Tracking Our Lives

Our family has discovered fitness trackers. It started with the kids who had friends at school with them and so asked for them for their birthday. Then Elizabeth thought maybe one would help her be active throughout the day. And then, when she decided the cheap, off-brand one I had gotten her wasn’t really all that comfortable, it became mine.

I haven’t worn a watch, or anything similar, in well over ten years. I have a dress watch I pull out of its box in the closet just often enough to discover that the battery has run dead again. But I thought I might as well give this fitness-tracker-watch-thingy a try, since the other option was placing it in a box in the closet.

I’ve been wearing it for about five days now. I’m not sure what to make of it. I don’t think I really trust it—did I really walk 18,000 steps yesterday, but only 1,200 the day before? I still haven’t figured out how to read text messages on it—something it claims I should be able to do. It’s an off-brand, so it’s a bit limited in its functionality.

One of the features I’m most taken with is its sleep-tracking function. It figures out when I’m asleep and then records whether I’m in deep sleep or light sleep, giving me a report the next morning on my sleep patterns. I’m not sure how it does this. I suspect it just makes it up.

Forgive me if I sound a bit skeptical. It’s mostly because two nights ago I stayed up late reading a book. When I went back the next morning to check my sleep report from that night’s sleep, the fitness tracker reported that I had started sleeping two hours before I remember going to bed. I suspect I must have tricked it into thinking I was sleeping by holding my wrist still while reading and lowering my heart rate by being sedentary. Elizabeth, however, has more faith in the fitness tracker. She seems to suspect that maybe it wasn’t wrong at all. For some reason, she chuckles as she tells me this. And the really strange thing is—in those two hours before we went to bed, Elizabeth read a book and a half, and I got through about four pages.

I wonder what would happen if we had a spiritual-life tracker. Something that helps us know how much time we spend each day in prayer, in Scripture reading, or other spiritual practices. Something that would help us set goals for these spiritual practices and send us text messages of encouragement when we achieved them.

Would it lead to Pharisaic practices and a form of legalism? Reading the Bible or praying just to get our “steps” in rather than out of a desire to spend time with God? Would we be tempted to fall into a “holier-than-thou” posture and share on Facebook how much time praying we achieved today? Would it simply lead to feelings of guilt about not doing enough spiritually? Or, like me with the fitness tracker and the time I thought I had spent reading, might it reveal some hard truths—like maybe we don’t invest nearly as much in our spiritual lives as we would like others (or maybe even ourselves) to believe.

Deepening Roots

I’ve had this prayer poem from Julian of Norwich in the back of my mind this week:

Be a gardener.

Dig a ditch

Toil and sweat,

And turn the earth upside down

And seek the deepness

And water the plants in time.

Continue this labor

And make sweet floods to run

And noble and abundant fruits

To spring.

Take this food and drink

And carry it to God

As your true worship.

 

            - Julian of Norwich

 It came to mind when I looked out of our front window early in the week and noticed the zinnias blooming in our window box. And I remembered that they came from the packets of seeds we distributed and received just before Easter as a sign of new life. Jay planted them and they grew into seedlings on the trunk in our living room (with a brief trip to the house of some friends while we were out of town for a week), and eventually we planted them in the flower box by our living room window. And after all of these months and those transitions, they’re blooming, a sign of hope and new life.

I read somewhere recently (I suspect it was on Facebook, though I couldn’t track it down) a quote about how planting seedlings commits you to staying in a place for a while. The process of growing from seed to seedling to flowering zinnia or juicy tomatoes takes time and care and attention.

I’ve been thinking about that and about the Easter seeds and about Jesus’ words in John 12, about a kernel of wheat falling to the ground and dying and producing many seeds. About how he was speaking about his death and resurrection. New life beginning in the dark, growing from the ground, coming out of the tomb. And how in his death and resurrection and especially in the gift of the Spirit, Jesus was planting seedlings and committing to staying with us and bringing new life to full flower, to full fruit.

Two lines from the poem stand out to me as I sit with it today: ‘. . . turn the earth upside down and seek the deepness.’ There’s been a lot of upheaval in our world and in our lives and in the unsettledness it’s helpful to remember that Jesus, our gardener, can plant something new. And I appreciate the invitation to ‘seek the deepness.’ My spiritual director reminded me a few weeks ago that summer is a time in the natural world for deepening roots as well as blossoming and blooming and bearing fruit and encouraged me to deepen my roots this summer. I’m still pondering what that means, and trusting that as I seek to be faithful and attentive in prayer and life, the Spirit is deepening my roots, growing the seeds of Christ in me.

Turkeys and Prayer

Yesterday I noticed in my inbox a message from Nextdoor Mulick Park with the subject, ‘Aggressive Turkey?’ Nextdoor is an email/app service connecting neighbors with neighbors, and I don’t follow it closely, but this entry caught my eye. The author expressed concern about a turkey showing no fear of traffic, and wandering around pecking cars . . . and I smiled, because I think I know that turkey. I sometimes run from our house to D & W on Breton and sometimes I will see a turkey on Eliot, near Breton. And when I’ve gotten too close, trying to take a picture, it has chased me. It is a very big bird.

I really like that turkey.

I remember when the kids were little we would sometimes see a flock of turkeys near North Shore Park in Ferrysburg, MI, when we were driving to and from the beach. For a while whenever we drove that stretch of road, they would start clucking in the back seat (there was some confusion about what sound a turkey makes). Maybe some of my fondness for the neighborhood turkey comes from the memory of their sweet clucking and their giggles . . .

I like to pray when I run, and I’m always watching my step to not trip on the sidewalk, but often my mind wanders and I spend a lot of time fretting about what’s already happened that day or what needs doing. It’s usually something around me that calls me back to the present moment and to prayer – the light coming through the trees, a rabbit on someone’s lawn, another walker or runner. Or a turkey. A turkey seems like a particularly extravagant way of getting my attention. It’s easy to overlook a rabbit or pass a beautiful tree, or even to ignore another person on the other side of the street, but a turkey is hard to miss. They are so big and so strange looking and not what I expect to see on the sidewalk or in the street. I don’t remember when I first saw a turkey on my run – it was a few years ago – but it took my breath away in wonder and kept me coming back in hopes of seeing it again.

One day after I returned joyfully from my run and reported to the family having seen the turkey again, Emma teasingly asked me, “Mom do you run just to see the turkey?” I laughed and said, “No, but if I don’t run there, I probably won’t see the turkey.” It’s a bit like prayer, actually. If I don’t pay attention, I’m less likely to experience God’s presence.

When I get to the block right before Breton, I start looking for the turkey. There’s a lot of bushes on that block that from a distance look like they could be turkeys, but it never shows up where I think it will. My turkey-spotting skills aren’t the best. And I don’t see it every time I run there. Sometimes it’s months between sightings and I’m often a little concerned I won’t see it again. But whenever I do see it, I stop and say thank you. I see it as a sign of the Spirit’s presence. A sign calling me to be present with wonder and delight in this world God has made. A sign calling me to laughter, and a sign that God delights in me, out for a run, eager for a glimpse of the turkey.

The Annunciation

A couple of weeks ago, as the school year was drawing to a close and final projects were being completed, our oldest daughter asked Elizabeth and me to review a self-recorded speech she had made for Language Arts class. A year and a half ago, we would not have known much at all about self-recorded speeches, but now we’re pretty much experts. Unintentional experts, but still…we know a thing or two about self-recorded speeches. 

So as we watched the speech, we picked up almost immediately on camera angle and height. Lighting and shadows. Strange and distracting things in the background. And one I struggle with and am always self-monitoring in my head—enunciation.

Her class required a written evaluation, so I grabbed a pen and went to town—noting all the items for the lessons we had learned after a year of recording our sermons each week, eager somehow to show off our technology knowledge. I went through our list and then wrote, “Enunciation could be better”—only I spelled it “annunciation” instead of “enunciation.”

Elizabeth was looking over my shoulder at the time and said, “I think you misspelled that.” “No,” I replied, “Pretty sure I’m right.” In fact, I was so confident I even did a Google search on the spot to get the proper spelling. When “annunciation” came back as indeed a word, I turned my phone over to Elizabeth to begin the gloating process. “See,” I said, “Annunciation.”

“Hmm…” was the response as Elizabeth tried to be tactful. “You might want to check the meaning of that word.”

So I hit the definition link, and as the results came up, I realized I had made a grave mistake. “Enunciation” is the correct spelling of the word referring to diction and speech. “Annunciation,” on the other hand, refers to the angel Gabriel declaring to Mary that she was going to be with child. I decided Elizabeth was indeed correct: “Annunciation could be better” was not what I wanted to write on our daughter’s speech evaluation.

Besides being a lesson in humility, my error got me thinking—I began wondering about whether indeed the Annunciation could have been better. We don’t know all the specific details, of course, but the Bible is fairly understated in its description. “In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph…” Perhaps Gabriel could have used some fireworks. Or there could have a big-production song and dance number. Maybe some animals could have been involved to make the Annunciation better.

But then I thought—perhaps it was just perfect the way it was. Perhaps a bit understated was just right. One of our favorite Christmas picture books is The Nativity, illustrated by Julie Vivas. With beautiful watercolors, she portrays the angel Gabriel with tattered wings, torn tunic, and worn-through hiking boots. Gabriel stumbles into the scene while Mary is hanging the clothes up to dry, and they sit down together for tea.

In the town of Nazareth there are two ornate churches that mark the traditional site of the Annunciation. One is the traditional Catholic site and one the traditional Orthodox site. Both sit over water sources that are part of the same spring system that is the city’s only water source. Between them is a plaza with a simple above-ground fountain that is referred to as Mary’s Well. This is the site where everyone in the city would get their water up until 1966. An early 2^nd-century writing refers to Mary as being at a well when the angel Gabriel came to her. If so, it would have been at this well. There’s something beautiful about this news coming to Mary as she’s going about her everyday tasks—especially one that is so fundamental for sustaining life.

In the end, I don’t know for certain whether or not the Annunciation could have been better. I suspect not. I do know, however, the message could not have been better. God is on the move. Becoming human. Entering into our brokenness to redeem and transform it. Bringing us life.

Chipmunks and Kale

We have some very healthy chipmunks in our backyard. I know this because they’ve eaten all our kale. 

Every year we plant kale and lettuce and spinach in our raised bed garden that sits on our driveway. The lettuce and spinach are great for a bit, but then the heat gets to them and they turn bitter or they go to seed and they don’t last through the summer. The kale, however, can tolerate the heat, and it typically keeps producing copious amounts of super-greens all summer long. Except this year—because the chipmunks have eaten it all. I’ve seen them eating it. I’ve also seen them running around our driveway with their cheeks stuffed full with kale.

I’ll admit for a bit I contemplated trapping the chipmunks and relocating them. Then I remembered I tried this one year when the chipmunks were digging burrows under our steps and near the foundation of the house and I was worried they were destabilizing things. I trapped and relocated 22 chipmunks before I gave up—no joke. Apparently when you remove one chipmunk, another is ready to take its place. On a side note—if you ever want to trap chipmunks, I suggest using helicopter seeds from maple trees as bait. Highly effective. (And if you happen to notice a high chipmunk population at MacKay-Jaycees Park, I know nothing about it…)

Once I remembered how hopeless it would be to try to remove the entire backyard chipmunk population, I resigned myself to reluctantly supporting a healthy chipmunk community in SE Grand Rapids. I then realized I had a choice. I could either be bitter every time I saw a chipmunk nibbling at our kale, or I could take delight in watching these little creatures—I could wonder at the diversity of God’s creation and the resourcefulness of these little guys.

I decided my summer would be more joyful if I chose the latter. I even get a bit of a virtue kick out of it—I’m sharing out of my abundance with those less fortunate. Plus, I enjoy the thought of super-healthy chipmunks zooming around our neighborhood.

There are times, however, I confess, when I still want to throw something at the chipmunks while they’re eating the kale. Times I want to rush out the back door shouting, “Mine! Mine! Mine! Go away! Go away! Go away!” Times I wonder if it might not work to put a fence of small-mesh chicken wire around the kale to keep the chipmunks out.

I’ve discovered living a life of graciousness to others—in this case, to chipmunks—is a lot of hard work. Being generous with things we consider “ours” takes a lot of intentionality. It’s hard to let go of things we feel entitled to. It’s true with chipmunks, but it’s true with other people, too, of course.

There are a lot of lessons here I’m trying to learn. The way we choose to respond to disappointing or frustrating things that happen to us can make a world of difference. It takes a lot of intentionality to be gracious. It’s better to hold things loosely than to be miserly. It’s more fun to give than to try to guard what you have.

Maybe all these things are just a bit of what Jesus is trying to teach us when he tells us to store up treasures in heaven rather than on this earth.