Before I started kindergarten, I was Anna Marie. But the kids and teachers at school all called me Anna, and, try as I might, I couldn’t get them to stop. All through school I was Anna Marie at home, among family friends and to the older people at church and Anna everywhere else.

Then, after I got married and moved to a new community and started a new job, I tried a funny experiment. When I filled out the application, I wrote Annamarie. And suddenly I was Anna Marie again to a whole group of people. I had reinvented myself in a small way or maybe I had found myself again.

I’ve been thinking about new beginnings lately because there is a very good possibility that my family will be moving in the fall, possibly across the country, maybe even across the ocean, or maybe just a couple towns away.

This idea of new is very seductive to me. I’ve been thinking about how a major move will force me to drastically cull our possessions. What a freeing thought. And I’ve been further thinking that new neighbors, new friends, new church, new opportunities, new ministries will give me the opportunity to reinvent myself to become more the one I’d like to be. Or maybe it gives me the opportunity to find myself again and become more who I’ve always been and have lost in the chaos of my noisy life.

But. Why do I have to wait for a move to rid my life of physical and metaphorical clutter? Can’t I pare down my possessions for no other reason than the fact that I want more space in my life? Can’t I start being who I want to be and ignore the ones who try to fit me into last year’s box? Can’t I put down the baggage of old assumptions and take up the knapsack of my dreams?

What do you think? What would you do differently if you were starting over? What stops you from doing it now?

I changed the ringtone on my phone last week. Ever since, I’ve missed virtually every call. The new ringtone is super-cool. It’s the honking of a flock of geese.

But here’s the thing. When I’m inside, it goes off and I think, “What’s that now?” And by the time I realize what it is, it’s too late to pick it up. When I’m outside, it goes off and I look around for the geese.

And I’ve been thinking about listening for the voice of God.

Sometimes, when we compartmentalize our lives too much and think about God on Sundays, but pretty much go our own way the rest of the week, we miss the quiet voice of the Holy Spirit. It is out of context and we have a “what’s that now?” type reaction if we even hear it at all.

On the other hand, if you will permit me to stretch the analogy a bit, inside the church, the honking of our own voices, schedules, strivings and agendas can oftentimes drown out the voice of God or, even worse, be mistaken for the voice of God.

What do you think? How do you quiet yourself so that you don’t miss or drown out what God has to say to you?

Here’s what I know:
Winter doesn’t last forever.
Dormant isn’t dead.
Rest is required to flourish and flower.
That which seems to be harsh, like winter’s bleak cold, is necessary for the next phase of growth.
The sun is there even when we don’t see it.

Is there anything more hopeful than those first, brave snowdrops?

It did feel like this was going to last forever, but the snowdrops say differently.

In honor of the first week of spring and weather nice enough to spend two afternoons in the garden, I am reposting the following from last May:

lying here, floating here
can’t tell where i end
where You begin

i grow to meet You
breathe You in
breathe us out

expanding out to meet the Universe
You, everywhere
i disappear

earth touches sky
the horizen is here
i waft in the breeze
as You breathe

breathe through me
love through me
i fall into You

by anna lenardson

I had an emotionally . . . let’s say . . . unsteady week this past week. I was very reactive and my reactions were a bit out of proportion to events. That isn’t altogether unusual for me, but it was a bit over the top even for me last week.

Then, around mid-week, at Levite Chronicles, Jon asked, what’s the question that Good Friday answers? And I’ve been thinking about it in the spare moments between cleaning and cooking and getting ready for a family Easter Egg hunt. Around about Good Friday it hit me, an answer, if not the answer. Good Friday answers the question, does anybody love me?

And the answer is yes.

Not only that, but Easter reminds me that further, the One who said I love you on Good Friday is the only one who truly matters.

My sister in law is a hair stylist.  She used to run her own business.  After the birth of her second child, however, she closed her business and only worked on family, in her kitchen.  One day when she was cutting my hair I remarked that she was a highly skilled amateur.

She bristled, “Oh no, I’m a professional.”

I tried to explain that I hadn’t meant to insult her, but the literal meaning of the word amateur was one who does it for the love.  She no longer cuts hair professionally, for money, but now does it for the love.

And I’ve been thinking …

Many of us approach Christianity like it’s a profession.  I am a Christian, so I do this and I don’t do that.  Which makes my Christianity about me.  Which makes me a hypocrite.  Professionalism implies a level of training, competence and skill.  Does that speak to our unrealistic expectations of our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ who are at a different point in their journey and walking a different landscape than our own?

I’ve been an amateur musician since I was 8 years old (I just had a birthday and I don’t feel like reckoning up the years just now, but suffice it to say that’s a long time).  In that time I’ve gone through periods where I’ve played and/or sung a lot.  Just this week I opened a book I bought a few months ago and started to teach myself to play the piano.  Is this because I’m super good at it or because I think I might like to or be able to earn my living at it some day?  No way.  It’s pure love.  I love music.  At my best, I’ve achieved some degree of competence, but I’d be kidding myself if I thought there was a future for me as a professional musician.  I don’t have the talent.  And, frankly, I don’t want to place myself in the position where the work required to achieve professional level musicianship would detract from the love …

What does this mean for me as a Christ follower?

First and foremost I must remember that I’m in it for the love.  Love for Jesus is my motivation for all that I do, not some list of rules posted in the church bylaws or even some list of rules printed in the bible.  Those are guidelines for how I live out my love for Christ.

It also means that my attitude toward my fellow followers is one of grace and not judgement.  I might think they should or should not be doing something, but it is unrealistic to expect professional level competence out of one who is just taking his first steps on the path of love.

It means that I have to follow the path of love that is laid out in front of me regardless of whether it measures up to popular Christian culture.  I’m not talking about going against the bible, I’m talking about a path that’s outside the mainstream experience.  There are many things in our contemporary Christian culture that are traditions and practices, this is the way we’ve always done it.  And I must be free to take them or leave them as Love dictates.

And it might mean that my attempts to be more like Jesus are sometime, well, amateurish.  Maybe I’m visiting in the nursing home for the first time and I don’t know what to do, don’t know what to say and I stand there awkwardly and I stammer and I repeat myself and I leave too soon or stay too long.  But, I love Jesus.  And I want to be like him.  And I believe that if he was living my life, he would visit the sick and lonely.  And I’m not doing it because I’m good at it, but for the love.  So I’ll go back next week.  And, just maybe, after a while, I’ll achieve some degree of competence.

Maybe it’s like my friend Jon wrote about should and could.  A professional should, but an amateur could …

I’ve been haunted by Matthew 25 (see below for text) for the last several months:

What’s occurring to me and convicting me and breaking me is that this isn’t about my money, this is about me.  If Jesus was here, physically right now, living my life or living your life, I don’t believe he would be satisfied with writing a check, giving a hand out, but he would be stretching his hand out …

Well.  One of the things this has caused me to do is ask God what I can do to become more like Jesus and what I can involve my girls in so they can be learning how to become more like Jesus?  So, today, for the first time, we visited a nursing home.  I went earlier in the month and filled out the paper-work, talked with the activities director and told him we wanted to visit some people that don’t have regular visitors (in hind-sight I wish I had put further stipulations on it).

I was given a list of 7 names in the “A” wing.  More than half of them were asleep.

Then there was Marie.

I poked my head into the door of her room and a pair of bright eyes met mine.  “Are you Marie?” She shook her head, “no”.  But, in fact, I found out later, she was Marie.

“May we come in?” 

She smiled a lopsided smile, nodded vigorously and mouthed a garbled, “yes”.  I found out after a few minutes that “yes” and “thank you” were the only words she could say that I could understand.  But she used them freely and generously.  I told her a little about us and she said, “yes, yes.  Thank you, thank you.”  I asked her name and I could tell she was trying to tell me but couldn’t articulate it.  As I spoke to her, I couldn’t tell if she could understand very much of what I was saying, but she nodded to me and smiled at the girls and kept up an almost constant litany of “yes, yes, thank you, thank you.”

And as I drove home I found myself weeping, weeping for these people that most of us have forgotten and overwhelmed by the beauty of Marie.  There she lies, trapped in bed, trapped in her body and all she had to offer us was smiles and nods and “yes, yes, thank you, thank you.”  And I thought, she’s been emptied of everything extra and all she is left with is the core of herself, her beautiful, shining essence.  And what is at that core?

Yes. Yes. Thank you. Thank you.

O my Father, when I get to the end and am emptied of everything may I have nothing left but “yes, yes, thank you, thank you.”  In fact, I could use a little more “yes, yes, thank you, thank you” in my life right now.  Help me to live in “yes” and “thank you” right now so that at the end it is all I have left to give to you and to those around me.

Help me to finish well.  Like Marie.

Matthew 25:35-40
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

 ”Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

 ”The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’

slipping under the wave
just for a moment
resting my eyes

by anna lenardson

Wednesday I was feeling sorry for myself and thinking too hard (a deadly combination).  And the thought came to me, “I’m alone, abandoned, and friendless.”

If you know me you are rolling your eyes at this point.  Here’s why: That morning, a friend had called to schedule a time we could get together.  The day before, another friend had emailed some possible dates to get together for coffee.  Two days before that a third friend caught up with me at church to schedule a lunch to “catch up”.  That’s not to mention two friends that I meet with every week, a husband/best friend whose fondest wish is to spend more time with me, and a sister who is complaining because it’s been too long since we talked …

But, after I slapped myself around a little bit, I started thinking.  There are people all around us who really are alone, abandoned and friendless.  And as bad as I was feeling Wednesday night, how much worse must it be for those who are truly alone.

So.

What are you going to do about it?

What am I?