Sanctity of Human Life

 

If I believe in the sanctity and dignity of human life,

Then I must care about not only when life is conceived and born 

But also about what happens to that life once it enters the world. 

I must care about not only people who look and sound like me

But also about people from every tribe and nation, of every language and skin color. 

I must care about actions and policies that not only honor and protect me

But that also honor and protect the least of these. 

If I am free in Christ, 

If I believe in and follow Jesus, 

If I believe that Jesus really did summarize the law and the prophets in one statement: Love God and love others as self, 

Then I must love others not by 

Damning them 

But by welcoming them as God’s child,

Created in God’s image, 

Both to be born and truly to live. 

 

On Turning 50

I don’t remember jokes very well.

And I don’t usually remember exact quotes either.

But many years ago,

My brother said something I’ll never forget:

“There’s nothing much less useful than a cold French fry.”

😊

 

I’ve always looked up to my brother.

So many of my childhood memories have him in it,

And, oddly enough, a lot of those memories involve sports!

One of my favorite memories is playing football.

My brother drew out the plays on his hand,

With x’s and arrows.

We were very serious about the execution of those plans,

And to this day, I live by his subconscious advice:

“Make a plan, and execute it well!”

 

Other memories involve band.

My brother was a trombone player,

And he once told me,

“If you’re going to play an instrument, play it well.”

So I listened.

I was asked to start high school marching band in 7^th grade.

That meant three years marching with my brother.

I always thought that was neat.

 

I also think it’s neat that

It’s because of my brother that

I am now an avid art collector.

Daniel once told me that if I had the money to afford a piece of art

That spoke to me,

Then I should buy it.

(That was in the beginning.

Now I must ask if I have the money AND the wall space :-p).

 

It’s also because of him that I see so many musical and theatre performances.

He says that we put our money where our values are—

That if I value musicals and theatre performances,

Then I should go see them.

So I do.

 

And he also once said that

When given a choice to do something that you really want to do vs. sleep,

Choose the thing you want to do.

He said, “You will likely remember the event or activity—

But you won’t likely remember that nap.”

Now. I like sleeping. I’m a nap taker.

But sometimes people and events are more important than even naps.

And Daniel’s words help me remember that.

 

Daniel’s 50^th birthday is today.

So today I am especially grateful for the boy that he was,

The man that he is,

And the person he is still becoming.

 

May we all influence others’ lives for the better…

Especially in our passing words and wisdom.

May we eat fries when they are warm,

Make good plans,

Enjoy good art,

See meaningful shows,

And make lasting memories with those we love.

 

Amen.

October Whirlwind

 It’s been a whirlwind of a month.

Not only have I taught my regular lessons and attended my four monthly meetings for work,

But I’ve also prepared my 4^th and 5^th graders for a program, taken a workshop, edited papers for a writing competition, and helped with the Fall Festival at school.

I’ve entered art into and attended two art shows,

One of which I volunteered at for ten hours.

I’ve gone to see two musical shows: “Beautiful” and “MJ The Musical.”

Both were good, but “MJ The Musical” was surprisingly so.

I’ve gone to Universal Studios, Magic Kingdom, and Epcot in Orlando,

And I’m going to a Powwow in Baden next weekend.

I’ve hung out friends and helped my mom a little in our newly remodeled kitchen,

And I’ve gone to the car dealership to get a new key for my car.

The one thing I’ve not done a lot of, though, is rest…

And when a germ meets you with lack of rest, you often get sick...

And so I hit a brick wall yesterday and had to cancel my whole day because I was sick.

Just a cold with a cough. Exhausted. No voice.  

But still…sick.

It caused me to miss church in the morning, lunch with my brother’s family and a concert with my sister’s family in the afternoon…

And that made me sad.

But overall, I’ve had an awesome whirlwind of a month.

I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to do all the fun things I’ve done.

And I’ve even learned a few things along the way:

 

1)     1. It’s nice to be able to mentally check out and let someone else take the lead ever so often. I knew that I could 100% trust Amy The Disney Lover to take care of the details and get me to where I needed to be on our Orlando trip, so I just blindly followed and felt no stress whatsoever. I was fully present with a smile on my face. And I was happy.

2)    2.  When at an amusement park, it’s nice not to have a schedule. Prioritizing what you really want to do and then just going and seeing what happens for the rest of the day makes for an exciting day.   

3)     3. When planning to walk around 10 miles a day, take blister bandages just in case.

4)     4. Getting a new car key is stupidly expensive.

5)      5, When entering a competition, it’s important to enter the right category. If someone suggests a category and you don’t feel right about it, then go with your gut. Your gut is usually right.

6)     6. Much of western European music was influenced by the music of Africa…yet African melodies, rhythms, and instruments often get left out of the discussion in music education. For instance, the major and minor scales came from Africa. They came to Spain via the slave trade, and the Spanish guitar then spread them throughout Europe. Neat, huh?

7)     7. North America was not some vast, untamed land that needed to be tamed by Europeans. It was a land lived upon and held sacred by Native American cultures. There were people here, living, surviving, thriving and we must not forget those people. Epcot: Do a better job with your American history!

 

The week to come is another busy week.

I’m hoping a day of rest yesterday will propel me through it all,

And that I will keep growing,

Keep learning,

Keep experiencing life…

For I know that it is a gift and

I am grateful.

 

Amen. 

Together

“…Because sometimes life is just a little less difficult when we know we’re not doing it alone.” I have two 4th students who like to stay after class. They don’t chat in the chat box. They don’t really talk. They just sit with each other, Cameras off, Doing their homework, Together. Sometimes, friends, we just need someone to sit with us. Not chatting in a chat box. Not using words at all. Just sitting with one another, Cameras off, phones down, Doing life, Together.

Our Present Reality

Wednesday is grocery store day for the Deaton Household. I am the designated grocery store goer. Yesterday, as I was leaving the store, I saw a man standing in a parking spot beside a riding lawn mower. It quickly became clear that the lawn mower was the man’s source of transportation. I thought his choice of transportation was sort of odd, but I’d seen someone arrive at the grocery store on a lawn mower before.

What really got me was that the man was standing in the parking lot, beside his lawn mower, mask on face, putting on his latex gloves. It took him a few minutes to get the gloves on, but once he got them, he headed into the grocery store, making sure to enter the side that said “Entrance Only…”

Last night, I went downstairs to help cook supper. My mom and I have been cooking supper almost every night. I asked her what she was making and she replied, “German Potato Salad.” She’d found a recipe, thought it sounded good, and decided to make it. She’s been trying lots of new (old) recipes lately…

This morning, my dad called me downstairs to help him with something. For the past couple of weeks, I’d been getting him into his Thursday Morning Coffee Group Zoom Meetings. He thought he needed my help again, but instead, I just stood there while he got himself into his meeting and talked with a bunch of men aged 70 and older…

This afternoon, I went to art class. We drew a fox. I’ve been going to art class every week since the pandemic hit. I’m collecting a nice little portfolio. I never get to go to art class when I’m working…

After art class, I recorded a video for my students. I posted it…

All of these things are personal signs of the times in which we are living: People riding lawnmowers to the grocery store and putting on personal protective gear before entering a store with traffic rules. My mom trying new recipes almost every meal. My dad, the technological dinosaur, Zooming on his own. Me actually being able to see some of my colleagues teach and being allowed to participate for fun. Me teaching virtually…

Whether we like it or not, most of us are surrounded by “new” things these days. Some may be good. Others may be not so good. But new realities are all around.

What are your new realities? What are your personal signs of the times? What are the things you are seeing that you didn’t think possible? I’d love to hear. And maybe by sharing, we will be reminded that we’re all in this together.

Chunk Makers

Yesterday, my mom and I completed a 1500-piece puzzle that my brother gave my mom for Christmas. We completed the puzzle over the course of just three days, which is rather quick, but we were able to do so because the puzzle manufacturer allowed us to cheat.

Usually, when we do a puzzle, we first sort by outside pieces and either shape or picture color. We then lay out the pieces by shape, complete the outer border, and go from there.

But this puzzle had a color organization system. The backs of all of the pieces were either orange, blue, gold, yellow, or purple, so as we sorted, we sorted not by shape or picture color but by the color on the back. After we’d put together the outer edge, we then worked on one section of the puzzle at a time—thus making a seemingly impossible task of completing one 1500 piece puzzle a more reasonable task of completing five smaller puzzles of varying sizes.

Breaking the puzzle into little chunks made it less daunting and more doable.

Isn’t that how life is, friends? If we were to step back and look at our to-do lists in their entirety, then I imagine that we would become easily overwhelmed. Even when our immediate tasks are complete, we have long-term goals that often to hang over us like the clouds hanging over the earth today.

But when we break down the list into smaller chunks, it seems less daunting and more doable.

When we break down life into smaller chunks, it seems less overwhelming and more livable.

May we each be chunk-makers this year and live our lives in such a way that we are not completely overwhelmed by the complexity of its puzzle but that we are certain that its puzzle can be done one piece at a time.

No Paddle Day

I’ve never been canoeing--
Much less canoeing on a ten day river trip through two states.
But I have a friend who is doing just that--
With a group of teenage girls from the camp where she works.
They left on the Lumber River in NC last Wednesday and will be extracted at a beach in SC this Saturday.
By Friday, the group had arrived in SC and begun canoeing the Little Pee Dee River.
By Saturday night, the girls were ready to go to bed by 7pm.
Needless to say, they were exhausted.
Because of the exhaustion, but more so because of the theological significance of the day,
Yesterday was a no paddle day.
A day of staying put.
A day of discussing the power of life, death, and resurrection.
A day of exploring the beauty of creation.
A day of rest.

I don’t need to say that we live in a busy world.
Just waking up each day is to experience a fast-paced, motion- and noise-filled world.
I don’t need to say that there is always more to do.
Just making a to-do list on which you need to add a to-done category just to feel accomplished is to experience the never-ending list of tasks to do.
I don’t need to say that people are tired.
Just looking at the dark circles under eyes and the sleep aids the fill pharmacy aisles is to witness America’s need for sleep.

And yet…
I rarely hear of people taking a no paddle day.
A day of staying home.
A day of discussing the power of light, darkness, and redemption.
A day of taking in the beauty of creation.
A day of rest.

Being the orange-fish collector that I am, I have a Finding Nemo saying on my wall:
Just keep swimming.
And while I believe in this little phrase and know that ultimately,
no matter how weary we become from life’s demands,
especially the demands that we have absolutely no interest in but that we must do nonetheless,
We must keep going.
We must keep persevering until we make it to the other side.
This is what life requires.
Nemo knows this.

Yet, my friend and her girls know something, too,
Something that God Godself has known since the very beginning:
Sometimes we must take a day and designate it as a
No paddle day.
A day of being,
A day of discussing the power of joy, grief, and journey.
A day of meditating on the wisdom of creation.
A day of rest.

World Peas

Yesterday was Amelia's 7th birthday.
Each year for her family party she chooses the menu and dinner attire.
I don't remember the menu from last year, but I remember that we were all charged to wear pajamas. I like pajama parties.
This year, she chose for each of us to wear a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and for her "comfort party" menu she chose:
Soup, potatoes, and peas.
Yes. Peas.
She's seven.
So at the party on Tuesday night, we had chicken noodle soup, tomato bisque soup, potatoes, and peas.
Now, I don't really like peas, but I love Amelia, so I dutifully put a spoonful of peas on my plate. Everyone else did, too.
Yet at the end of the party, there were still a lot of remaining peas in the pea bowl.
We are a one bag of peas family. Not two.
Not knowing about the remaining peas but living in a general state of excitement, Amelia said, "Hey daddy. If there are any peas left, maybe you could put some in my thermos for lunch tomorrow."
Finley told her that were peas leftover and that that could probably be arranged.
Amelia was thrilled.
At the thought of peas. In her thermos. For lunch.
If only there were more people in the world like Amelia--
excited by possibility,
creative in thought,
appreciative of friends and family,
eyes aglow from the happiness of life--
Then maybe we would have world peace...
One pea at a time.

From Where I Stand

When I woke up this morning and looked outside, I witnessed pine trees stooping from the heavy burden of ice. I saw broken branches lying on the ground and I thought, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. We’re not supposed to be weighed down by our burdens…yet so many of us are…and so many of us are on the verge of breaking, if not already broken…”

I was looking through some poems yesterday so that I could send a few to a friend. In the process of searching my files, I found words that I didn’t remember writing, as well as words that I remembered so vividly that they brought tears to my eyes. I read words of love. I read words of sorrow. I read words of brokenness. I read words of healing. I read words of wilderness. I read words of freedom…

Quite literally, the world is white today. The trees, bushes, windows, and ground are frozen over. Bullet has chosen to tip-toe each time he has gone out. He hasn’t wanted the ice to break lest he sink into the snow…

The world is white. The world is frozen. The trees are burdened. And yet…“From where I stand, the world exists in color.” From where I stand, there is promise that the ice will melt in the heat of Love’s warmth and freedom to thrive will come again.

From Where I Stand
12/16/06

From where I stand,
the world exists in color.

Black is the presence of everything
while white is the absence of all,
yet in between are the
reds and yellows and oranges and purples
and greens and blues and browns
that shade surroundings,
adding light and vitality to life.

From where I stand,
a monochromatic world is miserable existence.

Refusing to acknowledge differences is detrimental
and trying to assimilate hues into uniformity is tragic,
because in between are the
combinations and blends and complements and contrasts
and statements and swirls and lines
that weave together experience,
adding richness and beauty to life.

From where I stand,
individuals exist in this world only within the context of color.

Skin, race, nationality, sexuality, and monetary value matter little,
while the unique creation of a Creator masterful enough to
dream of living colors
working together
to paint a picture of Love
is the whole of existence,
for in that embrace of creation is the
birth of the Hope of Peace and
the purpose of life.

**“From Where I Stand” is one of the poems that I don’t remember writing. I’m grateful that I found it yesterday.**

Amelia's Manners

Amelia and Griffin aren’t the most athletic children in the world, so, after her first week of school, when Amelia responded that her favorite part of Kindergarten was sports, we were all surprised.

Currently, though she still likes sports, Amelia’s favorite part of Kindergarten is Letterland. Evidently, every letter of the alphabet has a name and story, and the names and stories are so interesting that they’re going to have an entire Letterland program.

Last night, after we properly greeted one another, Amelia and I decided to make cookies. She put on her apron that said, “Curious Chef,” and got to work immediately. With adult supervision, she sounded out a few words, picked out a couple of site words, told me when to stop when setting the oven temperature, measured the borrowed oil, cracked the eggs, mixed the dough, got out the baking sheets, rolled the balls of cookie dough, put the triangular marks on the cookies, shaped the giant triangular cookie, and told me when to stop when setting the timer.

Though she didn’t put the cookies into the oven, she did something that I thought notable. She said, “Excuse me, please, Nana. Dee and I need to put the cookies in the oven.” At another point during our visit last night, she said, “Yes ‘mam,” and called me, “Miss Aunt Dee.”

Amelia has never been a rude child. Her parents raise her and her brother well. In fact, they are both creative, imaginative, inventive, and caring children.

A couple of weeks ago, after my sister rescued a crate, a few tennis balls, and some records for me—yes, records—the big black things that most of my students have never seen—the crate cracked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Amelia said, “I’ll fix it!” She ran out of the room, got her mending supplies, ran back into the room, and mended the crate with blue painters tape. She then told she couldn’t handle the smell of my feet anymore and moved to the other side of the room. After Griffin sillily and voluntarily smelled my feet and made a really ugly face, they both went upstairs to get their shoe deodorant and spray my shoes. (The shoes I was wearing really did stink, as did my feet ).

So yes. Amelia has never been a rude child. But I can tell she’s learning manners in Kindergarten.

I am proud.

Nature's Fragile Reminder

As I was leaving my neighborhood this morning, I noticed what looked like a two-headed goose walking across the street. At the end of a long line of geese children, this adult goose was playing goose caboose. When it paused to eat some grass, I paused to see what made it look like it had two heads. Just when I’d determined that I must have just seen an odd angle of the goose’s tail, I saw a baby goose hanging on tight to its mama’s (or daddy’s) back. It seemed to be having a wonderful time hanging its head over its parent’s side, trying to catch a bite of grass or a bug or whatever geese eat. I imagined the baby goose yelling, “Whhhhheeeeee!” as it got a free ride to the pond.

I smiled.

Just as I was making my turn onto Mrs. Flora’s road, I saw what looked like a statue of a little dog standing beside the road. I did a double take because I hadn’t noticed the statue before, and when I did I saw the statue move. In the exact moment I realized that the dog was not a statue, I saw a car coming the other way. I thought, “Oh. Please don’t walk forward, little dog,” at the exact moment that the little dog walked forward at the exact moment the car drove past. I heard a thud. I saw a tiny, broken creature flip through the air. I saw the look of horror on the driver’s face and watched as she pulled over, but I kept driving, very slowly, feeling extremely sad for the dog…and for the dog’s owners who had most likely just let him/out to pee.

I’ve tried to get the image out of my mind, but I can’t.

Twenty minutes after that terrible moment, when I received a completely unrelated response text from a friend from whom I hadn’t heard in awhile, I cried. Three hours after the incident, when I left Mrs. Flora’s to visit Journey the Dog, I cried. Six hours after the incident, when I looked at pictures from two friends’ wedding, I cried. And now, seven hours after the incident, as I type these words and watch Bullet bullet through the house, I cry. Delayed grief, I suppose. Delayed release of emotion after witnessing an innocent doggy life taken.

Life is so fragile. So exciting and sad. So beautiful and ugly. So new and old. So scheduled and unpredictable.

Nature reminded me of that today.

O God, by whom the meek are guided and light rises from darkness: Grant us, in all our hurts, doubts, and uncertainties, the grace to know that you are near. Grant that your spirit of wisdom may save us from all lies and that your ever-present spirit of truth will ring loudly in our ears. Assist us mercifully, O God, in facing all of the changes and chances in this mortal life and compel us to embrace life fully. Help us to ride life’s journey with a child’s excitement and to face death by looking forward to what is ahead. Amen.

Deanna Plant and Spirit Waterer Asks For Help

Today I became the official plant waterer of the office. Despite my historically non-green thumb, I’m excited about this new responsibility and the learning possibilities it holds. For instance, did you know that ever so often, you should remove your lucky bamboo plant from its pot, straighten out the roots, wash them, and give them a root cut (just like you would give yourself a haircut)? And did you know that you must do this lest the lucky bamboo roots strangle one another and kill each other off, causing the lucky bamboo plant to yellow and die? I learned this fascinating fact at the doctor’s office yesterday. I had to get some of my meds adjusted. In essence, I had to have my roots pruned so that my fears, worries, and anxieties would stop trying to strangle out my thoughts and emotions and kill my spirit…

As Office Plant Waterer, I will have to be diligent to tend to the livelihood of our office plants. I will need to schedule times for feeding, watering, pruning, and replanting when plants become too large for their pots.

As Deanna Spirit Waterer, I need to be diligent to tend to the livelihood of self. I need to schedule times for feeding, watering, thinking, reading, writing, counseling, music-making, forgiving, letting go, adjusting, moving, and changing when life becomes too uncomfortable where it is…

While my thumb has been non-green in the past, I’m afraid that my whole being has been less green in taking care of my whole self. Five years ago this month, after a lifetime of unintentionally neglecting my spirit, I reached rock bottom and was forced to make a decision: ask for help or slowly suffocate. I chose help.

The decision to ask for help was surprisingly more difficult than it seems it would have been. I didn’t want to appear weak. I didn’t want the truth of non-perfection to be so obvious. I didn’t want the attention of not being okay. For, though my spirit was wasting away, my appearance didn’t show outward signs of danger like the green leaves turned brown on our plants.

Asking for help is not easy. It confirms human limitation, inability, ignorance, and/or brokenness and indicates that we are not as strong as we think we are. Yet I now believe that asking for help is the single most courageous thing that any person can do. It humbles us. It puts us on an equal playing field with those around us. It reminds us that we are but one piece of the world’s puzzle. And it allows us the opportunity not to give but to receive—and for some of us this reminder of balance is crucial.

Yesterday, I learned about lucky bamboo because Tuesday I asked for help again. Just as it was five years ago, asking for help was hard. I cried brave tears of embarrassment, stupidity, shame, and relief as I finally spoke of the anxiety that had been holding me hostage for too long. But soon, Deanna Plant and Spirit Waterer will put my lucky bamboo knowledge into practice with a calmness of spirit that has eluded me as of late. My lucky bamboo will then say thanks and encourage me to ask someone with excellent plant knowledge to coach me with the other plants. For, while failure is one of my biggest fears, the biggest failure of my life would be never asking for help. And, well, I do not want to fail. The plants need me. And my Spirit needs me too.

Dear Self

As part of a training that I attended yesterday and today, I was asked to think back to the years of my early adolescence. I was asked to think about how I looked, dressed, felt, and acted, and what events stood out to me from those years. After a few minutes of letting those memories flood my mind, I was asked to write a letter to my adolescent self, knowing what I know now.

While the women around me feverishly began to write, I sat and stared at my blank sheet of paper. I had no idea what I wanted to write to my adolescent self because I knew that what I know now would have never registered with who I was then. I knew that had my adolescent self made any other life choices than the ones I made, then I would not be who I am today. Sure, I may have been healthier sooner, but I would not have the understanding, depth, compassion, and grace that I do now. And so I sat. And I stared…

In order to finally write something, I had to step outside of myself and imagine myself writing to all adolescents. I had to imagine my adolescent self not as the Deanna that I both love and hate but as the Deanna that is connected to all of humanity. And here is what I finally wrote:

Dear Me,

You don’t have to try so hard to be loved. You don’t have to be perfect. You are okay just as you are.

I love you. And I believe in you.

I love and believe in who you are now and I love and believe in who you are becoming.

You are going to be okay. And you are not alone.

Love,
Me


What about you, dear reader? What did your early adolescence look like? And what would you tell your adolescent self now?

A Breathing Road Trip

I made a road trip over the weekend. I drove to Jacksonville, Florida, both to visit my grandmother who is in rehab and to spend Mother’s Day with my mom who was visiting her mother who is in rehab. In preparation for the trip, I purchased three new audio books. The book I chose to listen to first was, “A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier,” by Ishmael Beah…

Shortly arriving in Jacksonville on Saturday, I went to the rehabilitation center where my grandmother is staying. After walking to the far end of the center, I arrived in her room to see her sitting in her wheelchair smiling at me, her hair flat on her head. In my 33 years of life, G-mama has never worn her hair flat on her head! It startled me at first because it made her look so different, yet I like it. I think the style looks very good on her.

G-mama is sharing a room with a woman named Dolly. If you’ve ever read, “The Shack,” then picture the image of God that the author portrays and you will have a pretty good physical image of Dolly. Dolly is a 76 year old African American woman who has emphysema. There is nothing that can be done for her, yet she is living the remainder of her days as well as she can—being the teacher that she inevitably was and mentoring church members on how to teach children various Bible studies and books of the Bible when asked. Dolly has a stockpile of graham crackers and other food in her bottom drawer, and she loves to eat. Today before I left, after G-mama commented that she wasn’t hungry, Dolly said, “I look forward to the day when I’m not hungry. I clean my plate every meal and then usually look for more!”

Dolly almost died last night. Her family had come to visit for Mother’s Day and they had taken her outside for a visit. When she got back to the room, she couldn’t catch her breath. After using her inhaler and beginning a nebulizer treatment, she still couldn’t breathe. She called for the nurse and he immediately came to help her. I don’t know what he did because he pulled the curtains for privacy. Whatever it was, he helped her pull through, and she and G-mama passed the night together in their room.

Watching Dolly try to breathe was painful--even when she wasn't having an emergency. Her not being able to catch her breath made me grateful that I could. I think of dreams from which I’ve awoken gasping for breath and I imagine how frightening it must feel not to be able to breathe in the very breath that gives us life…

As I listened to my book today, I frowned in horror as I heard the story of soldiers purposefully burying their enemies alive. I imagine how awful it must have been for the prisoners not to be able to breathe…and I find myself taking deep, deep breaths…maybe like you are doing now.

In the beginning, God breathed life into this world. It was God’s breath that brought life to humankind and it is that same breath that sustains us today. May we never take this breath of life for granted and may we use each breath of our lives to be present in things that really matter…like road trips to see our grandmothers and mothers and doing what we can to make them smile.

The Deanna Plant

Over fifteen years ago, through the Meredith Christian Association, I met a girl named Mandy. Little did I know that she would become one of the most influential people in my life. Mandy and I began our friendship as theology buddies and have continued our deep discussions on God, life, and love over the years. Mandy is a pastor now, and her sermons and writings always inspire and challenge me. On Monday, she sent me Sunday’s sermon and then waited for me to read. Last night, she said, “You really need to read my sermon, friend,” so I finally put everything on hold and did. When I got to the following excerpt, I knew why she was anxious for me to read. I. Love. This. Story! And I am so humbled and grateful to be a part:

The physicality of birth and death (being born again and dying and resurrection) are messy. It is so very bodily to be born and to die. So it is that Jesus paints for us – in this utterly incarnational way - the picture of what and who he truly is and in doing so beckons us to ponder who it is we really are too. Are we some version of zombie-beings like the story of Ezekiel and the Valley of Dry Bones conjures up? People who walk through life without truly living? Do we sleep-walk through our days? Are we so full of shame that we can’t claim life like Judas? Are we hopeless and stuck forever exactly as we are like the Tuck family in Tuck Everlasting? Or are we continually growing more closely into the wholeness and fullness of ourselves? It is a journey of being refined, renewed and resurrected. Indeed, we continue to live out a process of dying and being resurrected – that is what it means to believe in Jesus.

Indeed, it is in all those deaths that happen throughout our life that we are truly transformed. When Nicodemus struggled with how to be born a second time, he was struggling with dying to one life and being resurrected into another. When we walk through the waters of baptism we act out this idea symbolically surrendering ourselves to death and being raised into a new life. We know these moments from our own lives – when we feel utterly broken and lost, when we let go, and when by God’s grace we find ourselves renewed, resurrected, and awakened to new possibilities, new chances, and new life.

Several years ago, my dear friend, Deanna, trusted me to walk with her into her darkest days – into her tomb, if you will. A sudden death and changing relationships left her in ruins and a flood of the hate-filled scripts of her life engulfed her and she found herself surrounded by grief, sadness and despair. We spent hours talking. She faithfully met with a counselor and she faithfully put one foot in front of the other even though she couldn’t fully see the way for all those grave clothes.

During this same time, we had a minor tragedy at our house. There was a houseplant sitting on a low shelf and one day an imaginative little boy decided to challenge it to a sword fight using a ruler as his mighty sword. I walked into the room just in time to see a chunk of the plant fly off and onto the floor. I gasped and ran over saying, “What have you done? How careless! How thoughtless! And such an innocent victim…” and a lecture about how mommy treasures her plants and they aren’t to be wacked ensued. It sounds silly but I grieved over that plant’s severed nub.

Nonetheless, I put the nub in a cup of water and watched and hoped that it might root. After awhile, it did! So I fixed a pot of soil and gently planted that nub. I found it a spot in the sunlight and went to work watering it, pulling off a leaf when it had dried up or turned yellow, and turning it periodically so it would grow tall and straight towards the sunlight. And it grew, and grew, and grew.

Somewhere along the way, I started calling that plant my, “Deanna Plant,” for somehow their journeys were parallel. With care, nurture, pruning, continual turning toward the light, she flourished too. If we look, we can see that resurrection is happening all around us.

You see, by saying he is the resurrection and life, Jesus isn’t saying there won’t be death, endings, sorrow, and grief. He isn’t saying that if we can just hold on that one of these days, in the sweet by and by, it will all be better. Jesus is saying that abundant life is ours for the claiming here and now if we can only dare to claim him. He is shouting to us in our darkest places, the tombs of our lives where we feel most alone, lost, and dead to come out! Come out and live!...

…We are a resurrection people. For we, like Mary and Martha, confess our belief in Jesus. Jesus is the resurrection and life. “Come out of your tomb and live,” he calls. Do we dare risk resurrection? Do we dare to live our lives abundantly? May it be so. Amen.
Yes. May it be so, friends. May it be so…

[And by the way...this picture IS the Deanna Plant :-). I met the plant the last time I visited Mandy’s house, and then she sent me the picture this morning :-).]