God sightings

How have you seen God at work lately?

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PS Starting next week, there will be a guest blog post on Wednesday.  If you are interested in contributing, please drop me an e-mail and we'll chat!

Tuesday's Text--Psalm 22:23-31

The Psalm for the Second Sunday in Lent is Psalm 22:23-31.

Photo by Kirsten Fryer

You who fear the LORD, praise him! 

     All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him; 

     stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel! 

²⁴ For he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; 

     he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him. 

²⁵ From you comes my praise in the great congregation; 

     my vows I will pay before those who fear him. 

²⁶ The poor shall eat and be satisfied; 

     those who seek him shall praise the LORD. 

     May your hearts live forever! 

²⁷ All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the LORD; 

     and all the families of the nations shall worship before him. 

²⁸ For dominion belongs to the LORD, 

     and he rules over the nations. 

²⁹ To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; 

     before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, 

     and I shall live for him. 

³⁰ Posterity will serve him; 

     future generations will be told about the Lord, 

³¹ and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn, 

     saying that he has done it.

What amazes you about God?  God's creation?  God's action in the world?

For what are you grateful?

How would you sum up the good news to tell it to future generations?

A reflection on the first Sunday in Lent

Psalm 25:1-10

To you, O LORD, I lift up my soul. 

² O my God, in you I trust; 

     do not let me be put to shame; 

     do not let my enemies exult over me. 

³ Do not let those who wait for you be put to shame; 

     let them be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous. 

⁴ Make me to know your ways, O LORD;

     teach me your paths. 

⁵ Lead me in your truth, and teach me, 

     for you are the God of my salvation; 

     for you I wait all day long. 

⁶ Be mindful of your mercy, O LORD, 

     and of your steadfast love, 

     for they have been from of old. 

⁷ Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; 

     according to your steadfast love remember me, 

     for your goodness' sake, O LORD! 

⁸ Good and upright is the LORD; 

     therefore he instructs sinners in the way. 

⁹ He leads the humble in what is right, 

     and teaches the humble his way. 

¹⁰ All the paths of the LORD are steadfast love and faithfulness, 

     for those who keep his covenant and his decrees.

It was an early morning during staff training at Bethel Horizons.  I woke up nearly two hours early and went for a sunrise hike.  I needed some time to be alone, to pray, and ponder and just be with God.  I walked down a fairly familiar trail that I had been on a few times before, the one that we would hike many, many times over the course of the summer.  As I came around the corner that opened into the valley, a deer stood in the middle of the path, maybe fifty feed ahead of me.  As the sun rose over the hills and fog rolled over the valley, we stood and watched one another.  Silent.  Still.  I have no idea we stood watching one another, two creatures mysterious to one another, but the image is burned into my memory.  After a minute or two or ten, I really couldn’t say, she sniffed loudly and ran into the tall grass of the valley.  I continued on my way, crossing over the place where she had stood, newly aware of the diversity of life around me.  It was a beautiful morning and I remember it fondly, all of these years later.

I think every camp counselor has a number of “path” stories to share.  Funny stories about silly things that campers said or memorable experiences on hikes.  Night hikes and hikes on hot days.  After three summers at two different camps, I am no different.  But for some reason, that foggy early morning was the memory that has been dancing around in my head this week as I’ve been pondering Psalm 25.  Make me know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths.

One of the commentaries I read this week pointed out that this is a psalm about teaching.  In fact, written in Hebrew, it is an “alphabetic acrostic,” that is, the first letter of each line is the next letter of the Hebrew alphabet.  It’s something we miss in the English translations.  I pulled my Hebrew Bible off the shelf, and brushed a thin layer of dust off of it, and sure enough, there it was, down the page in alphabetical order.  As long as it was out, I figured I might as well take the time to translate, with a lot of help from a handy dandy program called Bibleworks.  I slow down and digest when I translate.  I notice patterns and repetitions that I almost always miss when I read in English.  As I came to verse 6, two words--translated as mercy and steadfast love--gave me pause.  The dictionary on the program gave me a number of translating options, but what exactly did the psalmist mean?

Another commentary came to the rescue here, suggesting that these two words could be translated as “womb-love” and “covenant-love.”  Womb love (mercy) is the kind of love a mother feels for unborn child, the deep, powerful, protective love.  Motherly love.  What a beautiful image.  Doesn’t that open it up and make you think in a different way than hearing mercy?  Not that mercy is a bad translation, but it’s a word we hear a lot.  But womb-love, that’s just a different image for me.  Not yet having the opportunity to experience that kind of love for my own children, I do know how much I have loved the unborn children of my friends and of my niece or nephew due in April.  I know how I have listened to these expectant mothers talk about the love they feel and the amazement at feeling the movements of life from within them.  I’ve listened to their wonder and watched as they have lovingly placed hands on swollen bellies.  Remember your womb love, oh Lord.

And then “covenant-love,” calling to mind the covenants God makes with God’s people throughout Scripture.  Despite our uncanny ability to mess up and rebel and turn away from God’s promises, God is right there, promising to stand with us, to stick with us, to bring us around, once again.  This is the way of God, patience and love that is deep and powerful and everlasting.  

Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths, the psalmist writes.  And how many times has this been prayed by God’s people over time.  Millions?  Billions?  More numerous than the stars?  And then we begin to think about the many paths that we journey in our own lives of faith.  Each story is different.  Each story has its unique joys and challenges.  Each person has his or her moments when God seemed so intimately close, and moments when God seemed so unbelievably absent.  Our paths wonder and cross over one another and fork and branch and come to dead ends where we have to turn around and retrace painful steps.  And yet, somehow, in the midst of all of that, our God is with us, with “womb-love” and “covenant-love” abounding.  

As we stand at the beginning of our Lenten journeys, we stand in a place both familiar and unknown.  Those of us who have been Christians our whole lives carry memories of Lent, of disciplines, some successfully practiced, others miserably failed.  I think there is a sense of newness at the beginning of Lent, a sense of opportunity to try something or attempt to return or slow down or give up.  But, as is true on every single day of our lives, we also stand at a place not knowing where the paths will lead.  We don’t know what tomorrow will bring.  We don’t know what joys will come or what sorrows.  So what are we left with, but a need, a longing, to know the truth of a God whose love is as profound as a mother’s for her unborn child, as uncompromising as the one who keeps making promises to us in spite of our inability to keep them.  That is the love we can count on in this Lenten journey and in the walk of life.

With the psalmist, we pray to know the ways of our Lord.  We long to know the love of God, we yearn for experiences that show us the way and lead us down the right paths.  And yet, we wander, restless, wanting clearer paths, surer ways.  St. Augustine said that the heart is restless, until it rests in God.  So rest, restless wanderers, today in God’s love.  Rest in the mercy and steadfast love.  Rest in God’s compassion and grace.  Rest in womb-love and covenant-love.  Rest in the faith that no matter where you find yourself on the path of life, God knows exactly where you are.  And loves you beyond measure right there, in that very place.

A prayer for today:

O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.  Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Wild Word of the Week: Tree

Josh

Emily

Emily

Emily

Emily

Emily

Original Artwork by the Rev. Justin Eller

Jen

Karen

Ali

Sarah

Kirsten

Inspired by Psalm 25:1-10

A reflection on the day after Ash Wednesday

Call me crazy, or strange, or a total church nerd, but there is something about Ash Wednesday that I really love.  I love the quiet and the time for reflection.  I love the Ash Wednesday liturgy that has the extended confession that calls us out on our failure to really truly love and serve God, our neighbors, and all of God's creation.  I love kneeling at the altar and hearing the words "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."  I love that on Ash Wednesday, there is a sense of calm and a way of shifting attitudes and priorities.

Perhaps my love of Ash Wednesday comes from my love of the earthiness that links deeply to the sacraments.  Though receiving ashes is not a sacrament, it can be what is sometimes called a "sacramental"--its a place where God might just show up.  Sacramentals can be all kinds of things--fresh baked chocolate chip cookies or coffee that comes with conversation after church or a cold beer shared with a friend or a picnic in the park or flying a kite or seeing the first spring flowers.  The list is endless.  Sacraments--baptism and communion--are tied to the very stuff of the earth--water and bread and wine.  And all of that is tied to the incarnation--to the fact that, in Christ, God comes to us.  I love that we sense God's presence in the stuff that is sometimes messy or dangerous, and yet cleansing and beautiful.  I love receiving communion, tasting the bread of life and the cup of salvation.  I love feeling ashes fall down my forehead and seeing candlelit faces on Christmas Eve and smelling incense or Easter lilies.  I love feeling the hands of babies clasping onto my finger and the fragile hands of octogenarians held in mine.  I love hearing voices raised in song, breaking into harmonies that couldn't be achieved by one person alone.

Even as we begin this season that is so often equated with giving up, we remember that we are people who are intrinsically tied to stuff--the stuff of creation, the stuff of God.  Water, wine, bread, and ashes.  We remember our mortality and that we are made of dust.  We remember the promise that in the messiest places of our lives--those places where the ashes are falling down our foreheads--God shows up, loving us in spite of our messiness.  Or is it because of it? 

God sightings

It's your turn to share!

How have you seen God working lately?

Share here, on Facebook, and/or Twitter.

PS Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return...

Ash Wednesday worship is tonight at 7:00 at Peace.

Tuesday's Text--Psalm 25:1-10

The Psalm for the First Sunday in Lent is Psalm 25.

Photo by Keith Krinke

To you, O LORD, I lift up my soul. 

² O my God, in you I trust; 

     do not let me be put to shame; 

     do not let my enemies exult over me. 

³ Do not let those who wait for you be put to shame; 

     let them be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous. 

⁴ Make me to know your ways, O LORD;

     teach me your paths. 

⁵ Lead me in your truth, and teach me, 

     for you are the God of my salvation; 

     for you I wait all day long. 

⁶ Be mindful of your mercy, O LORD, 

     and of your steadfast love, 

     for they have been from of old. 

⁷ Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; 

     according to your steadfast love remember me, 

     for your goodness' sake, O LORD! 

⁸ Good and upright is the LORD; 

     therefore he instructs sinners in the way. 

⁹ He leads the humble in what is right, 

     and teaches the humble his way. 

¹⁰ All the paths of the LORD are steadfast love and faithfulness, 

     for those who keep his covenant and his decrees.

What images come to mind when reflecting on this psalm?

What comforts you?

What challenges you?

What questions do you have?

It's no secret: A reflection for Transfiguration Sunday

The question has come up a couple of times in the past couple of weeks.  What is the deal with Jesus telling people not to tell?  He heals the leper and tells him not to tell.  Peter, James, and John witness him transfigured before him--his clothes are so white “no one on earth could bleach them” and he talks with Moses and Elijah, prophets who had long ago been taken up.  They witness this incredible, unbelievable scene and then Jesus tells them, effectively, “oh, yeah, by the way, don’t mention what happened okay?”  WHAT?!

What is going on that these amazing things are happening and Jesus wants to keep them secret?  Obviously, the stories come to be told.  People don’t necessarily obey his commands, but really, who could?  Healed, cured, transfigured.  None of these is “no big deal.”  They’re all huge.  They’re all life-changing, transforming experiences that leave people changed.  Of course they tell.  But why does Jesus ask them not to?

I think it has something to do with the fact that Jesus isn’t done yet.  The most amazing part is coming and is completely different than anyone is thinking.  He’s not just a healer.  He’s not just a teacher.  Don’t make this just about the fact that a few people are healed.  No, it’s about more than that, but you’re going to have to see some things that you can’t even imagine right now.  So just wait, not yet, don’t tell.  More is coming.  Don’t make this about this mountaintop experience.  There’s another hill coming.  And it’s going to have a cross on it.  

Ultimately, that’s what Jesus is about.  Jesus is healer and teacher and one who has the power to raise from the dead, absolutely.  But that’s not only what he is about.  Jesus is the one who has the power to defy death.  The ones who are healed or whose loved ones are healed or those disciples on the mountaintop can’t yet contemplate a cross and an empty tomb.  So Jesus tells them to wait.  Don’t tell yet.  More is coming.

It must have been hard to believe that there was more after the Transfiguration.  “Really?” James, John, and Peter must have thought.  I can’t imagine anything more.  You were talking to Moses and Elijah.   Peter obviously thinks this was it.  He wants to build dwellings for them.  Keep them there.  Keep them safe.  But Jesus knows better.  He knows that they can’t stay on this mountaintop.  He knows that he must leave the mountaintop to go down to the very depths of the human experience.  He knows what is coming.

Where ever this finds us today, can we find some reassurance in the fact that Jesus didn’t want people to tell because he knew they could not imagine what was coming?  Can the skeptic in us find some comfort in knowing that James, Peter, and John didn't know what to do when they saw Jesus transfigured before them?  We know the story.  We know how it ends.  And, yet, it is still sometimes really hard to believe.  It’s sometimes hard to believe that God comes down to us.  It’s sometimes hard to believe Jesus would die.  It’s sometimes hard to believe that the promise of life is for us.  For you and for me.  It’s sometimes so hard to believe it that we cling to the threads of hope, the memories of those moments when God seemed so near and real and present.  And we keep walking, one step at a time, one moment, one breath.  We realize that every moment can’t be lived on the mountaintop.  We have to walk through the valleys, too.  And, when we’re at our best, we remember that Jesus is right there with us.  And when we’re at our worst, Jesus is still right there with us.

As we enter into Lent, we begin that journey toward the cross.  We set our eyes, with Jesus, on everything that comes with it.  Despair, grief, suffering, hope, and promise.  And, because we know the rest of the story, we tell it.  We tell the stories of a healer and teacher.  One who died.  And one who rose.  And we remember that the story isn’t over yet.  Christ still comes to us in surprising and unexpected ways.  Christ still comes to us in the waters of baptism.  In bread and wine.  In the moments of great joy and the moments of deep sorrow.  In the ups and downs of life, in the in-between, in the unknowns.  Jesus isn’t done with us yet.  Even as we look to the cross, we remember that Christ is alive, and because he lives, we live.  That truth is too great to keep secret.

Wild Word of the Week: Heart

Emily

Carol

Kathy

Barb

Karen

Josh

Turi

Kirsten

God sightings

It's your turn to share!

How have you seen God working lately?

Share here, on Facebook, and/or Twitter.

Tuesday's Text--Mark 9:2-9

The Holy Gospel for Transfiguration Sunday is Mark 9:2-9.

Mosaic of the Transfiguration at St. Catherine's Monastery, Mount Sinai

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, ³ and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. ⁴ And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. ⁵ Then Peter said to Jesus, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." ⁶ He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. ⁷ Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" ⁸ Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus. 

⁹ As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.

What do you find fascinating about this text?

What questions do you have?

What good news do you see?

How might this apply to us/you today?

Be Made Clean: The Sixth Sunday after Epiphany

This is the sermon I preached this morning at Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Elyria, OH.  The text was Mark 1:40-45.  

Wow.  I kind of feel like I need to stop and take a breath before I even start.  A LOT has happened in these first 45 verses of Mark’s Gospel.  Thinking back over the past several weeks, we’ve heard most of the first chapter of Mark.  John appearing in the wilderness and proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins and that one more powerful was coming.  Jesus coming to John to be baptized by him, and the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove and “you are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  The lectionary skips over the temptation in the wilderness, but that’s there too.  Then way back on January 22, we heard Jesus proclaim “The time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come hear, repent, and believe in the good news.”  Then he calls Simon and Andrew to follow him and fish for people.  Then he calls James and his brother John and they left their nets and followed him.  And then Jesus enters the synagogue and teaches and casts out an unclean spirit.  And all were amazed.  But that’s not all.  He heals Simon’s mother-in-law, then sees the “whole city” outside the door and cures many who were sick and casts out many demons.  He gets away to pray, but the disciples find him and they go throughout Galilee so Jesus can proclaim the message and he casts out demons as well.  And then a leper comes to him and begs to be healed.  Jesus heals him, but tells him not to tell, but instead to go show himself to the priest.  But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.  And that’s just chapter one.  No wonder Pastor Jaster needed a vacation!

This is one of the things I love about Mark’s Gospel.  The excitement.  The sense of wonder.  I often think of a child telling a story about a really exciting day when I read this Gospel.  And then, and then, and then.  It’s like Mark just can’t wait to get the story out because it is so marvelous and wonderful and amazing.  He just needs to tell it.  Kind of like the leper in our story today.

But before we get to him, let’s back up for a second.  Slow this rapidly moving story down.  Can you imagine, for a second, being that leper?  That one who had been cast out of society, who must have been in so much pain--physical, psychological, and spiritual.  Can you imagine what it must have taken for him to come to Jesus, to have the guts to show his face, to kneel before him and say, “If you choose, you can make me clean.”  For the one who had been cast aside for so long, what hope must he have had to beg at Jesus’ feet, “please sir, choose to heal me”?  And even though Mark tells the story so quickly, tries to jam pack so much in, don’t you think that for that moment, at least in the mind of the leper, everything must have slowed down to a snail’s pace.  How long was it before Jesus replied?  I bet that even if it was a split second, it seemed like forever in the leper’s mind.  

Was it a second, or ten, or a minute?  We don’t know.  But what we do know is that Jesus is moved with pity, or, as the word can also be translated, with compassion.  He reaches out and touches the one who hasn’t been touched in who knows how long.  “I do choose.  Be made clean.”  Wow.  You who haven’t been chosen for anything, except exile, for a really long time.  I choose you.  You who others have ignored.  I choose you.  You who has been cast aside, forgotten, neglected.  I do choose.  Be made clean.

There is so much going on in those six simple words.  I choose to be the one who can no longer enter into the city.  I choose to be the one who is rejected.  So that you can be healed.  So that you can be whole.  So that you can know that you are loved.

And then all of the sudden it isn’t just about healing that one leper anymore.  It’s about giving up everything for the sake of the world.  It’s about Jesus reaching out to us, to you and to me.  It’s about Jesus coming to us in those places of regret, and pain, and misery, and grief and no matter the cost to him, simply being with us so that we can move to a different place.  I do choose.  Be made clean.  It’s a message not just for that one leper, but for each and every single one of us.

I don’t blame the leper for telling, even when Jesus ordered him not to.  I don’t think I would be able to keep a secret in like that.  I was cast out, and now I am clean.  But when Jesus told the leper not to tell, he knew that this now clean leper hadn’t yet seen the real glory of the Son of God.  When Jesus tells the leper not to tell, he does it because the story is not yet complete.  The healing of this leper has just scratched the surface of the depths that Jesus will go for God’s people in the world.  And even though he was clean, even though he was no longer outcast and pushed to the edges of society, I doubt that that leper had any clue just how far Jesus would go.  I doubt that he could have imagined a cross, a grave, and empty tomb.  Jesus doesn’t want his story to become just about healing that one leper.  He wants it to be about healing for the entire world.  He wants the world to know that the Kingdom of God has come near.

Mark’s Gospel begins with the words The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  He understands that the stories he tells are just the beginning.  And since he can’t even be stopped by death, Christ continues to come to us.  His story is nowhere near over.  We are somewhere in the middle of it, catching glimpses of a Kingdom that has indeed come near.  Hearing whispers of a promise.  I do choose.  Be made clean. 

But let’s be honest, it’s not always easy to hear.  The world so often shouts work harder, produce more, run faster, out of business, you’re not good enough.  But in the midst of that, albeit sometimes faintly, comes the compassionate voice of Christ.  I do choose.  Be made clean.

So even if you can’t hear it on any other day of the week, hear it today.  Christ has chosen you.  You are loved beyond measure and saved by the grace of God.  The promise is for you.  We hear it most profoundly at Christ’s table, where there is food for all who come.  Where we hear the words “for you.”  Where we know that no matter what kind of week we had or what kind of week we’re facing, there is a place for us here.  Where we are made clean, forgiven of our sins, fed for the journey.  Where we receive the nourishment we need to go out to do the work God calls us to do--whatever that is.

And because the Holy Spirit works in strange, but marvelous ways, maybe the Spirit will work through us this week.  Maybe she’ll give us the passion to speak the words of hope to someone who needs to hear them.  Maybe she’ll give us the energy to feed the hungry or visit the sick or be a voice for change.  And maybe she’ll simply help us hear the words echoing at the back of our heads, in the midst of life and all it’s messiness, I do choose.  Be made clean.

Amen.

Wild Word of the Week: Mittens

Barb

Barb

Karen

Kirsten

God sightings

It's Wednesday, which means it's your turn to share!  

How have you seen God working lately?  

Share here or on the Facebook page or Twitter feed.

Tuesday's Text: Mark 1:40-45

The Holy Gospel for the Sixth Sunday after Epiphany is Mark 1:40-45.

Jesus heals a leper, Rembrandt

A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean." ⁴¹ Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, "I do choose. Be made clean!" ⁴² Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. ⁴³ After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, ⁴⁴ saying to him, "See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them." ⁴⁵ But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.

Why do you suppose Jesus told the leper not to tell?

Why do you suppose the leper told anyway?

Have you ever had a faith experience that you couldn't keep quiet about?

What does it mean that Jesus is moved with pity?

What questions do you have about this text?

A reflection on Mark 1:29-39

Community is really important. Deep down, we know that, right? But do you think we forget sometimes? Do you think that we sometimes take it for granted? Just like our health or independence or the roles we play?

Jesus knows it. And even though even Jesus himself sometimes takes time away, ultimately he calls us to live into the communities of which we're a part--be they family, neighborhood, church, school, or groups of friends. He equips us to be a part of a community that nourishes, strengthens, and, yes, serves us.

We see it happening in today's text. Simon's mother-in-law is sick. No matter what we think about women's roles today, we have to remember that for this woman, being a good host was more than likely at the top of the lost of really important things. And as any of us who has ever been sick knows, hosting is about the last thing we want to do when we're so sick we're stuck in bed. Plus she was so sick she was stuck in bed. Not a great day for her.

Into the midst of her rotten day, enters Jesus. And in an act of great compassion, he takes her hand and "lifted her up." I have to think that as he lifted her and her fever went away, her spirits also soared. Served and now restored to be able to serve. Experiencing both ends of the spectrum, served and serving. Simon's mother-in-law (wouldn't you like to know her name?!), because she is lifted up by Jesus, gets to do both.

Though we don't always feel it, we, too, are lifted up by Jesus. We too have been restored to serve and to be served. Because we do need both. We do sometimes need to serve others--those in need, our families or friends, or total strangers. And sometimes we need to be served. Sometimes we need to be the one stuck in bed, humbled by the need to rely on others. Sometimes we need to hold out our hands and realize that we don't get to help ourselves, but that we will be served, all in good time, at the table where we are all welcome and where there is room for everyone.

The funny thing is that Jesus will find us--the servers and the ones being served. Unexpected though he may be, he finds us and lifts us up. His promise of life restores us to be who God has called us to be. God's people in the world. Serving and being served. Lifted up and restored.

Wild Word of the Week: Shadow

Josh

Joanna

Barb

Karen

Kirsten

For a "shadow" bonus, check out www.georgesteinmetz.com for an amazing shadow photo of camels taken from the air!  It is incredible!

After a very sunshiny and warm last week in January/first few days of February, it's getting cold again, so:

Stay warm!  I'm looking forward to your mitten photos.

God sightings

God works in many ways--through the people around us, through creation, in surprising ways, and in familiar ways.  For the month of February, we're going to try something new on Wednesdays: God sightings.  You get to share your stories and comments about how you've seen God working in your life lately.  Share comments here or on the Facebook page or Twitter feed.  The more stories, the merrier.  The question is the same in all three places--how have you seen God working lately?

We look forward to "hearing" your stories!