• A blessing for weeks when life feels fragile

    All across the world nations are beginning to shut down and shelter in place again as the pandemic ravages the globe. There have been over a million deaths, and that number is still climbing. And many of us are scared, and we are weary, and we think about our children and our grandparents and those that we love who are sick, and everything weighs so very heavy on our shoulders, doesn’t it?

    This week may we see kindness in a masked stranger’s eyes as we lock gazes. May we feel some sort of comfort in the knowledge that we are not alone in our fear, in our anxieties, in the way it all just feels too much some days. May we be quick to swallow our pride and say “you first” and not “me first” as we don our face masks and keep a safe distance. May we know the unique blessing of learning to do a thing in a new way and remember that it is a gift to get second chances, and may we hold our traditions and the manner in which we’ve always done things loosely in our hands. May we take care of each other in unexpected ways, and may we count our blessings not just at the holiday table. May we remember those who are unhoused and those who are sick and those without food or family. May we recognize that we have more than enough.

    This week, as everything feels fragile and death looms around us, may we choose the things that give us life. May we bless the teachers, and the doctors, and the nurses, and the cashiers, and those who care for our elderly. May we be sure to take care of ourselves just as much as we do our loved ones, making sure to eat good food and get enough rest, to find ways to laugh, to allow times for tears.

    When everything feels fragile, may we remember that we are the ones holding each other up; may we feel strong as our neighbors help us lift our weary hands, much as Hur and Aaron did for Moses, our desert father. May we feel comforted by the knowledge this is a season and not our forever, and though we don’t know how long the season will last, we are weathering it together.

    Above all, may we know that we are loved this week. You are loved this week, friends. This week, and every week.

  • A blessing for weeks when everything seems to be changing

    As we begin this new week, we are a people hungry for healing — healing of our hearts, healing of our relationships, healing of our land. And yet we recognize that we can never heal from that which we cannot name, for there is a particular blessing that comes when we humbly confess all the ways we’ve gotten it wrong. Today, God, would you lead us to repentance? Lead us to the space where we can acknowledge all the ways we have been complicit in the broken systems that hurt and divide us. Show us a better way, a way of narrow paths that lead to wells of justice and springs of water in the desert of our polarized world.

    And for those who begin this week with a spark of hope, I urge you to protect your joy. Tend to it, nurture it, care for it as you would something that is precious, like a new life in its first hour outside its mother’s womb. Your joy matters. Your hope is a gift. May you be blessed as you laugh and dance and celebrate and organize and plan and look ahead. May you be blessed by a dawn that looks, somehow, just a little bit brighter than it did yesterday.

    And for those who begin the week with the weight of disappointment sitting in your belly, I pray you will find comfort. May you receive the gift of being humbled by the realization that Something far greater than ourselves is holding this all together. And may you know the peace of letting go what was so that you may make space for something beautiful and new.

    And for all of us, may kindness be our language, and gentleness be our home. May we be quick to listen and slow to anger, as our God has taught us. May we grieve if we need to, dance if we must, and may we recognize that God is big enough to meet us in both. May we learn to have conversations again, conversations about hard things like race and politics and systemic change, without name-calling and jabbing insults. May we take care of one another this week, and may we become as careful gardeners, weeding out bitterness from the soil of our own hearts. And may we be watered with the knowledge we, as a people, have been called to strive towards what is good, what is right, what is true, what is kind, what is lovely, and that we are blessed when we are pure in heart, for then we shall see God.

    You are loved this week, friends. This week, and every week.
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  • A blessing for weeks when we’re holding our breath

    As we go into this new week, there are many of us who feel uncertain. Anxious. Even fearful. May we somehow feel peace in our weary bones and worried hearts. May we remember to be gentle with ourselves this week, and get enough sleep, and drink our water. May we dare to hope. May we dare to dream, and dare to plant good seeds, seeds of forgiveness and friendship, in this world’s thirsty soil. May we be nourished by the ministry of good books, and cozy hot beverages, and gooey baked goods, and friends who text us just to say hello. May we practice one of life’s most difficult lessons to learn–the art of saying, “you first”, not “me first” or “mine first”. May we hold our loved ones near to us this week, either in our arms or in our memories, and may we not be afraid to cry if we need to, because tears are medicine, too. May we take the higher road whenever it is offered to us, and may we keep our eyes fixed on the things that will never pass away. May we keep toiling towards that new kingdom, where things will be right, and things will be just, and the table is wide, and the welcome is for all. May we get glimpses of that great feast, and may it feed us as the days grow shorter and the dark longer. May we feel the warmth of love this week, and may we remember to take deep breaths.

    We are a world in waiting, O God. Will you meet us in our unknowns this week, and may we know the gift of your presence with us? And if/when it becomes harder to breathe, may we be restored to the gentle rhythms that will restore us to life.

    You are loved this week, friends. This week, and every week.

    Amen.