The Jasmine Plant

"But we have this treasure in clay pots so that the awesome power belongs to God and doesn’t come from us.  We are experiencing all kinds of trouble, but we aren’t crushed. We are confused, but we aren’t depressed. We are harassed, but we aren’t abandoned. We are knocked down, but we aren’t knocked out.  

We always carry Jesus’ death around in our bodies so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies.  We who are alive are always being handed over to death for Jesus’ sake so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies that are dying.  So death is at work in us, but life is at work in you."

 2 Corinthians 4:7–12  Common English Bible.

A few weeks ago, I was thinking about these verses as they apply to my pregnancy and growth.  I have this treasure growing inside my fragile and organic body, and so much is happening by the beautiful design of our creator, and out of my hands. Some power is in my hands.  The power to respond positively to stress and confusion with rest and curiosity.  The power to say no when I have done too much, and the opportunity to say yes as an answer to my intuition.

The part that gets me is the verse that says, “We always carry Jesus’ death around in our bodies, so that Jesus’ life can also be seen in our bodies.” As the life of our new child is starting to be “revealed in my body”, pains of loss continue to meet me at the same time I feel stirrings of joy.  My body continues to show signs of health and growth, and at the same time, I carry the memory of previous injuries.  When Paul wrote these words, he was talking about living as a witness to the sacrifice that Jesus had made, and the promise that awaits those who believe in the power of God.  I feel like this image also carries forward as a testimony to how God can redeem our earthly bodies and offer us new life in the here and now. I can’t help wondering if others who have survived great suffering, physical and/or emotional, also feel this juxtaposition of emotions, as we literally carry our varied experiences with us on our journey towards big dreams and new life.  When I was overwhelmed with pain and suffering, I longed for a time when all of the pain would be gone. Now that I merely carry the memories, the pain seems to add depth and beauty to the joy of new life.

A friend of mine suggested that this image of holding life and death at once exists many places in nature.  Trees, roses, bodies of water, and the list goes on and on.  So, I went looking for a little rose plant to paint in my contemplation.  At the flower market, before I could find any roses, I walked past this Jasmine plant.  The incredible, fragrant smell was overwhelming from this one plant.  Even more remarkable was the fact that it was filled with dead blossoms and stems as well as buds and beautifully flowering branches.  I knew that this is what I needed to paint, so I bought it.

I took it home and tried to take a great picture in the back yard.  I’ll say it.  Part of it was ugly.  Part of it was beautiful.  I had a hard time capturing it and getting what I thought would make a good painting.  Eventually I decided on a few pictures and printed them to paint.

My drawing turned out nicely, but I was having a hard time making a good contrast of colors.  There was just so much green, so much white, and too little purple.  So, I added more purple to the background, and that sort of helped, but it still looked so boring. Then I took it to my watercolor club and one of the members suggested that the plant was just floating.  It needed some context.  If I give it a defined table and shadows, the painting will have more structure. “Don’t rush it!” He reminded me, “It will take many layers, but it will be worth it."

So I started with a darker blue that I made from a bold blue and orange.  I added a layer of shadows and waited.  I added them again and waited a bit more.  I started to see a few trees in the background, so I made a nice brown by taking that shadow color and adding other colors in my palette.  I placed the trees and the blossoms and the background started to take shape.  I added the path in our back yard and some grass.  I added more shadows. The brown I had used for the trees made a nice addition for the dead breaches and blossoms and the soil underneath the plant.

How had I left out these parts before?  Only painting the “life” or bright colors, made the painting seem lifeless. Adding the shadows started to bring the little bush to life.  It sort of jumps off of the page now.  The death and life, the light and the dark, all coming together for a beautiful, almost fragrant, image.  So many times in my life, I dreamed of a day when there would be no more sorrow or pain and yet, especially during pregnancy, I feel like I’m discovering the beauty found in the depth of our experience: the risks taken, the lessons learned, the paths conquered, the valleys explored, the peaks sought after. Perhaps, the beauty comes in the redeeming moments when our tired hands find a new function, when our worn-in bodies serve a new purpose, when we release the expectations we have for ourselves—what we know is possible—and we accept the new gift of life that God is offering us—greater than we could ever imagine.

May you take a few moments today to sit in awe and wonder at the beauty of life you have lived and are now currently living. As you carry the breadth of your experience in your body, may you find joy in God’s continual desire to add new life. Even if our imagination can’t handle it, perhaps we can try to hold this life and death in our bodies.  In the end, may we find that the Holy Spirit holds all these things for us with a fragrant peace that surpasses all understanding. Alleluia, Amen.

My Little Secret

I’ve been keeping a secret, holding it in my heart, waiting with excitement to tell everyone I see. Robbie and I are expecting a baby in January 2019! For those of you who have been following our story, you know this is a tender time, full of joy and fear and wonder and anxiety and ginger chews and ptsd flashbacks and brand new experiences. The longer version of this story started back in January when Robbie and I embarked on a cycle of In Vitro Fertilization.  I used that time to build

trust.  I spent many hours in meditation, learning to trust my body again. I spent many hours painting, reading, and walking in contemplative prayer, learning to trust God again.  I spent several hours on the road to Kansas City, in waiting rooms and taking shots, reminding myself that all of this human effort still left room for God’s activity, that IVF is an “art” form and relies on the magic of creation, which normally works one way, but if everything was working “normally” we wouldn’t be doing this. I ended the cycle with my body being in better shape and feel healthier than I have in years. 

Unfortunately, that space for God to move was proven in a painful way—an unsuccessful cycle. On Good Friday afternoonwe got the call which revealed I was not pregnant, and Robbie and I carried on with our worship commitments, singing songs and praying with the same fervor and feelings of denial and frustration and betrayal that drove Peter to abandon the Jesus who would give up and die on a cross. “Our lives were supposed to be different. We have been serving you with our whole hearts. What have we done wrong? What do we do now? Where do we go from here? Will we ever receive the promises of God?”

I call it the worst April Fool’s Joke Ever. I literally preached on Easter morning, which fell on April Fools Day, saying, “Are you ready to be surprised by God today? No one knew what would happen that First Easter morning.  Every follower of Jesus was dumbfounded and devastated. They thought they knew what Jesus was up to, and then all of a sudden, he was gone! They thought all was lost, and then Jesus rose from the grave.  The resurrection was a HUGE surprise! God wants to surprise you again this Easter! God wants to surprise you with Joy, Love and Hope. Are you ready?” Was I ready? I wanted to be with my whole heart. Surprise us God, I prayed.

We spent that week feeling pretty lost, but we decided we would try another cycle in May, which meant a whole month of sabbath rest for us. No shots, no driving, plenty of exercise, plenty of couple’s time together, and plenty of caffeine for Kati. We would love God and love the life we had together, whatever that looked like.

By the end of the month, I had a feeling. After several fool proof tests, it was undeniable. We were pregnant. Robbie and I were speechless.  I literally laughed loud. I felt a bit like Sarah listening to the angels tell Abraham that she would bear a child. I couldn’t stop laughing. Considering about a month before a doctor had suggested we use donor eggs if we wanted to insure a successful pregnancy, considering all the extra scientific effort which had stimulated my natural hormones, considering our determination to be open to whatever God had in store for us, and God gives us a spontaneous chance with what we really wanted most of all.

So, here we are, 12 weeks down and at least 25 weeks to go. We considered on waiting to announce until the kid was graduating from High School, because we know and understand the fragile nature of life, but we wanted to share this story of immense joy as soon as we could so that we can savor and enjoy every stinkin’ minute of it.  So rejoice with us, because today is the day that the Lord has made.

Alleluia, Amen.

Bowling

On Sunday, Robbie and I went bowling at the MAC! Yes, we both sat down at a wheel and made bowls.  Would you believe it? We have been doing a lot of strength training, but I had no idea it took so much strength to make a bowl on a wheel.  We threw down the ball of clay and started molding it. Well, that’s what I thought we were doing, but then I found out we weren’t shaping it yet, we were just centering it, and grounding it to the wheel.  “Aha…,” I thought. "There is something to this."  The bowl cannot be properly shaped, unless it is centered.  Centering is hard work. The clay wanted to go on it’s own way. At first I tried to force it, but that didn’t work. I tried adding water, and added too much. Once I had to even get a new ball.  Eventually, the teacher helped me, and I got my arms appropriately propped on my legs to keep it steady, and guided the clay to the center.  From there I could begin to open it and shape it, and create it for a purpose.  

I do a lot of centering prayers, but until recently, I have worked quite hard at centering myself and steadying my breathing.  One of my guided meditations pointed out that breathing is one of the most natural things our bodies do on their own.  We can literally breathe in our sleep, if we are healthy and living.  So, when I begin my centering prayer, I now simply become aware of my breath.  I know what you’re thinking… "Isn’t that how every yoga teacher begins their class?”  Yes, I know, I’ve heard it said a million times, and yet, there is something special in noticing and choosing to do something, once you realize what that something actually looks and feels like.

As I was reflecting on God’s role as the potter, I realized that maybe God could do the work of centering me too.  I pray that God would open my heart, I pray for God to shape me, but I usually take the responsibility of finding my center.  So, here goes.

Lord, I know I am fearfully and wonderfully made by you. Guide me once more to find my center.  Hold me close to your heart. Let your will and your ways keep me at peace, that I might be willing to be opened once more, shaped once more, filled once more and used once more.  You are the potter, and I am your clay.  I was never created to be perfect, but I was created to be flexible, beautiful, hopeful, and loved. Amen.

My ball became a tea/coffee/watercolor bowl.  Nourishment it will provide, once it is fired and ready…

Wishing you had a handmade bowl or cup of your own? Click here to find more information on the Empty Bowls Event, hosted by the Manhattan Nonviolence Initiative and others, coming up April 7th.

Pastor Kati’s Recipe for Wednesday’s Ashes

You’ve probably seen people with ashes on their forehead in mid February, and maybe you’ve even worn them yourselves.  Have you ever wondered, “Where do your ashes come from?” or “Why do you have soot on your face?  You know that flu powder doesn’t work on muggles.” Okay, maybe only Harry Potter nerds like me think about that.  So, for the curious at heart, enjoy my personal process and response for our congregation to the question, "Where do your ashes come from?"

The short answer is that most of the ashes we use are from palm branches used in last year’s Palm Sunday service at First Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, Kansas.  This use of the palms connects our yearly tradition of remembering the events that lead up to the crucifixion, death and resurrection of Jesus.  The ashes in the shape of a cross mark the beginning of our time of remembrance, as we set aside this time to draw closer to Jesus through acts of sacrifice like fasting and giving of our time for study or service.

The long answer holds more significance for me.  So much of our faith seems like a mental or emotional exercise, and I feel like Jesus calls us to be more physical.  I want to experience Jesus in my bones, in my hands, right here, right now.  So, I love this physical way to remember why we are here on earth and what is to come for us in the future.

Ingredients

A Bit of Earth

The faithful who told the story of our creation said that God formed us from the dirt, calling us literally earthlings or mud people. So, when we say “From Ashes to Ashes” we are saying we are connected to the earth, we come from the earth and when we die, we will return to the earth.  Why were we created?  The faithful said we were created to keep God company and to care for God’s creation.  The soil and the ashes remind us that we were put on this earth to be in relationship with God, with each other and with the land, the animals, the oceans the universe, everything we see and hear, our purpose is to enjoy it and be a part of it.  So, we begin with some soil from the ground.

Ashes ground from burnt palm fronds and paper

As fire consumes the leaves and paper, Jesus absorbed all of the betrayal and suffering of the world when he died.  During his ministry, Jesus consistently asked people to leave their old life behind, and pick up the new way of being and caring for others.  In earlier times, when people would cry out to God they would cover themselves with ashes and rip their clothing to show the intensity of their anguish and struggle.  Centuries before Jesus walked the earth, the prophet Joel instructed God’s people to “rend their hearts and not their clothing,” meaning that if they want their lives to change, they should tear or transform their hearts instead of just focusing on their outer selves.  

At the Light last Sunday we wrote down the parts of our lives that are pulling us down, absorbing all of our energy like darkness and shadows, keeping us from receiving the “Light of Christ.”  So, the second ingredient will be ashes from our struggles in this world.  The ashes of the palms signify the struggles of our ancestors of faith, and the ashes from our papers on Sunday signify the struggles of our modern day.

Olive Oil

Oil makes the ashes stick, so there is a sort of practical need for it, but at the same time, God’s people loved to use oil as a symbol of blessing from God. So, when I see the ugly dirt and ashes reflecting the light around us, I am reminded that through all of the struggles and death and pain that we endure on this earth, God promises blessing, renewal and most of all resurrection. Sometimes I add a little scented oil to extend the feeling of blessing to one more sense.

Mix ashes and dirt and then add oil to desired consistency.

Then we mark the symbol of Christ’s suffering, the cross, on our hands and foreheads. This cross, combined with the evidence of our suffering and the promise of hope, becomes a visual representation of God's power to bring new life out of death.

So, why do I looking forward to wearing ashes on Ash Wednesday? Every day I live to tell of God’s power to bring life and renewal out of suffering and death. On this day, I get a special excuse to help more people literally wear this promise on their skin.  So, meet me on Ash Wednesday, or visit your local pastor, priest or congregation.  

May the glistening ashes remind you of the mysterious and majestic power of God. Amen.

The One Who Chose Me

Robbie and I truly had a religious experience at Universal Studios, and I say that because I believe the Holy Spirit was there, present with us, sending us words of hope and knowing.  As soon as we arrived in Diagon Alley at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter we went straight to Ollivander’s to get a wand.  We weren’t quite sure what to expect, but inside the shop someone told us we could either select a wand from the shelves or visit the Wandmaker and the wand would choose you.  So, we went to the Wandmaker, of course.  

We waited in a hallway with other people for about ten minutes, and my mind started to wander…”Would they come get us one at a time?  What wood might I expect? What kind of power would I want?  What am I looking for from the wand?”  Hope.  I wanted something to embody hope for new beginnings.  I played around with the idea of unicorn hair, but part of me felt like unicorns were too pretty and happy for the kind of authentic hope I’m looking for.  Then I thought about Harry’s Pheonix feather in his wand.  The pheonix could be a great metaphor for our lives as we have risen with life out of the ashes of death.  Then something inside me thought about the dragons, and their passion and fire, and something struck a chord with me. The love and power of a dragon could display the kind of hope I want.

Suddenly the assistants were leading us down the hallway… “so we’re doing this as a group,” I thought.  We turned a corner and there was the Wandmaker, writing in his book by the dim light of his magical lamp next to him in a room filled with wands all the way up the very tall walls.

I started to step up to him, and one of the assistants pulled me aside.  “Everyone please fill into the room with the shorter people in front, so everyone can see.”

I don’t remember what happened next, but before I knew it, the Wandmaker was looking at me and called me forward to receive my wand.  He measured my arms and talked about character and the many ways a wand would choose you.  I knew he was an actor, but he felt more like a sage wizard.  The room, his voice, the air, it all felt real…so magical.  He pulled out a wand of rosewood and unicorn hair and gave it to me. “Give it a flick,” he said.  Shelves popped out all over the place…just like in the books!!! When Harry was trying out wands!  “No, no, no, that won’t do.”  Then he pulled out a wand of oak with a phoenix feather, “Ok,” I thought, “This could be it.” He asked me to say, “Wingardium leviosa.”  With my best Hermione impression, I waved my wand and said the words. LOUD BANGS, and flickering lights.  “I wonder…” said the Wandmaker….I almost jumped out of my skin. “Here is a wand made of ash wood with dragon heartstrings.”  When I took the wand in my hand the light shone all around me.  It took everything within me not to burst out crying and weeping, because here in my hand was the true embodiment of the strength I desire—the heartstring of fire which rises from the ashes.

I never thought I would own a wand, and yet how many of us are yearning for someone to choose us and offer us a physical and metaphorical gift of meaning in life.  I have chosen and held many instruments in my hand: flutes, conducting batons, kazoos, books, paintbrushes.  This gift feels different.  I know it has no physical power outside of the park, and yet, in my hand I am reminded of the dragon heartstrings that God fixed within my soul.  

“I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” says the Psalmist about our Maker. I have been chosen by God to do big things, and so have you.  The magic comes when we believe in the Maker’s ability to love us, know us and do marvelous things through us.