dirtying paper. scratching for beauty.
We’ve been talking at our house about how Easter is a season, not a day. Fifty days to revel in fresh hope, fresh life, new beginnings.
Yesterday, at the Cville Market, we happened upon a large bin of 1/2 price Easter candy, the crate overflowing with boxes of pink and yellow Peeps (one of Miska’s and the boy’s favorites).
Overcome by the joy and the possibility, Wyatt exclaimed: “Look! Peeps for 50 days!” That’s the spirit.
We have turned toward Easter. We have been amid this week of holy things, whether we’ve noticed or not. (And it has been strange for me this Holy Week, good because we’ve done about the holiest thing I know – the Collier clan has been laughing and eating and reading and digging in the sand and soaking in the sun, together. Strange, however, because we have not been with our Christian community during this most sacred of times.) In this final stretch, the stretch between Maundy Thursday and Resurrection Sunday, we experience an intense collision.
Darkness breaks against Light.
Quiet shatters with Laughter.
Fasting goes drunk with Feasting.
Death destroyed by Life.
Everything that needs redeeming (we could have just said everything) erupts with Easter.
In these remaining hours until Easter bursts upon us, may you experience all the collisions and the paradoxes and the hope and humility of having Jesus take you by surprise.
//breakfast conversation with Seth (5)//
Seth: What day is it – am I going to school today?
Miska: Yes, it’s Tuesday.
Seth (smile breaking across his face): Tuesday?! Today is sharing day!
Me: What are you supposed to bring to share?
Seth: Something that begins with the letter “D”
Me (grinning): Well…you could bring…“D”addy.
Seth: No, you wouldn’t fit in my cubby.
Seth’s right, you know. I wouldn’t fit in his cubby.
However, there’s lots of places I do fit, places that are my places. I fit at that breakfast table each morning, sharing the breakfast I’ve made for my family. I fit on our worn, brown leather couch with my wife Miska, sitting close so we are sure to touch. I fit drinking coffee with Seth and playing Uno with Wyatt. I fit walking up and down the streets in my neighborhood, waving to neighbors and finding myself in all kinds of conversations. I fit with my spiritual community, All Souls, praying prayers and asking questions and hearing stories and hoping in the go
spel. I fit with a few soul friends who know the real me – and who keep coming back for more. I fit around our dinner table with our family and friends where there is laughter and wine and where we are all telling our “high/low.”
For a guy who’s spent much of his life feeling like the proverbial square peg, it’s good to remember all the places where my heart is at home. In the years ahead, I’m looking forward to become more “me.” And to resting more fully into all these places (and the ones I’ve yet to discover) where I belong.
Miska’s new blog design has gone live. Yes, I’m her biggest fan. Yes, I will chatter on about Miska a lot – and often mention her blog and her soul and her wisdom and her mad cooking skills (if you haven’t had the infamous chocolate chip cookies or the banana blueberry muffins, you really need to drop by and ask for some) and her rich heart an
d her wild prayers and the plain ol’ fact that God was most kind in giving me Miska as a soulmate.
I imagine God on Miska’s and my wedding day, grinning at me and saying, “She’s somethin’, huh?”
Needless to say, I think Miska has important things to say, words we need to hear. And I think anyone who encounters her heart will be the better for it. Her blog posts have been spread too thin in recent months (I mean, it’s not like we’ve had upheaval at the Collier house or anything), and I’m hoping that the coming of spring will signal fresh life stirring over in her corner of the blog world.
Two “doesn’t get any better” moments in a row. Truly, it doesn’t…
This morning, Seth said he wanted to run with me. He has the day off preschool, and so we had some daddy/Seth time planned. Most days, that means a trip to the coffee shop, Mudhouse usually (btw, Seth recently declared that he does not like Starbucks. He likes Mudhouse. Score one more for the local, independent against The Man*).
However, Seth surprised me with the announcement that he wanted to join me on my run. I’m no madcap runner, but my route is a little over two miles. And 50 yards is about the longest distance I’ve seen Seth run – I mean, he’s 5. This is the kid, mind you, who simply can not stop thumping and jumping and bouncing and catapulting any waking hour – but as soon as we start a walk, it takes him the whole of 30 seconds to begin with: “Daddy, can you pleeeaaasssseee carry me on your shoulders? I’m soooooooo tired.”
At first I resisted, thinking the whole escapade would be futile and I’d end up frustrated. But heck, he was so eager, who could resist. So we said we would run to Mudhouse (about halfway on my route), me fully expecting we would make it about a whole 2 blocks and then walk the rest.
Dangit if that kid didn’t take it all the way, never letting up steam. Our pace wasn’t blazing, but steady. About every fourth step, Seth would say, “Daddy, this is so much fun / Daddy, I love this / Daddy, I’ve never gotten to jog before / Daddy, can we do this to Mudhouse other days? / Daddy, why do you run like a gazelle?” (okay, I made that last one up)
It was a blast. Running with my 5 year old son at my side. It was a little interesting to have slug-bugging** interjected into my running routine, but hey, spice it up, I say.
Crazy thing is that once we landed at Mudhouse and finished the strawberry-banana smoothie we shared, he said he wanted to run the whole way back. And we did.
Seth’s very first run: 2 miles. I’m impressed. And, mainly, filled with joy.
*Seth’s vehemance against the so-called “Man” is selective. He is still quite willing to imbibe a java chip light frappuccino whenever another family member has one he can scarf.
**Slug-bugging, for those unitiated, is the constant, ongoing game of punching the nearest family member in the arm at the sight of any Volkswagon Bug and declaring, post-hit, “Slug Bug.”
Wyatt, our first grader, has made the turn and dived headlong into reading. Most nights, we let him and Seth grab a book or two – and a flashlight – to take to bed. Tonight, I was pretty surprised when Wyatt pulled Holy Curiosity off the shelf. While walking back to his room, book in hand, Wyatt said, “Daddy, I like reading your books.”
A few minutes ago, I overheard Wyatt reading the dedication, out loud: To Wyatt and Seth…I pray you always have the courage to ask true questions; and I pray your heart is bold and patient to listen for God’s reply.
Hearing my six-year-old son read those words … it doesn’t get any better.
Here is another reason why God has placed us in Charlottesville.
We awakened to 3 or 4 inches of fresh powder this morning; and Wyatt and Seth got first tracks in the neighborhood with their sleds. Seth won the prize for best wipe-out (with a nice strawberry on the chin to serve as witness), but both of them had some pretty mammoth runs down the (very steep) hill. A superb morning.
Last Wednesday, we walked into Lent via a humble Ash Wednesday liturgy with All Souls. It was quiet and beautiful and rich. And yesterday, we 
entered the second week of Lent, as we move further into the rhythm, further into this time for stripping bare and re-centering, a time for awaiting the hope of Easter. Miska and I, as usual, picked what each other would surrender for Lent. Miska has forfeited chocolate, and I am to give up … fear.
Steering clear of chocolate will be difficult for Miska, given her penchant for Starbucks no-fat, decaf mochas (her narcotic of choice) and the Maya truffles from our local chocalatier, Gearhart’s. However, willpower and emptying the cupboards of offending items will see her through. That’s her story, though, not mine. I’ll leave it there.
Fear, however – now that’s a tricky one. I can’t exactly leave off fear by resisting to turn into Bucks’ drive-thru. I haven’t yet discovered a way to empty fear out of the pantry (though I’d love to try if you have any suggestions). I can’t turn fear off at 8 p.m., like last year’s discipline – no computer after 8. Miska picked exactly the right discipline for me, one that gets at the heart of my brokeness, one that touches my place of deepest need for Resurrection. But this I know: willpower alone will not get me through. I need Jesus.
So, as Lent began last week, I paid more attention to praying the hours. And, lo and behold, look what prayer greeted me as the prayer appointed for the week, the prayer I would find waiting for me each time I opened my prayer book:
Most loving Father, whose will it is for us to give thanks for all things, to fear nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on you who cares for us: Preserve me from faithless fears and worldy anxieties, that no clouds of this mortal life may hide from me the light of that love which is immortal, and which you have manifested to us in your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
Every time I prayed, the words were thrust in front of me: fear nothing but the loss of you … cast all our cares … Preserve me from faithless fears…
I get this sense that someone is talking to me, that Someone is coaxing me toward the light, toward Resurrection. We have miles to go, but we keep walking toward the light.
Lenten mercy to you…
p.s. Miska has posted one of my favorite Lent-appropriate observations from Kathleen Norris
Allow me to introduce you to my new best friend: The Donut Man.
His actual name is Matt Rhodie, and his business is called Carpe Donut. But I think of him as the Donut Man. Every Friday, he sets up gypsy (his travelling culinary magic machine pictured here) on a corner in downtown Charlottesville, where he begins his craft, concocting divine goodness. Matt’s recipe consists of made-from-scratch organic flour, organic eggs, local apple cider and organic spices. He cooks the donuts on the spot and serves them hot. Matt keeps it simple, one kind of donut: fresh, hot, large, covered in cinnamon and sugar. And after you’ve finished one off, you just pray to God that the world won’t end before you have a chance to have another.
Rhodie calls his donuts “the culinary equivalent of crack cocaine.” I’m witness to his claim; he’s not over-reaching.
Today, I took my youngest Seth for a hot one. But one simply wouldn’t do, and later, he worked Miska over for a second trip. Tonight, Seth gave me a big hug and said, “Daddy, you’re the best daddy. Thanks for getting me what I like…like donuts.”
So, if you live in Cville and have yet to find Carpe Donut. Do not delay. Life is too short. If you are not local, then here’s another reason to move. Or at least to come visit so I can buy you the best donut you will ever eat. Ever.
Backdrop: Wyatt’s two schools – Ravenel Elementary for kindergarten and Jackson-Via Elementary (woot jackrabbits!) for first grade – have both had these ramped-up 100 Book Challenges. Each night, the school sends home an easy-reader for Wyatt to “read.” (the quotation marks are because in the early days, it was us reading to him). Much of this has been of the “See Jane Run” variety, mind you. He’s progressed some these days, but still…
So, that is the necessary background for the following dialogue. However, when the question first came, I made no connection to these educational rituals.
seth (out of the blue): dad, have you read 100 books?
me: yeah, I think I’ve read 100 books.
wyatt: when?
me: well, just over my lifetime.
wyatt (unimpressed): hmm. I read 100 books in kindergarten.