new

New.

Well, sort of new.

Returning "home" after 4 years isn't really new, but it is different.

It has been one week.

One week since we packed our whole life up in boxes and drove away from Denver. One week since we saw mountains in our rear view mirror.

This week has been weird. Not all bad, not all good. Mostly kind of weird.

We are settling in at my mom's. She has graciously made space for us while we figure out what to do next.

We've gotten to see my in-laws a couple of times. It is SO nice to be fed and to have people chase your baby around for you.

I caught Milo reading a book with his Uncle Matt the other day and it made me swell up with happiness to see Milo sitting on his knees and pointing to animals in his giant animal book. He'd look up at his Uncle Matt and wait to hear Uncle Matt tell him the name of the animal. Then he would smile.

All of this has confirmed for me that I want Milo to have more family than just David and me.

But, also.

I've cried.

I've been sad.

I've felt lost.

I've felt disappointed.

Change is hard.

I don't think I realized how much of my identity was tied up with living in Colorado. How much I liked telling people I lived there. How much of my "story" centered around leaving Kansas and going to Colorado for graduate school.

It was easy, in the middle of the mountains, to sense God's presence.

However, I am convinced God is also present here. In Kansas. In my everyday, ordinary story. I can feel that God is doing something new. That God will somehow knit together the education and experiences I've had into something beautiful. That God can use me here.

I changed the name of this blog. No longer "Life in Denver," but a new title. I'm trying it out. "The Sacred is in the Ordinary" is my reminder that daily life is saturated with God's goodness. With God-ness. If only we have eyes to see it.

aren't we easter people?

I've been really troubled the past couple of days.

David & I were heading to bed on Sunday night when we caught the breaking announcement of Bin Laden's death on TV.

I'll admit that I immediately felt relief.

I ache for the victims of 9/11. I ache for their families.

I ache for the lives lost in Iraq and Afghanistan since the "War on Terror" was waged nearly a decade ago.

I ache for the family members of the special ops team who was sent in on Sunday night.

But then the relief faded.

Because the news coverage began showing people all over the country celebrating the announcement. People wrapping themselves in the flag. People shouting "USA!" People cracking open beers.

And my heart began to ache.

Yes, I am an American.

I ache for the victims of 9/11.

I ache for the soldiers. For their families.

Yes, I am an American.

But I am first, and foremost, a Christian.

And, if I confess to being a Christian, if I proclaim to follow Christ, if I truly desire to follow the path of peace, then I cannot cannot rejoice in this death.

Was it necessary? Maybe.

Are we safer? Maybe.

Will it bring closure? Maybe.

But maybe not.

And I refuse to rejoice in death.

I find it interesting that the news of Bin Laden's death came one week after Christians celebrated Easter.

One week since we sang "Hallelujah!"

One week since we announced the resurrected Christ.

One week since we confessed our belief that God's power is stronger than death. That love is greater than hate. That death does not have the last word. That darkness can be overcome. That the tomb is empty.

And yet, as I watched people dancing in the streets, I wondered if we have forgotten. It's been seven days and we seem to have forgotten.

Aren't we Easter people?

Is the message of Easter morning still relevant seven days later? Or must we wait another year to act as if Easter matters?

Obviously, I cannot know if the Americans dancing in the streets are Christians or not. But, to those who are, I want to say, aren't we Easter people? Aren't we called to live as Easter people every day? Even in the middle of a world that feels like a perpetual Good Friday?

Yes, my heart aches for the victims of 9/11.

It aches for the soldiers and their families.

But it also aches for the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis and Afghanis that have died in the "War on Terror."

It aches for the woman who was used as a human shield at Bin Laden's compound.

It aches for the mother of Bin Laden's son, who woke up on Monday morning without a child. No mother, anywhere, ever, should know the pain of losing a child.

And, my heart beats too fast as I type this..

my heart aches for Bin Laden.

Because I look at my baby son and think that, a long time ago, Bin Laden was a baby son too. And somewhere along the way, his heart became so hardened and full of hate that he became a rejoicer in death.

You may despise me for aching for him. He did terrible, terrible things.

But, if I cannot see his humanity, if I become a rejoicer in death too, then my heart is no different than his.

Bin Laden was not a Christian.

But I am.

And I pray, pray, pray that God will give me the courage, will give us the courage to live as Easter people.

Every day.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." ~Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

"Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you." ~Jesus

playing small

David took pictures of Milo & me the other day. And, when I uploaded them to our computer, I remembered why I never take pictures of myself anymore.

For one, the day that David took these pictures, I had a gigantic pimple.

But a pimple is temporary. The short, post-baby hairs that are growing at my part feel like they will be around forever. (Nobody tells you when you are pregnant that one of the side effects of giving birth is losing all the hair you didn't lose when you were pregnant and then dealing with the new, fuzzy hair that grows in its place.)

And then, of course, there is the post-baby baby belly that refuses to leave. Despite my running and my denying myself cupcakes (and the fact that my baby is almost nine months old), my midsection feels forever marked by the fact that I grew and birthed a baby.

All this to say, I had no intention of posting the pictures David took.

But then two things happened.

One, I couldn't get over how much these pictures seemed to capture the love I feel for my son. The joy I feel when I am with him. And, I believe, there is evidence in these pictures of how much my son loves me.

I realized that I need more pictures of the two of us. We have thousands (literally THOUSANDS) of pictures of Milo at every stage in his young life. And we have tons of pictures of him with the people who love him. And only a few pictures of Milo with his mama.

He is growing up fast. This must be remedied.

The other thing that happened is I was reading my Lenten book.

And I came across this quote from Marianne Williamson:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

I love my son.

I want him to grow up believing he has the glory of God within him.

I want him to know he is loved.

Do I believe he's smart? Yes. Sweet? Yes. Funny? Yes. Kind? Yes. Talented? Yes.

Is that why I love him?

No.

I love him because he is Milo.

And this, I believe, is the way God loves us. Simply because we are.

And, if I want my son to believe in God's love and if I want him to believe God's goodness is inside him...

I have to believe it about myself.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

So, here are the pictures of me and my son...

I am brilliant.

I am gorgeous.

I am talented.

I am fabulous.

I am a child of God.

And so are you.

maybe I should keep a journal. maybe not.

I've written a million blog posts that I never published.

Ok, maybe not really a million. But a lot.

I write them because writing helps me think. Writing helps me process. I can think about something all I want, but it isn't until I write it down that it makes sense to me. That it feels clear to me.

I think, sometimes, I should keep a journal instead of a blog. I worry that I overshare. I notice that the blog I started as a way to let our Kansas families know what is happening in Colorado has actually become my place to share my deepest insecurities, greatest joys, and toughest struggles. Weird? Maybe. Maybe I should keep a journal instead. But journals are private and blogs are not. And blogs have this lovely way of reminding you that you are not alone--that others share your insecurities, your joys, and your struggles.

This Lenten season, I have been fasting from facebook. I wrote about my reasons for doing so in this post.

If I try to evaluate the success of my Lenten discipline based solely on whether or not I have stayed off facebook, I am a failure.

I have checked on my friend in Tokyo to see how she is coping with the tremendous loss, tragedy, & grief that Japanese people are experiencing.

I have checked on my friend who had a baby this week. I watched all five of the videos she posted of her sweet, sweet, tiny newborn baby.

I posted a picture of Milo on his baptism day and when he turned 8 months old because, honestly, that kid is just too much for my heart alone to hold and I have to share him with the facebook world.

So, I guess, maybe, I am a failure.

Except, I know that's not true.

I am not a failure. My fast from facebook has not been a failure.

I needed space.

And now, every morning when Milo takes a morning nap, instead of cruising facebook, I've been filling the newly-found space with reading/thinking/praying.

I've been reading "The Power of Pause" by Terry Hershey. I didn't discover Terry on my own. My church is using his book as a resource during this Lenten season.

His chapters are short. And very, very powerful.

I feel like he is speaking to me. Like he is singing my song. Like he knows what my heart needed to hear.

Here are some of his "nuggets" of wisdom that I've found helpful:

We all see "crippled" parts of ourselves that sadden, discourage, infuriate, embarrass, or even repulse us...and we do our best to wish or will or pray them away...the problem is, as long as I'm bent on fixing, repairing, and renovating in order to make myself more presentable or lovable or acceptable, I am postponing the ability to receive any gifts (from you or from God) in the moment I have right now. (61)

Granted, there are flawed and weak parts that could change. But we can't change anything until we can love it. We can't love anything until we can know it. We can't know anything until we can embrace it. (62)

To be blessed is to know that I am loved by a gracious Creator, and that I can own and celebrate my identity, knowing it is enough. (72)

Here is the power of space. With space we are able to receive, and our lives are fueled by gratitude. (75)

So, I guess I will keep writing blog posts. Some will get "published" and others won't. But one thing is certain. I am learning to embrace. To love. And to celebrate my identity.

today is a special, special day

Dear Milo,

Today is a special, special day.

Today is your baptism day.

Your grandparents drove all day to be here for your special day. You have a new outfit to wear. It's a special, special day.

Milo, I know you don't understand this day. For you, this day is no different than any other. But, for me, this is a special, special day.

I've been thinking about this letter for a long time. Thinking about what I want to say to you. How to explain your baptism day to you.

You see, I remember my baptism day. I was 10 years old. I remember going to the front of the church with my parents and my brother, your Uncle Justin. I remember the pastor laying his hands on my head. I don't remember the words he said, but I remember the way it felt to be loved so completely. To be told I am beloved. To be told I am God's child. To be surrounded by people who loved me and wanted my life to be filled with grace.

And I remember crying. I was 10 years old, but somehow I understood what it meant, and it moved me.

And part of me is sad for you that you will not remember this day. Because it is a special, special day.

Today, your parents, your grandparents, and your church family will be present with you. The pastors will lay hands on you. We will say vows. We, as your family and as your church, will commit to raising you in the Church. We will say, "We are your Church, Milo, and we love you so very much."

And then the pastors will baptize you, Milo.

They will sprinkle you with water. You will be baptized by water & the Spirit.

The water is an outward sign. A sign of your belonging. A sign of how much we love you. Of how much your Church loves you. And, most importantly, a sign of how much God loves you.

And, after we have prayed over you, Pastor George will carry you around the sanctuary. And we will sing to you. We will sing these words:

Milo Stephen, God claims you.

God helps you,

protects you,

and loves you too.

We are here to say, this day,

that we will help you

on the way.

Milo Stephen, God claims you.

God helps you,

protects you,

and loves you too.

Milo, today is a special, special day. Today we will say, "Milo, we are your Church."

As your mother, I can do my best to raise you as a person of faith. It is my hope for you that tomorrow will mark the beginning of a spiritual journey for you. That you will continue to seek God, to understand God's nearness, to believe God's goodness resides within your very own body.

It is my hope for you that you will desire God. To seek God's will for your life. To participate in God's redeeming work in the world. To be a co-creator of justice, love, and mercy. To be grace-filled.

Today is a special, special day. Today we will say, "Milo, we are your Church."

And it is my hope, as your mother, that someday you will say for yourself, "This is MY Church."

I can't be certain. After all, you are your own person and will have to, eventually, find your own way in this world.

But, always, always remember these things:

God loves you.

Your Church loves you.

And I love you so very, very, very much.

Happy Baptism day,

Mama

why I won't be on facebook for 6 weeks

Yesterday, I posted on facebook that I might give it up for Lent.

And a firestorm ensued.

Ok, it wasn't really a firestorm, but it felt like one to me.

I was immediately criticized. And judged. And told I shouldn't "give something up" but "take something on."

Once I got over feeling defensive, I decided that the reaction to my "leaving" facebook for six weeks had very little to do with me. No one asked me why I was leaving facebook. No one cared what my reasons were (reasons I'll get to in a moment). Instead, I think people interpreted my decision to leave facebook as a criticism of them. Which it wasn't. This isn't about them. Or you. Or anyone else. This is about me.

Let me begin by saying there's absolutely nothing wrong with facebook. I think facebook is fun & entertaining. Heck, facebook fueled a revolution in Egypt so I'm not arguing it's a bad thing.

But, here's my confession: I'm a facebook addict. It's like crack. (Except, not really, I know that.)

If you're not on facebook, you probably think I'm ridiculous. But if you ARE on facebook, I think you maybe understand what I mean. It's fairly addictive. It's distracting. It's entertaining.

And, for me, it's a total time suck.

When David & I got smart phones, it got worse. When I only checked facebook on my computer, it was one thing. But my phone? My phone is with me at all times! And, with one click of a button, I can know what is happening in the lives of my 427 friends.

Here's where I come clean:

I check my facebook, on my phone, first thing in the morning. It's true. I roll over, pick up my phone, and look at facebook before I get out of bed.

And at night? It's how I "wind down."

I check it when I'm nursing Milo.

Or when Milo's playing on the floor & I'm bored.

Annndddd... (get ready to judge me)... I check it at stoplights when I'm driving. OMG.

So, recently, I started wondering why I'm on so much. Here's what I came up with:

*I feel affirmed about who I am. If I post something smart & witty or if I post an adorable picture of Milo & people "like" it, I feel affirmed. I feel valued. It is ridiculous how good it feels when someone "likes" something I posted on facebook.

*I feel connected. I feel like I'm not alone. I feel "in the loop." (My friend Greta jokes that facebook is her leading source of news & it's true for me too!)

*I get bored. I totally, totally, totally love my son. But, seriously. Sometimes, being a stay-at-home mom is sooooooooo boooorrring. I long for adult human contact.

*I've found a community of moms. Facebook is great for getting feedback about baby products & information about feeding, sleeping, etc.

However, I've recently been evaluating this. Is it harmful that I seek so much affirmation from facebook? Am I really connecting with other people? Really? Do I really need to know what's going on in the life of a person I talked to twice in highschool? And does it matter if I'm "in the loop" if it's keeping me from being present to the life that's happening in my very own home?

I'm beginning to suspect that the things I'm looking for--to feel noticed, to feel affirmed, to feel valuable, to feel connected--are needs that simply can't be met on facebook.

Plus, facebook can simultaneously make me feel really, really crappy about myself. When I wanted desperately to have a baby, I had to hide all my friends with babies. When Milo wasn't sleeping, I had to hide all my friends with babies who slept through the night. When I feel bad that I'm a stay-at-home mom, I hide my friends with exciting & fulfilling professional careers. When I feel guilty that I'm not a good stay-at-home mom, I hide my friends who take their babies to music classes & chinese story-telling. Your baby's crawling? Hide. You've lost all your pregnancy weight? Hide. You're getting ordained? Hide. You can afford a vacation to Mexico? Hide.

If I haven't hidden you, it's either because I genuinely like you or because you make me feel better about my life. Yes, it's true. Sometimes I look at my facebook friends and think, "OMG, at least I'm not that pathetic."

So, anyway, Lent starts on Wednesday.

I've never been a big fan of "giving something up" for Lent. I don't pretend to think that giving up chocolate or diet coke will bring me closer to God.

But I do believe in making space.

And I desperately need to make space.

Space to feel safe.

To feel whole.

To feel like I am enough.

Space to trust in my own goodness.

Space to be present in my own life. Here & now.

Space to believe, with every fiber of my being, that I am loved by the Divine Creator, whose spirit palpates through me at every moment.

If only I'd get off facebook long enough to realize it.

blessed are the troublemakers

Dear Milo,

I took this picture of you the other day.

You look adorable. But I started to think. If peace signs are "cool," cool enough to put on baby onesies & baby hats, then I'm not sure we're teaching you the right things. Because, Milo, being a peacemaker is so much more than wearing a peace sign.

A few weeks ago I went to church without you & the sermon was about the Beatitudes. You're too little right now, but some day Mama will teach you about the Beatitudes. Because they might be one of my favorite parts of the Bible.

The sermon was good, but something that was said during the children's moment has really bothered me. I'm not trying to pick on the person who did the children's moment. After all, talking about things in the Bible in a way that kids can understand them is really, really hard to do.

The thing that bothered me is that, when explaining the beatitude "blessed are the peacemakers," the kids were told that this means God likes it when we don't cause trouble.

And it got me thinking.

I started thinking about peacemakers. The ones I've read about & the ones I know personally. And, Milo, I think almost every single peacemaker who came to mind has been arrested. Maybe not all of them, but most of them. Not because they are bad people, but because they were, indeed, causing trouble.

You see, Milo, there are lots & lots of things in our world that aren't right. There are lots of things that are unfair. And sometimes, in order to make things fair, in order to make things right, you have to cause a little trouble. And the reason the Beatitudes are so ridiculous is because Jesus is saying the very opposite of what the storyteller during the children's moment was saying. Jesus says "blessed are the peacemakers," but he really means, "blessed are the people who get in trouble trying to make things fair."

Before you were born, Mama & two of her friends went to the Sea of Galilee & climbed up Mt. Beatitude. Here is Mama on Mt. Beatitude:

It was really special to be at the Sea of Galilee & to be in the place where Jesus said, "blessed are the peacemakers." But, Milo, being there was scary. We went there to be with people who get in lots & lots of trouble because they are trying to make things more fair. We even got into some trouble ourselves. It is hard, hard work to be a peacemaker, Milo.

In a few weeks, you will be baptized. Mama & Daddy will stand up with you at the front of the church & present you for baptism. Your grandparents will be there, too. And then the pastor will baptize you with water that Mama collected from the Sea of Galilee.

I still remember taking off my shoes & socks, wading out into the chilly water, leaning over & collecting water from the Sea in an empty water bottle. I didn't have you yet, but I was hoping for you.

And I still hope for you, Milo. I hope that, on the day of your baptism, you will know that you are loved. I hope you will grow up confident in your identity as a child of God. And, I hope you will always remember the water that baptized you. The water that holds the whispers of a promise...

Blessed are the troublemakers, for they shall be called the children of God...

Love,

Mama

advent, babies, and thoughts on peace

Dear Milo,

You don't understand it, but it's Christmastime. You love the tree. And the lights. And you seem to like the Pandora Christmas station.

But, Milo. I want to tell you about my favorite part of Christmas.

It's called Advent. Advent is a time of waiting. And preparing. And hoping. (Last Christmas, we were waiting, preparing, and hoping for you!)

Last Sunday, Christians around the world celebrated the second Sunday of Advent and lit the candle of peace.

At our church, the young adult group hosted a group of folks from the Multicultural Mosaic Foundation in Denver. A group of Muslims, men and women, came to our church to speak about Islam and their organizational efforts to build peace through dialogue and education. (i.e. They take time to travel to Christian churches and Jewish synagogues to prove that Muslims aren't scary.)

Our young adult group invited other Sunday School classes to attend as well and, at 9:30 a.m., the room was full.

My stomach was in knots. I knew what kind of questions the young adults would ask, but I had no idea what kinds of questions the other folks would ask. I didn't want to be embarrassed. I didn't want to offend our Muslim guests.

In addition to worrying about the questions that would be asked, I had to worry about you. Sunday School is smack dab in the middle of when you should be napping, but I'm too chicken to put you in the nursery and Daddy was working.

I was right. People asked questions that embarrassed me. But Ismail and Andrea and the other friends from MMF didn't bat an eyelash. They responded to the questions with patience and grace. More patience and grace than we deserved.

(Afterward, I asked Ismail if he gets tired of answering the same questions over and over again and having to defend his faith. He said, yes, it is tiring, but it is necessary. He said he hopes that someday he won't have to travel to churches and defend Islam. That is my hope, too.)

But I was wrong about you. You were perfect. Even though you were exhausted, you didn't make a peep.

And when the class was over, the Muslim women hustled over to you and oohed and ahhed over you. And you put on quite the show. You let one of the mamas hold you and smiled your gigantic, toothless grin. One of the women was pregnant and is having a baby boy in February. I told her baby boys were wonderful and we talked about where she is going to deliver.

I realized that motherhood is capable of transcending lots and lots of boundaries. All mamas love their babies and want what's best for them.

And Milo, I looked at you with pride and joy. I ached for Ismail, Andrea, and the mamas who were holding you because building peace must be oh so exhausting. But on the day we lit a candle of peace, I looked at you. My little 16-pound peacemaker. And I felt like I have reason to hope.

Love,

Mama

mary's come unglued

Yesterday, I was pulling the last of the Christmas decorations out of the box and, when I took out our tiny nativity set, this is what I saw.

That's right. Mary is missing.

If you look closely, you can see the tiny bit of leftover adhesive on the empty side of the manger where Mary used to kneel in front of the baby Jesus.

Upon discovering that our nativity set was minus one, I said to David, "Mary's come unglued!" And then immediately busted out laughing.

As a new mama myself, I began to imagine the many different reasons that Mary might have fled the stable.

Maybe she was tired of kneeling and looking at baby Jesus all day long. I mean, I'm sure he was cute and all, but staring at a baby all day long isn't exactly scintillating.

Or maybe she was tired of the sheep's incessant baaing that kept her baby awake at naptime.

Or maybe she was tired of 2 a.m. feedings. Even the Son of God had to eat at 2 a.m. and I'm pretty sure Mary didn't have a Medela pump so Joseph could share the responsibility of feeding the crying babe.

And Joseph. Maybe she was tired of picking up Joseph's underwear off the stable floor. And getting left behind in the stable while he was off doing carpentry work.

Maybe she missed her family. And Elizabeth, her sister-friend.

Maybe she took a well-deserved vacation by herself at some hot springs resort in the desert.

Maybe she was tired of only being known as a mother, and left in an effort to resuscitate a piece of her former life. (I like to imagine her organizing women and peasants for higher wages.)

Maybe she was just tired.

Anyway, you'll be relieved to know that I found Mary at the bottom of the Christmas box. And I returned her to her place in the manger.

However.

She's no longer glued down. And I kind of like it that way.

I've decided that, every couple of days, I'm going to relieve her from her mama duties and put her somewhere else. By herself. Somewhere quiet. At least for a couple of hours.

I think Mary deserves a silent night every now and then.

This is a good place, Milo.

I took Milo to church on Sunday.

I wasn't really ready to go to church, but my maternity leave was over and it was time for me to return to Trinity. I'm working part-time (like 6 hours a week) so you'd think I could manage without complaining.

But the truth is, I've enjoyed not going to church on Sundays. I've enjoyed, instead, going to our local farmers market, getting breakfast from the Biscuit Bus, and taking Milo for walks. Not to mention that my uber favorite time with Milo is in the morning. He wakes up between 6 and 7 so instead of nursing him in his room, I bring him to our bed to nurse. He eats, we doze, he wakes up, we "talk." It's lovely. So having to actually get out of bed and be somewhere proved very difficult.

Throw into the mix that I don't even really know if I like working in a church. You'd think that, after 3 years of seminary, I would be more excited about working in a church but I'm not. I don't always like the church. It can be exhausting to work in a church. Churches are filled with crazy people. (Myself included, I suppose) The Church (with a capital "C") can be oh so aggravating.

Anyway, Milo and I made it to church. I forgot my nursing pads (!), Milo cried all the way there, and we arrived 30 minutes late, but we made it. In my rush to get ready, I hadn't even finished my coffee. I was cranky.

But, luckily, God is a God of grace and surprises.

When I went to check my mailbox, I found that the McFaddins (an older couple in the church who serve as greeters) had made Milo a name tag. Milo is 7 weeks old and he has a name tag. With a teddy bear sticker on it.

And then, during fellowship hour, Pastor Paul--the same pastor who had just preached a sermon--took the time to give Milo a bottle.

And a woman who is homeless came to fellowship hour to eat a bagel and drink some coffee told me what a beautiful baby Milo was. And he smiled at her.

Plus, on Tuesday I took him to staff meeting with me. I was nervous about bringing a baby to staff meeting and worried they would think he was too distracting. But they took turns holding him, feeding him, burping him, and rocking him to sleep. At the end of the meeting, when Rev. Brunner was holding my sleeping baby, he said to me, "Tiffany, I think Milo knows this is a good place."

And I got a little teary-eyed. Because, Milo, even though the Church is a messy place with messy people, sometimes we get some things right. Yes, this is a good place, Milo.

Sarcastic Lutheran

If you get a minute, check out this blog from Sarcastic Lutheran, an Iliff alum and phenomenal preacher woman. Her recent sermon about the Kingdom of God is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Happy 1 month, Milo!

Milo is one month old!

Can you handle the cuteness???

He's SO done with pictures...

Happy day, Milo! You are one month old today!

One month.

In some ways, it feels like I blinked and you turned one month old. In other ways, it feels like the longest 31 days of my life! Already I can't imagine my life without you.

One month. One whole month.

We've come a long way, baby! (You, me, and your dad) You are sleeping longer at night (sometimes 4.5 hours between feedings!), can hold your head up, and are starting to focus your eyes on us. Occasionally, we can get you to smile--usually in the morning when you are happiest.

Milo, on your one month birthday I have a secret to tell you. I'm really starting to like you. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. Of course, I loved you the moment you were born but I didn't know you. You were as foreign to me as a unicorn that speaks Russian. I feel like I am learning you, getting to know you, getting to know all about you, getting to like you, getting to hope you like me... (Have you learned yet that your mom is a total cheeseball?)

Even though you throw me some kind of curveball every day, I'm beginning to learn your noises and cries. I'm figuring out which cries mean you need to burp and which cries mean you're tired and, of course, I've learned which cries mean you just want your mama to hold you. I love, love, love holding you. Even though I'm excited for you to be older (I've learned newborns aren't really my gig), I'm trying to savor the moments of holding you--the way your legs bend up underneath your body and your head is still sort of floppy and the way you smell.

Don't get me wrong, little one. Your mama is also exhausted and only gets to shower on days your dad isn't working. (Lucky for all of us, he only works 3 days a week) I'm also grieving the loss (at least the temporary loss) of my former life. Last August I was in Palestine. The August before that I was taking water to migrants on the border. Now I am changing poopy diapers and going to Target with baby spit up on my shirt. There have been times when I have wished for my life before you, but they are getting fewer and farther between. Mostly, I am just so, so glad you are mine.

Every night I sing you this song so I thought I'd include it in your one-month letter. I haven't done a thorough analysis of its theological implications, but my mama sang it to me and now I'm singing it to you...

When Jesus sent you to us,

we loved you from the start.

You were just a bit of sunshine

from heaven to our hearts.

Not just another baby,

'cause since the world began

There's been something very special

For you in God's plan.

That's why

God made you special.

You're the only one of your kind.

God gave you a body

and a bright healthy mind.

God had a special purpose

that God wanted you to find

So God made you something special,

You're the only one of your kind.

I love you, Milo!

Love,

Mama

(In order to hear the video, you'll have to stop the music player at the bottom of the page.)

Letter to Baby M

(I started writing letters to Baby Baker when we found out we were pregnant. I've kept them private but thought I would share this one...)

Dear Baby M.,

You are about to be born. Despite the fact that your mama feels like you are never coming, I know you cannot stay in there forever.

You are four days late. Maybe you are scared to come out.

I don't blame you. This outside world can be a very scary place. People hurt each other and hate each other and, sometimes, kill each other.

Millions of babies are born to mamas and daddies who love them, but can't afford to feed them. Or they are born to mamas and daddies who will die of AIDS. Or, sometimes, they are born and discarded.

It's scary and sad and not fair.

Maybe it was selfish of your dad and me to want to bring you into this world.

But, ultimately, your mama believes (like the famous musician sings) that, despite the scariness and the awfulness, the heart of life is good.

It's true, little one. The heart of life is good.

I believe it because this morning the sun came up. And I woke up next to your dad. And two eager puppies licked my foot as it hung off the side of the bed.

I believe it because we are surrounded by good, good people who will help you figure out how to navigate your way here in this world. Like the great Tink Tinker says, There is no way out, there is only a way through...

There is so much I want to say to you as you prepare to be born. I am anxious to meet you and get to know you and see who you are. Your dad and I promise to always take care of you and love you, no matter what. Your grandparents and aunts and uncles and honorary aunts and uncles love you too. They will be here to teach you and encourage you.

I said I will love you no matter what and that is true. However, there are some things that I hope for you. I hope that you will grow up feeling loved and wanted. I hope that you will know God's grace and presence in your life. I hope that you will be kind. I hope that you will get angry about things in this world that are not fair. I hope you will spend time making things better. I hope that your heart will be so full of love that it is easy for you to love the people around you. All people. Even people who are different than you.

I saw a poster in the bookstore once that said, On the day you were born, God danced.

I believe this to be true as well. That when you finally make your entrance in this world, the Divine Presence who creates, celebrates, and nurtures life will dance. You will be immediately surrounded by a community who will welcome you and celebrate you.

Little one, I don't know what day you will be born. But I know there will be dancing...

Love,

Your mom

Retreat

Last weekend was our Just Faith retreat at Mother Cabrini Shrine.

The Retreat House

The Gazebo

A view of the shrine (I made it to the top!)

A view of downtown from the retreat house.

I love the mountains!

Mother God

I'm writing the pastoral prayer for Mother's Day tomorrow and I found this email from a co-worker of mine. I don't think God is female any more than I believe God is male, but I do think we need an image of God as Mother. Here's what "Pastor Steve" has to say...

The Mother will send the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, in my name.... Those who love me will keep my word, and my Mother will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them....

— John 14.26, 23

The Holy Trinity is a single parent family, right? And look— despite all the he-man talk, God is a mom. Aside from our sexist history, there's really no reason to call God Father instead of Mother. God has no biology, no body parts, no x or y chromosomes. So the whole Mother/Father thing is all about social stereotypes. Well, doesn't God fit the traditional stereotype of a mother? The one who births us, and nurses us with her own flesh, the one who taught us to walk. Not one who leaves home every day to work, but the one who stays with us to care for us. The one who feeds us, the one who talks with us, who weaves our relationships together, who tends us when we're sick, who cries over us. Isn't God more like the one who fusses over us rather than the one who taught us how to play football? As far as gender stereotypes go, God is way more like Mom.

Both our stereotypes and our theology need to change. But while dads learn to be more like what we've always expected of moms, God's been doing it all along.

And she's not only a homemaker, she's a single mom. There's a Son, and another (a daughter?)—but no other parent, no other authority, no one else for us to turn to or for her to fall back on. God is the resilient, resourceful, devoted single mom, the one who works hard to hold the family together, who balances work and family, who somehow pulls it all together. As we approach Mother's Day I honor mothers, especially those who are single or functionally so, who give life and love, and who embody God's grace.

In the name of the Mother, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Happy Mother's Day.

Mary

All the way to Elizabeth

and in the months afterward,

she wove him, pondering,

"This is my body, my blood."

Beneath the watching eyes

of donkey, ox, and sheep

she rocked him, crooning,

"This is my body, my blood."

In the moonless desert flight

and the Egypt-days of his growing

she nourished him, singing,

"This is my body, my blood."

In the search for her young lost boy

and the foreboding day of his leaving

she let him go, knowing,

"This is my body, my blood."

Under the blood-smeared cross

she rocked his mangled bones,

remembering him, moaning,

"This is my body, my blood."

When darkness, stones, and tomb

bloomed to Easter morning,

she ran to him, shouting,

"This is my body, my blood."

And no one thought to tell her:

"Woman, it is not fitting

for you to say those words.

You don't resemble him."

--Irene Zimmerman

Peru Connection

My friend, Lorissa, has decided to go to Peru this summer with Global Volunteers Network. I'm so proud to be her friend and so proud of her for taking this big step. To offer her support and encouragement (or just to see her really beautiful blog!) click here.

Eat. Pray. Love.

The 3 things I did last weekend: Eat. Pray. Love.

We stayed at the Retreat House at the Abbey of St. Walburga in Virginia Dale, Colorado (almost in Wyoming). The nuns were extremely hospitable and cooked us delicious meals that we ate family style. There was an abundance of hot tea and cocoa available whenever we needed it--which was good since we were numb from the cold most of the weekend!

We prayed 6 times with the nuns during the 24 hours we were there. While I admire their faithfulness, I learned the monastic lifestyle is certainly NOT for me. Especially when the alarm went off at 4:15 a.m. for morning prayers!!!

However, I did enjoy the evening prayers last night and the silence of having my own room to read, pray, and of course, nap. =)

I did some reading about St. Benedict and the Rule of Benedict (St. Walburga is a Benedictine community) and one of the "nuggets" that sticks with me is the following:

If you listen, you will hear what your heart would like to say. One thing stays with us always, present whether pursued or not, and that is the call to the center of ourselves where the God we are seeking is seeking us.

In addition to eating and praying, I was able to soak up a lot of love from three dear friends who were also on the retreat, as well as enjoy some love from older women in my church community. Oh, how I love being part of a church!

AND, I think Bambeano loved being there because s/he was moving a lot! I'm really starting to love that kid...

Lent Lover

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday and marked the beginning of the Lenten season. I have to admit, I totally love Lent.

This year the young adult group I lead at Trinity is using Sarah Parsons' A Clearing Season for our Lenten study. Here's some of what she has to say about Lent:

Lent is not all about penitence or misdeeds or guilt. It is a time of introspection, true, but its ultimate purpose lies beyond penitence. In essence Lent serves as our annual invitation to come closer to God.

If we picture all the obstructions between us and God as a wilderness, Lent presents us with time to clear and cultivate a part of that wilderness, to create an open space in it. In this newly opened space, we may live more freely and commune more closely with the divine.

Parsons' notion of "clearing space" suggests that we make space in the middle of the wilderness to be present to God. She argues that Lent begins in the wilderness and uses Jesus' experience in the wilderness to demonstrate that the wilderness is an important and valuable place.

We tend, especially in Western society, to separate ourselves from discomfort or chaos. This passage [the story of Jesus in the wilderness] counsels us to try a different approach. It encourages us to sit in the uncomfortable, chaotic place, possibly for a long time. Rather than running from the wilderness, Jesus stays there as long as necessary, long enough to experience it fully.

I find her words comforting and believe a more friendly attitude toward my own feelings of being in the wilderness (um, feeling totally lost about graduating but having no job and trying to decide where we will begin our lives with this baby) would be very helpful.

Part of my own efforts to "clear some space" include spending less time on Facebook and watching TV. I find that I waste hours of time on things that don't really make my life more full and I'm attempting to remedy some of that.

This weekend I am lucky enough to be going on a Contemplative Women's Retreat. We will spend 24 hours at an abbey in Colorado, and we will pray the hours with the nuns, have our own room, and spend time in prayer and reflection. I have never been on this kind of retreat before and don't know if I will know what to "do," BUT, I am hopeful that it will be an important part of this Lenten/clearing season.

I'm certified!

Well, it only took 26 months (!) but I am finally a certified candidate for ordination in the United Methodist Church! It's taken me so long (too long!) to get to this point so I'm taking a few days to revel in it before I begin investigating what comes next BUT I *think* that next year I can apply for provisional status, be commissioned and receive an appointment. Depending on whether I go part-time or full-time, it will be 3-6 years before I am ordained but this was an important beginning step! I really appreciated all the thoughts and prayers. =)