ing. Some of my blogger friends have been crushed by people speaking to them for God, exhorting them for God, correcting them for God.

While most of us are interested in other perspectives and welcome a lively exchange of ideas, we’re also rather vulnerable to the unanticipated rogue wave that crashes across our sea wall. Just like after a Tsunami, the natural reaction is to build higher and higher walls, or to give up and walk away, devastated and discouraged.

I’ve found God to be not only willing, but insistent, on speaking for Himself. It requires my full attention to sail my own ship. I won’t tell you how to sail yours.

Dear Melissa @ iamnotshe has nominated me for the 7×7 Link Award (I’ve accepted it before but I didn’t do the linking part). I’ve decided to fulfill the linking to 7 of my posts in the following way: when there’s a topic that 2 minutes won’t accommodate, I’ll link to a previous post to supplement my thinking, beginning with one for this post: You’re Not It.

May we all be mindful of crashing through another’s sea wall.

You see my weakness, my pride, my blindness
You wield your power through them all
Of all the mysteries, still, the greatest to me
Is that you’re faithful when I fall

How can I say I know you
When what I know is still so small?
Let me rediscover you and breathe in me your life anew
Tell me of the God I never knew
Oh, let me rediscover you

Let me rediscover you
And by your grace I’ll follow through
Reveal to me the God I thought I knew

Let me rediscover you

This is a song that calls to my heart. I love the simple combination of a song called Let Me Rediscover You by a band called Downhere (rediscover Him Downhere now, not later Upthere). The portion I chose for the quotation is, to me, the distillation of grace.

I love the word rediscover. I discovered the God who loves me a very long time ago. Rediscovering means to discover (something) again.  When what I know is still so small, Lord, let me rediscover You.

Today is moving day. It will be interesting to see where your prayers have sent me! Thank you for sharing in these moments of grace with me. Thank you for keeping this a place of encouragement through your wise and tender comments. You make writing TMG a joy.

I may be right back tomorrow, if there’s internet in the land where we land. If not, to those of you who so faithfully read and share your thoughts here, know that you’ll continue to be in mine. And also in my prayers.

As we come to grips with our own selfishness and stupidity, we make friends with the impostor and accept that we are impoverished and broken and realize that, if we were not, we would be God. ~ Brennan Manning

A friend was describing how her reaction to a recent difficult encounter had made the entire situation so much worse for her. She went on to say: I was just doing what I’ve always done. It’s natural to go back to the familiar.

That’s true isn’t it? It’s true even if what we’ve always done hasn’t gone terribly well. When we’re overly stressed or tired or hurt or fearful, we tend to fall back on our reflexive, familiar responses. We’re just doing what come naturally.

There are those who think we’re all born sweet and lovely and would remain that way if the harshness of the world didn’t assault and alter us. You have to wonder if those folks have spent any time in a nursery or with a room full of 2-year-olds.

I’m not interested in making an argument for a fallen nature, although I do think we have one. I can tell you, with a great degree of certainty, about my own nature. I can’t remember the last time that doing what comes naturally in a difficult situation was my wisest response.

As a matter of fact, my natural reactions are often my guage for what not to do. What comes naturally for me in conflict is to pull in. What comes naturally for me when faced with very difficult decisions is to avoid making any at all. What comes naturally for me when I’m in pain is to pretend like I’m not hurting.

I’ve had to give up doing what comes naturally, realizing my natural nature is impoverished and broken. Some days I still want to cling to my need to be right, relish in my martyrdom, or lick my wounds. I take heart in the reminder that whenever I’m willing, God is willing to supply the grace for me to step out of my brokenness and do the unnatural: love others more than myself.