A few nights ago, Patrick and I realized that our family has lived in our current home for almost four years. As we did some quick math, we realized that this is the longest we have lived in any one house or apartment in our 20 plus years of marriage. Each time we moved, we had to adjust to a new place, people and customs which was never easy. Reminiscing about our past, made me think about the biblical story of the Hebrew people.

The story begins with Jacob who has 12 sons. Eleven of them despise their father’s favorite and youngest son, Joseph, especially when he parades around in his coat of many colors. Joseph’s brothers decide to remove Joseph from the equation by selling him into slavery.

One of my joys in pre-COVID life was planning vacations. I love to research all my options, spending hours reading Rick Steves’ travel books and Trip Advisor reviews on everything from attractions to restaurants to lodging. I like to find out which sights are a must-see and where to find a great bakery. If there are 240 online reviews of a hotel I’m considering staying at, I will read all of them. By the time I’m done, I will be able to tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the hotel’s plumbing, mattresses, and noise issues. While this level of planning certainly does not appeal to everyone, I get to enjoy the trip twice – once in the planning and a second time in the trip itself.

This June, my husband and I had planned to celebrate our 20th anniversary by taking a family trip to London and Paris with our two teenagers, Jonathan and Anna. Jonathan will graduate high school next year, and we thought this could be our last chance to take a family trip like this.

Over the last few weeks I have been listening to a podcast from the Center for Action and Contemplation called Turning to the Mystics. This season the podcast is focused on reading and meditating on the words of Thomas Merton. Merton was a 20th century Trappist monk who lived a solitary life. Over his lifetime, he wrote over 40 books and is well known for speaking and meeting with mystics across many different faith traditions.

I’ve always had a fascination with the life and writings of Merton as I often find him speaking directly to my heart. In one of the episodes I was listening to this week, James Finley read this prayer from Merton’s book, Thoughts in Solitude:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me.

Before COVID-19, Summit UMC did not have any way to view worship remotely. If you weren’t in Summit’s sanctuary on Sunday morning at 11, you missed it. On the positive side, if the preacher had an off day, it wasn’t recorded for eternal viewing on video! But unfortunately, those who were physically unable to attend worship had no way of participating. In the weeks since we’ve started combining video worship with Puyallup UMC, I’ve been intrigued by the ways in which virtual worship allows us to welcome a much wider congregation.

For instance, my mom and a few of her friends from Kennewick First United Methodist Church faithfully watch our Puyallup-Summit worship videos every Sunday. (Don’t worry, they continue to watch the services at Kennewick First as well!)

I am not a fan of weeding unless I am going to get something in return. For example, weeding a flower bed is something I’ll put off forever. However, weeding around my berry bushes, I am far more willing to do. This Spring, though, I was not looking forward to wedding anything in my backyard. The grass had taken over and pulling rooted grass out of muddy dirt is no fun. I didn’t relish the task but it had to be done.

This past week I began a new podcast from the Center of Action and Contemplation called Turning to the Mystics which made me think differently about weeding my yard. James Finely begins session one of his podcast by reading the last few paragraphs of Thomas Merton’s book, New Seeds of Contemplation.

Before we needed to stay home to stay safe, walking revolved around errands or work. I walked up and down the aisles of CostCo and through the endless labyrinths of Tacoma General Hospital and Good Sam. I walked around Target and Trader Joe’s, to and from parking lots, and around the church. I occasionally walked with my husband, Tom, in our neighborhood or on the Milton Interurban Trail. But, let’s be honest, I primarily walked to get stuff done.

However, in the last five and a half weeks, my whole attitude about walking has changed. My daily walk outside with Tom has turned into one of the main highlights of COVID-19 living. I don’t get anything in particular done on this walk – but it’s now one of my main forms of entertainment! I like to see what’s blooming in our neighborhood, and a few of the houses we walk by have ongoing projects to check out. We’ve walked by the same man out working in his yard so many times that we now recognize one another. We compliment him on his yard, and he jokes about why we would punish ourselves by walking up the hill where he lives.

Over the course of the last two weeks, I’ve found myself oscillating between doing really well and being totally overwhelmed. Some days my anxiety is hardly present in my day to day activities, and other days I find it difficult to keep it in check at all. You may feel something similar as it is a normal response to the stress and uncertainty we are all experiencing.

To counteract this cycle, I’ve been trying to follow a modified version of the Liturgy of the Hours or the Divine Office as it is sometimes called. The version I follow comes from the book, The Paraclete Psalter: A Book of Daily Prayer, which offers Psalms and prayers for Lauds (morning prayer), Noon time, Vespers (evening prayer) and Compline (prayer before bed).

Lent and especially Holy Week has always been very powerful and meaningful time for me. As a child, we attended every high holy day which included a Good Friday Service and the Holy Saturday prayer vigil. My memories of both of these services are filled with darkness. Darkness in the sanctuary. Darkness in nature. And Darkness of the soul.

There was always something about this darkness that felt freeing, illuminating, and powerful. It was as if the light existed in the dark even if you couldn’t see it.