Cloudy Days at the Beach.

I expect too much of life.

I suspected it while in school, came to see it more clearly as I grew older, and now stare it squarely in the face on a daily basis. This morning, awakening at the beach on a cloudy, rainy day, I am reminded of it once again.

There is little in life better than a sunny day at the beach. Sitting, looking our at the waves breaking rhythmically as the various birds swoop down looking for unsuspecting prey, can fill my soul like nothing else. Watching as children make sandcastles, others play tag with the sea, and still others strut their youthful bodies for all to see, can turn back the years of my soul, if only for a moment. But sandcastles wash away, games lose their appeal, and bodies change.

It is tempting to expect life to remain a certain way, people to stay as I have known them, but that’s like wanting it to be sunny each and every day at the beach. Today’s rain, while disappointing at first, is also an invitation to give my sunburned neck a break, to wear long pants and socks, and explore that independent bookshop down the way for an hour or two. Accepting the change in weather is the trick. Expecting things to remain the same, the curse.

The lesson, of course, is much more important than Spring Break contentment. It’s about accepting the changes in life that come as rhythmically was the waves. “To everything there is a season,” it has been said. That includes a person, job, or relationship . . . a creative passion, interest, or calling . . .  one’s youth, health, or vitality . . . financial well-being, network of friends, family relations . . . the sense of serenity, joy, and optimism.  The sun shines equally on each, but the clouds come as well.

Learning to bask in the sun and dance in the rain is what I most need to learn. Packing bathing suit and sandles, as well as raincoat and shoes, makes for a full vacation . . . and life.

Emptiness

When entering a church on Easter morning, there are many things on which we can focus: colorful flowers, festive attire, and beloved hymns. Listening to the story, many characters wait to greet us: loyal women, baffled soldiers, and frightened disciples. Of course, there’s the risen Lord, but sometimes the brightness of the morning makes it difficult to see him clearly.

This year, the eyes of my heart are drawn to an often-missed feature of Easter morning: emptiness. Like wind, emptiness is hard to see, but it surrounds us. It’s everywhere you look on Easter.

It’s in Peter’s heart as he thinks of his denial. It’s in Mary’s heart as she thinks of her son. It’s blows down the alleys and swirls into rooms . . .  anywhere the disciples tried to hide.

Emptiness is in the pews as well. It’s in the widow sitting alone for the first time in 38 years. It’s in the couple trying not to show their marriage is falling apart. It’s in the high school girl worrying what her friends will say of her dress. It’s in the man whose bank account is full but whose heart echoes. It’s in the one who fears she works too much, just as it’s in the one who longs for a job. 

But there’s another emptiness on Easter morning, the emptiness of a tomb. Once filled with the darkness and stench of death, it now holds the light and breeze of resurrected life.

“He’s not here!” The words ring out across the centuries, and when the two types of emptiness meet nothing remains the same. Suddenly the widow and the couple no longer sit alone, the anxious girl and wealthy man are filled, and people of all shapes and sizes find the peace that passes all understanding.

That’s the miracle of Easter.

That’s the blessing of emptiness.

Palm Sunday: Riding donkeys.

When was the last time you rode a donkey?

When was the last time you apologized to your child?

When was the last time you stayed after a meeting and stacked the chairs?

When was the last time you admitted you were scared?

When was the last time you did the dishes? 

When was the last time you watched a movie someone else wanted to watch?

When was the last time you cried openly?

When was the last time you hand-wrote a note?

When was the last time you tried something for the first time?

When was the last time you prayed with someone outside of church?

When was the last time you risked telling someone you cared?

When was the last time you volunteered during an important game?

When was the last time you listened patiently while someone repeated themselves?

When was the last time you sang when others could hear?

When was the last time you suggested an idea you weren’t sure would work? 

When was the last time you faced someone mad at you? 

When was the last time you spoke of your faith? 

When was the last time you rode on a donkey?