Unemployment.  Earthquake.  Hurricane.  Family concerns.  Unspeakable burdens and suffering in the lives of friends and friends of friends.  The yearning to be seen, to be heard, to be known in wholeness.  To have so much, and to feel so little... it is easy to get lost in the rubble of life and in trying to live.  It is easy to close in and become one tiny isolated wounded soul.
And yet... there are counterbalances waiting for us.  There is a Spirit that beckons us to join in the ongoing celebration of vibrancy... without changing who we are or even our bewildering circumstances.  Right here.  Right now... some of what we most need is here. We don't need to wait any longer.  Just come... singed, tired, broken, hopeless.  Just come...

Lay it down or bring it with you...
just come.

Years ago, my beloved Agnes, well into her eighties, knew that she was dying.  With that knowledge before her, she made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted to be buried in her red dress.  She loved that red dress!  Sadly, there were others who felt the red dress inappropriate for her to be buried in, and thus, Agnes was buried in a blue dress.

Weeks later, as I was grieving the loss of this dear woman, I had a dream about her.  It was a powerful, comforting dream full of details that blessed me, but none more than the fact that she was wearing her red dress.  And she was smiling and singing and waving right at me!

In recent days, I heard a true story about a female pastor who wore a red dress in the pulpit.  I don’t know why or if it was her favorite dress, but she was chastised by a parishioner that as a minister, she should never wear such a thing… especially in the pulpit.  Word has it, the very next Sunday, the pastor stepped into the pulpit wearing the very same red dress.  Can you hear the cheering from where you sit?  That would be me and Agnes from the “Live Your Life” stands.

There will always be voices and systems and institutions that work really hard at boxing us up.  There are endless ‘shoulds’ and countless rules, and millions of tiny bubbles to fill in only with number two pencils.  There will be endless messages telling you that you are not enough, you are not worthy, you are not accepted.  These messages might even be spoken politely, covered in prayer, so that even in your wisest moments you question self and feel guilty for everything you are not.

Well, let me introduce you to the Doorless Church of Yes. You are welcomed here.  You just come, because the God of this church knows you, created you, and loves you.  The God of this church doesn’t fret over your gaps.  This God relishes in your gifts, your beauty, your essence.  This is a place of seeing and listening beyond sight and sound.  It’s about authenticity and integrity of soul.  For every box you’ve been put it, for every line that’s been drawn at your feet, for every no that’s been uttered in your sweet face… there are countless men and women and children and elders and little tail wagging dogs … all wearing their favorite shades of red as they await your arrival.

Typically, it takes lots of time, energy, and a vast amount of courage to come.  Many spend years, decades even, listening to the negativity and judgment.  They use up every ounce of energy they own to change who they are so they will finally be accepted.  Many knock and knock and knock and it isn’t until their knuckles bleed that they realize as long as they face this one door, they’ll never see the numerous doorless paths of health and wholeness right behind them.

If something in you is begging you to turn in a different direction…

If you feel outcast by the very entities that claim to be loving and wise…

If you long to do good but are told you are not good enough to do so…

If your red dress has been on the hanger for too many years…

Then, come.  I’d like to meet you.

I don’t own a red dress, but you can find me by way of my toes.  The most recent rejection in my life led me to my hot pink toenail polish and the delight of it brought me back to myself.  With each stroke of that vibrant color, I could hear Agnes singing “Glory, Glory” all the way from heaven.

It’s not about what you lack.

It’s about trusting who you are.

I saw a lady at church this week, not so very old, but losing her hair.  Her hair was especially thin on one side, and yet, to the other side there was a nice swath of hair.  And upon that swath, she wore a hair barrette.  I wondered how it stayed there, so thin her hair was even there it seemed it should slide off.  I also wondered how she had decided to wear it.  It brought the eye to her hair, and if it were me, I most likely would have worn a scarf or cap to cover what I was losing rather than draw any attention to it.

I met a man this week, an elder veteran now living in a hospital.  He was crying and crying out over and over again whatever the last words spoken to him might have been.  “See you later.  See you later.  See you later.  See you later.”  So heartbroken was he that he couldn’t stop the crying.  Momentarily, my friend’s therapy dog soothed him.  With his hand upon her head, I’d say, “She’s so sweet.  She’s a sweet dog.”  And he would begin, “Sweet dog.  Sweet dog.  Sweet dog.  Sweet dog.  Sweet dog.”  And I thought, “He should always be left with good words.  He should always be given words that soothe and bless and heal.”  “Good friend. Good friend.  Good friend.”  “Pretty sunlight.  Pretty sunlight.  Pretty sunlight.”  “Calm waters.  Calm waters.  Calm waters.”  “Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.”  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you.”

I also traveled to see my aunt who is recovering from throat cancer.  She lives alone, and while she has had a fair amount of friends and family to look in on her throughout this mighty struggle… she has mostly weathered this storm by herself and with her God.  She has always had a grateful heart and continues to this day to say how good God is to her, how blessed she always feels.  And I felt that truth, and I felt her loneliness, and I felt her tender strength.

There is also a plant I’ve been watching near my mother’s flower bed.  It wasn’t planted by her hands.  It was an unexpected delight that grows outside of the well-formed space.  It pushed its way up through the cement walk and is now taller and heartier than the flowers in the rich soil.  It’s unique in its foliage and colorful blooming.  And one cannot help but notice such a beautiful will to live.

A barrette.  A mantra.  Gratitude.  Will.

Courage keeps rising up to hold out hope to us all.

“How can I keep from singing?”

I recently said to my Mom, “How is it that we don’t all go crazy?”  Have you listened to the news?  Have you read the paper?  Oh, my word!  There is too much to take in, too much discord and dissonance.  I can feel the world tilting some days, and it’s like we’re all sliding and grabbing for something to hold onto.  And I’m just wondering what you are holding onto?  What is keeping your boat afloat?  What encourages you to get up in the morning?  What makes you sing before you even realize you are singing?

Daily, I can name what I need to stop the sliding… but often what I name is beyond my reach.  I think I know what will answer my personal problems, but that one thing continues to evade me.  It can be quite frustrating and very taxing to one’s nerves.  I do cry sometimes, and have had a few brilliant temper tantrums with God.  Letting it out is beneficial to a point, but what is truly amazing is how something else always seems to step forward in these moments.  Something else exists to tie us over until the current storm subsides. Perhaps the best naming of this is grace.

Grace is a heartbeat, our sustaining heartbeat that tends us without our attention.  Grace is breathing and blinking and swallowing.  Grace allows sleep and wakes us up.  Grace stands present like air.  Grace believes in processes and deep, long walks towards truths.  Grace allows us to find our way, cheering us over and through the next obstacle.  Grace is colorful and musical and silent and grey.  Grace is God hanging over your shoulders like a soft shawl and sometimes the best kick in the pants you ever experienced.

Grace holds us and blesses us with or without our dutiful sweat, with or without our knowledge or request.  Grace is the Divine Life that ever trusts the power of all that is good within and without.

If we have a task in the midst of our tasks and fretting, it is to lean in.  We’ve got to trust that the empty hammock will hold us.  We’ve got to float upon the moving currents to arrive at the next destination.  And should the hammock rip or the canoe tip, we’ve somehow got to believe that the ground and the water will offer us new stories and teachings that we would have never known if we never leaned in.

I also pray.  I pray before, during, and after the storms, the hammock and river adventures, and in the midst of my daily routines.  It’s my way of staying open to God’s grace and instruction and hope.  The other day I was so exhausted by my worries that as I laid down to rest, I asked God to accept my body, still and quiet, as prayer.  And tonight, as I write down these thoughts… I am praying for you.  Maybe I know you, maybe not.  But we are here on this lovely Earth together feeling at times lost and afraid and unseen and undervalued, and I believe it helps to know that there are tiny, strong threads that hold us tight by the very act of praying for one another.  We are always connected in this way.  I talk with God.  I take God’s hand, and God listens.  And as we are visiting in this way, God reaches out to you, and takes your hand, and before we realize it, we find each other. 

And this is grace.  And this is all we really have.  And this is all we really need.