Ash Wednesday

Today is Ash Wednesday. What is Ash Wednesday anyway? It is not a day I grew up observing in my faith tradition. In fact, the entire season we are heading into can be a bit confusing if you aren’t familiar with it, so let me share my journey in understanding this part of the church calendar. 

I knew of people who would “give something up” for Lent. I was familiar with Pancake Tuesday or Shrove Tuesday, which I thought was a British tradition, because I am a self proclaimed Anglophile. I used to love seeing the cool pancake art people would post on social media shaped like the Tardis - Doctor Who is another British tradition I am obsessed with. (And yes, pancake art is a thing - you should definitely look it up.) I was also familiar with Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday. People celebrate Mardi Gras and Pancake Tuesday as a way to feast (and use up certain ingredients in their home) before the season of Lent (and fasting) began. 

Lent is the 6 weeks (40 days not including Sundays) leading up to Easter. It is a time where we remember the sacrifice and fasting of Jesus and choose to walk alongside him in his humanness as he moved toward the cross and Easter. 

So, as you might guess, for much of my life, I knew just enough about all of these terms to be dangerous. Enough to sound holy and knowledgeable while completely missing the point.

The thing is, I believe there is something really important for us in Ash Wednesday, and in Lent, if we will only take a closer look. On the surface, today is a day where some Christ followers go to church for a solemn service to have a cross of ashes drawn on our foreheads or on the back of our hand. But is it just another solemn service? I heard Kate Bowler, a professor at Duke, say, “Lent is the perfect time to tell the truth about the way things really are.” So let’s talk about some truth.

On Ash Wednesday, when we receive the imposition of ashes (this is the language churches use to describe the marking with ashes,) the clergy says some variation of this phrase to each person: “From dust you came and to dust you shall return.”  

Right off the bat, we see that this is a really uncomfortable fact - we come from the earth and we return to the earth. It is a statement of the fleeting and fragile nature of human life. Rationally we know death is a reality, but we rarely take time to ponder it.

We humans cling to life. It is not our natural inclination to dwell on death. We would rather celebrate the birth, the fresh beginning of new life.

But the truth we all have in common is that we will all eventually die, and we will all eventually lose someone we love. Grief is a part of the human experience. 

That is what makes Ash Wednesday so difficult and unnerving. 

It is the same when we see suffering. When we are confronted with someone in the messy middle of grief and loss, we want to say things like,

God needed another angel.

This must be God’s will.

It is time to move on and find your new normal.

We are so uncomfortable with grief that we try to make the grieving person feel better, so we can feel better too. But in my darkest moments of grieving, all I want is for someone to sit with me in the silence and remind me that I am not alone. We are made for community and we need each other, especially in the scary parts.

Death, and therefore Ash Wednesday, is frightening and uncomfortable. It is easier to look away and find the quickest path to feel better. But today, let’s be brave together and linger a little longer in this hard place.

The invitation in Ash Wednesday, just like it is in grief, loss, and suffering, is to stop and say, “Me too. Death is scary, but I won’t look away. We are in this together.”

Beloved

Valentines Day is this weekend. Truthfully, I’ve always rather dreaded this day. When I was a teenager & young adult, I felt lonely because I was never one of those girls who had a boyfriend or even a date on Valentines Day. After I married, it was never a day we really celebrate. It was referred to as one of those “fake holidays.”

Now, to be perfectly honest, I don’t love the overpriced roses and sappy cards. I realize those are signs of a culture obsessed with public shows of undying romantic love.

Since becoming a widow though, I’ve realized how fleeting life is and all the ways I want to tell the people I love how much they mean to me. 

And I need to hear that love from them too. I thrive on words. Words of affirmation is one of my primary love languages. I need to hear “I love you. You matter to me.” It reminds me that I’m not alone and that I’m important to someone.

Interestingly, this Valentines Day comes six weeks after choosing the word “beloved” as my word of the year. It’s a word I took on rather grudgingly - and maybe even skeptically.

But as Valentines Day approaches, knowing sappy pink & red sparkly gifts are not part of the weekend for me, I’ve looked deeper at what it means to be beloved. 

The dictionary defines beloved as “a much loved person or a dearly loved person.” Biblically, it is used in many New Testament epistles to imply more than human affection- a person who is very loved by God. And this is where I am dwelling. My word for the year is also a journey to learn to rest in the truth that I am a person dearly loved by God.

Truthfully, I’ve been hearing all my life that God loves me. Yet somehow, I have struggled to believe it. It’s not really hard to guess why Spirit whispered this word to me; and when I doubted and grumbled, She pressed in again, “your word to meditate on is beloved.”

I’ve already confessed that I need words of affirmation. I want words to reassure me that I’m loved. Sometimes I even use those words as a crutch to convince me when I’m doubting. But, as I’m meditating on my belovedness, I am hearing something deeper this year. In the 6 weeks that I’ve been leaning in to the word “beloved,” here is some of what I’ve experienced, and then heard in response:

My spiritual director recommended the book Psalms for Praying, which is a book of intimate retellings of each Psalm that are focused on being loved by God and then calling God my “Beloved.”

Renae, you are loved. You belong to me.

I’ve spent the last 8 months reading and rereading Psalm 139 asking Spirit for understanding and self compassion. My wisdom group recently chose to use Psalm 139 for our worship text next week in our Intensive - a Psalm marveling at the intimate personal love of God for us.

Renae, I love you intimately. I go behind and before you, my hand of blessing on your head.

I was drawn to experiment with prayer beads this winter as a way to focus as I am connecting with God.

Renae, you are loved and invited to be in communion with me.

Then I was asked to lead a Lenten small group using a book called (what else?!) “We are Beloved: A Lenten Journey with Protestant Prayer Beads” by Kristen E Vincent.

Renae, I love you and I want you to encourage others in their belovedness.

Oh, and my Metagem wisdom group wants to go through this book and Lenten experience together.

Renae, I am giving you companions for this journey.

Honestly, I can’t even begin to share all of the personal whispers and unmistakable signs I’ve seen that are related to this word and the way God loves me. And y’all, that’s just the first 6 weeks!

Spirit is moving and I am listening. 

I want to leave you with some of the beautiful words found in Psalm 139 from Nan Merrill’s book that I mentioned above. I pray it reminds you, as it does me, how dearly loved we are by the God who made us.

O my Beloved, You have searched me and known me!

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

     You discern my innermost thoughts.

You find me on the journey and guide my steps;

     You know my strengths and my weaknesses.

Even before words rise up in prayer, 

     Lo, You have already heard my  heart call.

You encompass me with love where’er I go,

     and your strength is my shield.

Such sensitivity is too wonderful for me;

     It is high;  boundless gratitude is my soul’s response.

Psalms for Praying: An Invitation to Wholeness ~ Nan C. Merrill

Learning to Pray Again

I’ve been praying my whole life - at least, as long as I can remember.

I recall simple childhood prayers such as “now I lay me down to sleep” and “God bless Mommy and Daddy.”

I remember praying to ask Jesus into my heart at age 8. I can see myself in my minds eye, sitting with my Pawpaw on the green couch in their living room, while Mawmaw cooked Sunday lunch in the kitchen, one room over. I don’t remember what I said, but I know I felt safe and heard.

I can remember praying in journals as a teen and praying through poetry I wrote as a young adult. I loved the intimacy of putting my words to paper and hiding them away.

I remember reading and praying through the Psalms as a newly widowed mom. They were the only thing that gave words to my grief and sorrow and fear at a time when I felt at a loss for words.

And I remember praying with the boys in those early nights too. We had never prayed nightly as a family before loss. But every night since, we have gathered and taken turns praying together before sleep.

After a whole lifetime of prayers, sometimes I think I have it all together - that I know what I am doing. But I have so much to learn still. There are times when my heart feels too heavy or burdened to pray, and I feel shame and guilt over my absence from prayer.

I am getting reacquainted with my favorite book from long ago, after my sister, Mary, gave me a devotion book based on it. I generally reread it once a year, but somehow I missed last year. My 8th grade English teacher, Mrs Linda Matthews, assigned it to my class, and I fell hopelessly and fervently in love with the story of an imaginative, red haired orphan from Prince Edward Island.

One of my favorite scenes from the book is a hilarious encounter where Marilla is teaching Anne to pray. Marilla is scandalized that Anne doesn’t say her nightly prayers and is even more shaken when Anne confesses that someone told her that God made Anne’s hair red on purpose and she had never cared for him much since. When Marilla insists that Anne begin praying, Anne asks Marilla,

“Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I’ll tell you what I would do. I’d go out into a great big field all alone or in the deep, deep woods and I’d look up into the sky - up-up-up into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I’d just feel a prayer.” (L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables)

This “naive” statement from Anne has held more and more wisdom to me lately. Listen: I’m a words- girl. I’ve always prayed in words, and I especially love to pray in beautiful words. But I confess that when I can’t find words for what I am experiencing, my prayers become less frequent - arguably at the times I need them the most. This word-girl is at a loss for words, struggling to wrap my brain around feelings and situations that doesn’t make sense. So how do I re-enter prayer in these moments?

I’ve always loved Romans 8:26 where Paul says, “The Holy Spirit prays for us with groans that cannot be expressed in words.” NLT

I often imagined that Spirit was turning my words into clear and bold prayers before the throne of God. And I do think this may be true, but I also think Spirit might be sitting beside me, joining me in my loss for words, holding silence with me. Maybe there are moments that words are inadequate, and maybe it is ok that I don’t try to force words around them.

And so I am learning to sit with God in silence. I am learning to pray through stillness and meditation. I am learning to “feel a prayer” and be okay with no words. It is hard sometimes to let go of the ways I think prayer is “supposed” to look. It is hard to let go of the way I want to be eloquent in my prayers. But here I am, finding a new prayer room and learning to pray again.

New Calling

I have always felt a calling on my life. I can remember moments from as early as 8 years old where I felt called & compelled to serve God. Not only in the “we are all called to live like Jesus and share His love” type of call, although that is absolutely central to my understanding of being a Christ follower. I do, and have always felt compelled, to live my faith out loud. But this is something more. I knew God was calling me to some specific ministry, some space where only I could serve.

This calling has looked different throughout my life. I have served God through counseling, teaching, singing, and being a clergy wife and homeschooling mom. I have experienced great joy in these roles. But still, there was something hiding just beyond what I could see.

In the last few years, I have felt a different sort of urging from Spirit. It has taken time, lots of inner work, and support from family, friends, and mentors, but I am finally feeling some clarity.

You see, I believe there are places in each of us where our passions, our training, our gifts, our longings and dreams, and our life experiences come together in this beautiful connecting point where we are most fully ourselves. These areas are life-giving. They make us light up. They give us energy and fuel our passion even more. And sometimes things happen that we cannot even explain. I have seen it in others, but I have struggled to find it in myself.

For much of the time since I became a widow, I felt lost in my backstory. You know how all supervillains have some tragic backstory - a reason why they pursue revenge or do evil? Well, I was wrapped up in my own backstory of trauma and loss and abuse. While it didn’t motivate me to do evil, it certainly did hold me hostage. I couldn’t see my future because all of my energy was spent processing and healing from my past.

One day, my dear friend said something that changed my life though. We have only known one another for a couple of years, but we have a depth of friendship that is held together tighter than most by Spirit and a common desire for authenticity and transformation. One day she said to me, “Renae, what’s most interesting about your story is who you are becoming.”

And y’all, I swear to you that there were actual fireworks that went off in my head in that instant.

Suddenly, I recognized that I am more than the trauma I have survived. I am more than the critical voices in my head. My story is one of becoming, of hope and grace, and of transformation.

Just to be clear, I still have moments of sadness, of overwhelm, of anxiety and ptsd. But now I see them as moments - not as the whole story.

I am finding that life-giving, soul-passion energy in 2 specific ways.

Number one: I am writing. I love words and have always harbored a secret desire to be a writer. And so I joined Hope*Writers and I began calling myself a writer and I began this blog. It is scary and risky and often feels way too vulnerable. But I feel alive and full of energy and hope when I write and hit publish.

The second place I find myself feeling fully alive is walking alongside of a fellow human as they live out their own sacred story. In my role as counselor and clergy wife and friend, I tasted a sense of this. But I have fully embraced this passion by going back to school and becoming a Spiritual Director.

Spiritual Direction is simply a journey that helps you care for your soul, learn to hear Spirit’s voice, and explore spiritual practices that help you notice God at work in your life.

And so today I am announcing and launching my Spiritual Direction practice. As a Spiritual Director, it will be my honor to walk with you on your own spiritual journey.

Please pray for me in this new ministry, and reach out if you have questions. I have set up a new page where you can learn more and contact me directly, and I have included a link below. I can’t wait to connect with you!

New Identity

I turn 50 next week. Whew - saying that out loud is kind of shocking to me. Some days I feel every day of 50, but others I imagine I am still in young adulthood. I realize that is kind of a reach since I have a son who is in early adulthood. But I don’t feel fifty.

In these 50 years, I have been daughter, student, wife, mom, teacher, friend, and counselor. I’ve always gone by Renae, and I’ve been aggravated by people calling me Susan (my given first name.) I have been Miss Rickles and Mrs Perry. I have been called Mrs Renae by polite southern children and their parents. My closest friends and family know me by NaeNae. I have had other nicknames too - cruel ones and sweet ones and silly ones. All of these names and nicknames are part of my story in one way or another.

I have been thinking a lot about identity lately. Maybe it is hitting 50 years. Maybe it comes with rediscovering my voice. I think it also comes from a lot of hard inner work.

For most of my life, I was defined by who I was married to or who my family of origin is. I introduced myself as “the pastor’s wife” or as the mom of ______. The first time I attended our women’s Bible Study at Pell City FUMC, our leader and pastor required us to introduce ourselves without telling who we were related to or what our vocation is. I am not the only one who inwardly cringed at this task. Who we are is intrinsically linked to others in our lives.

I am discovering, though, that I must learn who I am apart from anyone else. And so I continue the work I began with my Counselor 3 & 1/2 years ago. Newly widowed, I sat grieving and raw and unsure of who I was. I have done a lot of work between that time and now. And I honestly still have a long way to go.

Like many of you, I choose a word each January to guide my exploration and soul work for the upcoming year. I say “choose,” but mostly I feel led to a specific word. Last year, my word was “balance,” which seems tragically funny given the events of 2020. But I did find balance in a lot of areas.

This year, as I was praying and waiting for a word to entice me, Holy Spirit kept whispering “beloved.” Y’all, I’m not gonna lie - I argued over this one. I wanted something more productive, something that didn’t make me flush with anxiety when I told someone my word was “beloved.” I grew up singing “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” I felt like I should have this one down without a year of exploration.

But nothing else came. And slowly I have accepted that I have a lot of work to do in accepting myself as beloved.

I want to believe I am beloved by the Creator who made me and shaped me. But honestly, I struggle.

I struggle to believe I am loved when I’m not being a helper to someone.

I struggle to believe I am loved if I am needy.

I struggle to believe I am loved because I have been wounded.

I also have work to do in seeing the belovedness in people who I vehemently disagree with and those who have wounded me.

And so, despite my grumblings, my word for 2021 is beloved. This year, I will work to more fully understand how my Creator sees me and those around me as beloved. There is much work to be done in my soul this year.