It's been a while since I posted.
Some things have been good since I last wrote. I got the Resurrection playlist together, and the Easter Vigil it was set in was way cool. I think my favorite part was watching people really engage the activities we'd designed on this easter "pilgrimage"--and watching those who'd designed the event shine with healthy pride and share the power of easter stories. Our campus felt steeped in "holy." That a photo from it ended up on the front page of our San Diego paper was bonus cool.
Since Easter, I've been attempting pastoral de-compression. It seems like it shouldn't be this hard: it's the same story every year, after all. It should be less shocking to us than it was to Mary on that morning when she took spices for a dead body. I need to remember that the BIG work of Easter is taken care of by that wily Holy Spirit...
Somehow, though, making it relevant and hip and making sure we don't screw things up in worship takes a lot of energy.
So, after intense church-things-obsession, I got to enjoy a week focused on home.
Unfortunately, so did the person who broke into our house Thursday night.
They didn't take so much. I guess it helps that I own jewelry with little cash value. I mean, I think it's cool, but it's not gonna sell quick on the street. (In a perverse way, it feels a little insulting--that my things weren't worth stealing... I guess I can find solace that they chose MY laptop to steal. Apparently, they have some good taste. Mac, not PC.) But they did break a window. And run out the back door.
Mostly, I'm sleeping well since then. I still feel funny when I come home at night, alone. I don't want to discover that it's happened again.
So I decided to prove to my house that I haven't waned in my affection for her or our choice of neighborhood by working in the garden again. Things are blooming and sprouting. The sprinkler system is fixed, and the stepping stones are in place. Even the japanese maple, which maintained its "dead stick" look longer than anything else in the yard has beautiful young leaves. One of my joys is watching neighbors walking past our yard stop, to point and look at things growing in our garden. One neighbor brought cuttings from her own yard; she's given up on trying to grow new things, but was more than happy to run home and return, so she could share from the ones that are well-rooted there.
And, a week or two late by liturgical standards, my Passionflower vine has opened its first blooms. I'm told it was named for that distinctive bloom, which 15th Century Spanish missionaries though held reminders of the crucifixion.
Then, today, there's news of this horrific shooting at Virginia Tech, and I'm back to contemplating how to celebrate the Easter season in the midst of death.
I pray that the world will stop, turn, and find ways to cherish life.