Sleeping with bread Monday, erm... Friday.

Its Friday and you can guess the kind of week it's been if I'm writing my Monday post on Friday. In the last month there have been some great changes and shifting in my vocational life and it makes me realize how much my vocation had to do with my life overall.

Letting go and holding on:

The month of July seems to be a month of great letting go. I've experienced the death of my family dog, the passing of one of my dearest spiritual mentors - Grace Connors, and the ending of my time of ministry with Westminster Presbyterian Church due to economic reasons.

Sometimes we have the choice to let go of people, work or things. This time has been composed mostly of things passing away with little choice from me. Pets get ill, elderly people reach their physical limits, and budgets - well they run out of funds. In these cases - there is not much choice I have except in how I choose to react to the massive change around me.

I've started to grasp the idea of how to cope with all this change while floating in my mother-in-laws pool the other day. I was puttering in the water after working on her yard, and slipped an inner tube around my middle and proceeded to float my worries away. My son splashed and dove in the water. Noodles and water toys all around were dashed about in the middle schooler's created waves. Although I was experiencing all the changes and waves around me, I stayed above the water line thanks to my inner tube.

There are many things that I could use as my inner tube in this changed point of life. I could eat my way through. I could drink my way through. I could sulk my way through. I could even angry my way through, but in the end all those things (food, drink, sulking and anger.) would end up sinking me deeper under the tide of change.

In the past few weeks these words in the book of Matthew are ones that I can't seem to escape. I read them in my devotional the day after getting my lay off notice. I was watching Conan late one sleepless evening and the band, Thrice played their new song, "All who are weary." Yesterday I was updating my myspace page and came across a song by Waterdeep called - "perfectly fitted."

Matthew 11:28-30 (New International Version)

28"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

The important thing for me to remember is that Jesus "yoke" is my inner tube. Just as I allow Jesus to take my burdens and pick up the one he calls me to carry, I'm not alone in the labor. A yoke is intended for two oxen to carry. Just like a team of oxen, Jesus is carrying the other end of my burden and keeping my head above water.

As I daily let go of the expectations and plans I had for my life and take up the yoke of following Jesus. I know we are actually walking side by side. I will hold on to this yoke that is around me. No matter what waves of life reach my shore, I know Jesus is there to face them with me. Jesus, be my bread, be my yoke, be my inner tube. I'm in your hands.

SWB: Claustrophobia and clearings

Mary Lue shared her host post on business and rest for this weeks Sleeping with Bread Examen. Her words resonated with me in the fact that due to a significant staff change at my office, there is more work to be done and my plate is feeling fuller lately. There have been more meetings, and lots of talking and planning. For the most part, I've felt much more connected to people since I've become more involved in this way, but oddly when I'm done for the day or night - I find myself in need of some quiet. Maybe I'm still sorting and planning in the back of my mind, but silence (even my own) is something I find myself being more and more drawn too. It's like the extra noise, both internal and external, makes me feel claustrophobic . A few days after Christmas, I went into a game store with my son and was overwhelmed by all the noise and activity there. The store was tiny but filled with kids and their parents vying for their video game of choice. My head felt hot, my

Sunny and rainy day friends

There are two kinds of friends in the world: Sunny day friends and rainy day friends. This is a statement that my Mom used to remind me of when I was in the midst of drama or conflict with one school friend of another. There are lots of people that we define as friends, but they are really acquaintances. Two men were out hunting in the northern U.S. Suddenly one yelled and the other looked up to see a grizzly charging them. The first started to frantically put on his tennis shoes and his friend anxiously asked, "What are you doing? Don't you know you can't outrun a grizzly bear?" "I don't have to outrun a grizzly. I just have to outrun you!" This story is funny, but it does help define the distinct difference between a rainy day friend and a sunny day friend. The sunny-day-friend is more concerned with watching out for their own health and wellness, than their friends' wellbeing. On the other hand, a rainy day friend is willing to take risks, work fo

What Summer Camp Means to Me...

I was around six-years-old when I first went to sleep-away summer camp. At the time I lived in PA and the camp (through my church) was in Ohio. All school year, I attended Sunday School faithfully partially because regular attendance allowed my family scholarships to help with the cost of Summer Camp. Over the school year, I attended most Sunday's and by the end of the year, my little coupon book was full of stamps - providing me with a scholarship to attend a camp session. I provide this background on how I first got to go to camp, because it is an essential part of explaining what Summer Camp meant (and means) to me. Going away to Summer Camp gave me a whole new experience of community. The whole process of going to and attending was the first times I experienced, "it takes a village", personally. From the Sunday School Teachers who drove a sedan full of kids to Ohio, to the counselors and staff who supported new campers: through the first 48 hours of homesickness

Uphill idealist

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