This is the Lenten season. For those of you who may not be familiar with Lent, it is the 40 day "season" before Easter when some of us give up something to show our humbleness. I've given up liver and onions, turtle soup, oysters (after I got food poisoning from a bad batch about 25 years ago), and food poisoning.  Just kidding....kind of. Scripture tells us about how the serpent talked Eve into believing that eating from that one tree wouldn't really be bad, and she should go ahead and do it anyway, even though she was warned not to.  She did, indeed, eat the fruit, and that is why men blame us for having to wear clothes. Okay, just kidding again....kind of  (the "kind of", as I did get the side-eye from Dave a little bit when this scripture was read in church this morning).  Scripture also tells us that we shouldn't whine and complain about giving up whatever we have chosen to give up (you know, like when offered a piece of chocolate, I shouldn't pitifully say, "I want to SO badly, but I can't because I gave up sweets for Lent"), and I probably shouldn't use my Lenten "fasting" as an excuse to tell the Girl Scouts "no" when they ask if I want to buy cookies.  Just kidding....kind of. I mean....whoever dreamed up the idea to sell those morsels of goodness right when Lent is starting just has a tiny bit of evil in them, I think. Okay, really, now I am kidding. 
What is truly tempting to me?  As Father David talked about at our Episcopal church today, my temptation comes more from the ease it takes to get into INaction rather than the temptation to steal a candy bar (depending on the type of candy bar, I think).  In other words, it is easier for me to say, "I am so sick of people throwing out trash on the side of these beautiful country roads" than it is to simply take a few minutes or even an hour to go pick up said trash.  Why? I can make excuse after excuse for why I don't want to do the thing I really should be doing, but when I actually do it, it didn't take that much longer than my whining and complaining did.  My best analogy to this is my daily prayer and meditation time. I get on my knees every morning (either nose to nose with two adorable Labs that are on the bed, wagging their tail in prayer or in a hotel room when I am traveling---by the way, that IS a bit of a sacrifice, as I am not altogether positive about how clean the carpets always are----but I digress) then I read two meditation books and talk to dear friends about the meditations for that day.....except when I don't.  Getting into action sometimes means I have to do that action instead of making excuses for WHY I can't do it.  Crazy, isn't it?  
I am thinking that sometimes it is tempting to stay in the same spot rather than move forward in my faith walk, but Father David just told us this morning that standing still and being INactive is actually moving backward.  Yup, you heard it here. In order to move forward, I need to actually act and do something, like pick up that trash on the side of the road (whining apparently doesn't count as "action", I've found out) instead of sitting and doing nothing about it. I need to pick up my meditation book, read it, and comment it on it, connecting with my sisters-in-Christ who are reading the same book versus saying I am too busy to read today.
Temptation is real, for me, to be sure. I am eternally grateful that I am at least aware of it rather than turning a blind eye to it.  Temptation, for me, though, is not about the supposedly "big" things like murder, theft, or adultery (after all, have you all SEEN Dave? He's pretty darn cute)....it's about the little things that can start adding up to bigger things that I need to watch out for. 
I am committed to giving time to educators in need of support during this Lenten season (and all the time, really), but that is a little selfish on my part as well, as it is work that doesn't feel like work most of the time but is rather something that soothes my soul.  
I pray that each one of you finds the right balance of not being tempted to do the thing you know you shouldn't while also finding the thing that you know you need to do to get out of lethargy or inaction.
Last question....if I gave up sweets for Lent, I don't have to give up eating the banana bread that Dave is currently making, do I? That is a bread, not a "sweet", right?  Yep, that's my life!  I'm praying for yours, as well.
Happy Communicating!
Shelly

Thinking about this today: the Nichole Nordeman song "I Am" seems to play whenever I need to hear it.  Take a listen by clicking on the song title.
When we were little girls, my sister Kristen and I shared a bedroom. The room was oversized, originally intended to be split into two rooms. We split the room into sections, instead. We used one side for our two twin beds and the other side became our playroom, complete with a dollhouse that put Barbie’s Malibu home to shame, stuffed animals, art area, and bookshelves filled with our treasured picture books. Mother and Daddy encouraged artwork --- painting, drawing, coloring, although Mother snubbed her nose at traditional coloring books, claiming them to stifle any creativity. Artwork, however, was not encouraged to be completed on the walls of our bedroom, as I personally found out as a young girl. Like Harold with his purple crayon, I somehow got the idea that drawing on the wall by my bed with a blue crayon was a good idea. Not so. A strong scolding was all it took to convince me to not do that again.
So, when Mother and Daddy suggested Kristen and I begin measuring ourselves, using a pencil to mark our height on the bedroom wall, I was a bit gun-shy. Was this a trick? Could we really mark on the wall? “Yes, it’s fine in this case. Plus, we are only using pencil and we’ll wipe it off as we make new marks.” Reluctantly, I backed against the wall to allow Kristen to draw a line above my head with a #2 pencil. In case Mother and Daddy changed their minds and got onto us for writing on the wall, maybe I wouldn’t be first in line to be scolded.

How odd to turn around and see where the mark on the wall was. It seemed so low. After all, Astroworld (amusement park in Houston with loads of rollercoasters) had those evil "You can't ride this ride if you aren't this tall" signs next to the best rides.  Could I really be that short? But week after week, we returned to the wall to measure. Lo and behold---the lines slowly but surely crawled up the wall. And despite the original thought, we were able to keep the older pencil marks so we could see where we had come from. “Wow! Can you believe I was ever that short?” we would marvel.

Kristen and I grew, we grew up, and for a time, we grew apart. We moved away from that house too early and for tough reasons.

Nichole Nordeman’s song “I Am” begins with the words
“Pencil marks on a wall, I wasn’t always that tall.
You scattered some monsters from beneath my bed.”

This melodic song depicts growing up, calling out by name the need for a savior, secret keeper, elbow healer, and comforter, with a loved one, a parent and, ultimately, God answering, “I am”.
How I measured myself changed as the years went by. Marks on a wall were exchanged for milestones such as shopping for a first bra, “falling in love” with my first boyfriend, and moving into a college dorm. College, for me, brought a host of new experiences including making lifelong friends, two of whom ended up being bridesmaids in my wedding. Kelly, Robin and I saw each other through major boyfriend breakups, late nights studying and, ultimately, weddings.

When we called out for a “secret keeper” or “heartache healer”, the others would be there. We listened to each other declare we would never be able to love again. When we were weak, we would call each other. When Robin called oh-so-long ago to say she was getting a divorce, I asked “Do you want me to come be with you?” She answered, “Come if you can.” I said, “I am.”
In 2013, Robin called. I knew what had happened before she said her father had passed away. I didn’t go to Nebraska. But she asked me if I had any suggestions for music that might be nice for his funeral. I told her I would think about it. I did. Robin’s dad had meant the world to her. What kind of song would be fitting for a dad who had been the hero to her for so long? What kind of song would be a good measure of her love for him? I burst into tears when I pulled up Nichole Nordeman’s album on my computer and saw this song. I sent her the words and told her to listen.
“When I am weak, unable to speak, still, I will call you by name.
Oh Shepherd, Savior, pasture maker, hold on to my hand. And You said, ‘I am’.”
After all these years, from measuring myself by pencil marks on a wall to measuring myself by the love I still feel for my sister and these God friends, I want to take a minute to remind them that when we are weak and unable to speak, if you call out for a secret keeper to hold your hand, I will answer “I am”.

In 2015, I called Robin then Kelly. I had been diagnosed with bi-lateral breast cancer. They, along with Dave (of course, who is, was, and always be my "first person I run to") and the dogs (who wore pink ribbons when I came home from the work trip on which I found out about the diagnosis), I needed that comfort. I told them they didn't need to come stay with me, and they both said "I am".....coming....helping....draining my icky tubes....cooking for Dave and me....and so much more and more and more.  

I am so blessed to have so many people who show up, comfort, and love me despite all of my foibles. I love you more than you know. 
I pray you have people who say "I am". Many of you are those people for me. 
Will I be there for you?  I am!
Happy Communicating!

Shelly

I honestly believe there is no such thing as a coincidence. For me, in my own faith, I have come to believe in God-winks. Squire Rushnell has written several books on the topic, which in essence is a tap on the shoulder from God saying, "Helloooo....I'm here. Pay attention."  Sometimes it is something as simple as seeing the beauty and majesty of nature that is present, and we simply remain open to observation. Sometimes it is something much more meaningful to us.
One of the first times I remember experiencing one of the life-changing Godwinks in my life was when I was pretty sure, since alcoholism runs in my family (on both sides, by the way), I should quit drinking, but I just hadn't been able to make the leap that said, "Hey, wait a minute----does that mean I won't be able to celebrate at weddings with a glass (or two or three) of champagne?" or "What does one do on a cruise if the alcohol factor is taken away?".  Despite those questions seeming way too important to me, I still wasn't quite sure I should join the throngs of people who become sober, despite not having lost a house, car, job, or spouse. I asked God to give me some answers on the subject, and the next day, as I was driving, I heard a song I had never heard before.  It was Kenny Chesney's "I've Been There; That's Why I'm Here", which is unequivocally about a man who goes to his first AA meeting.  Coincidence? I think not. Soon after, I made what I consider to be one of the most life-changing decisions ever.  I've never, since then, even thought seriously about missing alcohol in my life but I sure have often thought about what being in a program that teaches me serenity on a daily basis has done to alter my life over the last almost-25-years....all because of a tap on my shoulder by God talking to me through a country song.  But I had to be willing to listen. Therein lies the rub with Godwinks, in my humble opinion. They are experiences that, gone unnoticed or ignored, could be written off as mere coincidence (or worse, yet, pointedly exclaiming, "I'm certain that wasn't the 'sign' I was looking for", which (for me) is likely a bit of a slap in the face to God.  
Another major Godwink came to me on the night my sweet and quirky mother passed away in July of 2005.  Dave's and my first Lab, K.C., and I had spent the night at Mother's house as she was nearing the end of her time here on earth. K.C. and I would come out into the sunroom where Mother was resting peacefully (and had likely been unconscious that entire day and evening) every 30 minutes to an hour to check on her. Each time we'd come check on her, I would see her chest rise and fall, so K.C. and I would traipse back to the bedroom and get a few more minutes of sleep. Right after midnight, K.C. woke me up, and I thought she needed to go outside to go potty. She walked right into where Mother was lying on the daybed, and I could immediately see that Mother's chest was no longer rising and falling. I called Dave, and he came right over; we had Hospice come and they called the coroner, etc. About three hours later, after Mother's frail little body had been carried away, Dave got in his vehicle to drive home, and I got in my car to drive home. The moment I turned on the car, a song I had never heard before began playing. It was Natalie Grant singing the song "Held", whose lyrics (in part) say:
Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We're asking why this happens to us who have died to live
It's unfair
This is what it means to be held
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell, we'd be held

Did I mention I had never heard the song before? And yet, this song was precisely what I needed to hear at that exact moment. Coincidence? I think not. TOTAL Godwink.

Fast forward to my dear friend, Kelly, who passed away in late December and whose life we "celebrated" three weeks ago.  Since then, I have found myself talking to her ashes (her middle child very thoughtfully put some ashes in several tiny vials so we could have a piece of Kelly---crazy how we were supposed to be there to be of emotional support to these three "kids" of hers and Tavey blessed us with a piece of Kelly to keep with us) every morning after my morning prayers.  So many times in the last three weeks, I have been thinking of these beautiful young people who lost their mom and are learning to navigate what it means to be in your early 20s and losing your mom.  Three times, I have texted Hayden (the oldest of the three) to tell her a memory of her mom or that I was just curious how she was doing. Each and every time,, Hayden has immediately called me (in tears, which means I am then in tears, too) to ask how in the world I knew she needed to talk just then. My answer, "...because I needed to talk to you just then". Coincidence? I think not.  

I am eternally grateful for the ability to be a bit more cognizant of Godwinks when they show up in my life today and seeing them for what they truly are---NOT coincidences but taps on the shoulder to pay attention, listen, and be aware.
What are some of those times for you when you know you are experiencing a power greater than yourself?  
I'd love to hear yours. Who knows? It might just be exactly what I needed to hear right when I needed to hear it.

Happy Communicating!
​Shelly