December - year in review

Tonight, in the oldest night of this year, my daily book on the psalms, which sits open on a shelf just above my kitchen sink and stove top (its pages stained with olive oil and cookie dough, and – I’ll admit – a little thawing chicken), reminds me that the psalms end with praise: “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Praise is bold. Keller says, “Every possible experience, if prayed to the God who is really there, is destined to end in praise.”

This year began with brokenness - disarray, wanting repair. Can we repair relationships when we feel like breaking up and finding new friends? Can we repair a house when everything seems broken? And then, neighborhood conversations sparked a budding new dream of communion around a table, and women began to gather. Of course, the reality is always different, better, than what one little mind considers.

As we gathered this year, our communion table is scratched, with a plastic veneer, smeared with rice from kids’ lunches. Or the table is a lumpy bench in the park, grubby with mud pies and spilled juice boxes. Or the dusty, construction-stained rug – always wanting a vacuum. But the Spirit is here. Moving, healing hearts. How many times this year did we silence each other – did you just see that? Did you see this moment? And as we sat, covered with babies, laughing and crying together, the music played in the background: Holy, holy, holy are you Lord God, Almighty.

By the time summer came, we felt overwhelmed and helpless. So much lost, lacking, undone. So many hearts. How can we hold them all? Remember, our pastor said: God is determined to build dependence in his people by giving them more than they can handle . . . He will give you more than you can handle so that you will run to him.

Our house is warm!

And as the weather cooled, reality hit: life without prayer and praise isn’t really life. What about trying church? So they started coming. Every week. We wept as we all took communion together, for the first time. Sisters, family.

Christmas message for community kids!

Now, we look ahead to tomorrow, the youngest day of the new year. Japanese tradition honors the first dawn, the first laugh, the first taste. We will once again take communion together, pray once again for repair, and look forward to the first psalm. We’ve prayed for our house to become like a sheltering, heartening tree, strong because of deep roots and enlivened flexibility. And this is the image in the first psalm, our first hope for the new year: “That person [who delights in God’s patterns] is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither”.

Now, in November

“You are blessed when you grieve; grieve sin, grieve where the curse isn’t yet rolled back.”

Waving hankies to show the headmaster: we won't catch colds!

The sermon on the second beatitude seemed apt, albeit somber, sitting in church with a jumble of wiggly kids. In front of me, a dear friend – just inquiring about this whole church and Jesus business – carrying a weight of heavy memories from the past. We talk a lot about forgiveness – will God really forgive anything I’ve done? Anything?

And beside our distracting row sneaks in another full family; their only son, just six months older than mine, heading in for yet another round of chemotherapy this week. I mourn with this mother, this father. Yet here they are, in community.

Happy 4th Birthday!

And here in the inbox sits an update from a sweet man in our community, detailing the discovery of not one but two tumors in his bride’s brain. Yet, “Jesus still loves her, loves us” he says.

We’re so thankful for the community we live in. Please join us in praying for these dear humans.

 Where the Spirit is moving, sin is ever present. Please pray for our health, our marriage, our family, and the families in our community.

For three years, going on four, we’ve met to pray. And our numbers have grown along the way. So we all got together, to celebrate our thanks. Piled in together, tables heavy with plates and trays and elbows and smiles. Juice spilled into the seats, crumbs ground in the rug, and teenagers ate all the pumpkin pie notwithstanding – here they are, these so many children. My heart overflowed to see them, all in one squirmy, sticky place. Giving thanks together. 

Thanks Giving, international style!

Snack date

Hey look, snow!!