Yes, I speed.  Not excessively, but fast enough.  Six or seven over…

And on Interstate-80, many do.

My dad always told me that if you aren’t going with the flow of traffic you are a hazard to other drivers.

So I flow.

I picked up speed coming from the onramp and fell in pace behind a number of vehicles.  I set the cruise.  I turned up NPR.

And then the tail lights ahead of me started turning red.

Slowing up.

Cautious.

State Trooper.

And not a trooper that sits in the median and everyone slows down for a few minutes and then keeps right on going…

No, this state trooper was driving, with the rest of us… at 71 miles per hour.

The cars traveling ahead of me gradually got into the right hand lane, directly behind the state trooper.

No one was passing.

And then there would be that vehicle coming up from the left, going 75 or 77 and they would zoom on by only to hit their own brakes, and slow up, and sheepishly get in line with everyone else.

I followed that state trooper for an hour and fifteen minutes, so I had a lot of time to think about how we behave when we think “big brother” is watching.  When the authorities are present.  When we suddenly feel the need to fall into line and be on our best behavior.

Having just come from a meeting with pastors and the Bishop, I thought about how we do this in ministry.

We may not have speed limits or fines for going too fast, but we sure do know how to stiffle creativity and cause people to fall in line.

Many times I have watched as things were just gaining momentum… Just as we start putting the pedal to the metal with risky new ministries, someone speaks up: you can’t do that.  We watch someone else stumble and falter and fear creeps back in and we don’t take the risk.  We slow down and take baby steps, rather than charge ahead.

And just like on the interstate… when everyone is going 71 mph, driving in the right hand lane, behind the state trooper… the passion, the energy, the thrill of the open road is gone.  We get stagnant.  We get in each others way.  We get anxious.  Brake lights come on over and over again.  No one wants to  get in trouble… but secretly we hope someone does so that the rest of us are off the hook for a little while.  We are constantly aware of someone watching us and it limits what we are able to accomplish.

I’m not saying we need to break the rules…  well, maybe… depends on what the rules are!

What I’m really trying to say is that we need to create room and space for risky ministry…. for open and free ministry… for ministry that is okay with failure and taking chances and trying things.  We need to not be so concerned with the authorities who are watching and we need to feel free to do something creative and new in our local churches. 

Who is going to be courageous enough to drive 73 or 74 and pass the trooper?

These things we try… they might not work. We might find ourselves a bit down the road and have to switch gears. That’s fine!  But then, we need “authorities” who encourage and support those who are feeling the wind at their back and the spirit blowing them forward.

At one point on our drive, the trooper slowed down to 68 mph as he found himself behind a semi-truck.  But he stayed there longer than he needed to.

One by one, cars moved into the left lane and picked up a little speed.

They passed.

They weren’t pulled over.

I think that might be called grace.

A little breathing room.  Backing off a bit so that others can move forward freely.  Flexibility. Awareness. Making space.

The open road awaits.

Maybe part of my disappointment is there is no opportunity for relationship or conversation. What is the point of having a sign without a vehicle to interact? I want to know why this person thinks what they do, why they feel the need to so visually post their thoughts,  and what impact they think they are making. Typically this kind of negative sloganism promotes further division rather than a bridging of opinions.

I actually saw him once, out there changing the words to “Obummer… more lies” (with the iconc ‘O’ of the Obama campaign”) one day as I drove whizzing past. I must admit feeling… well, not ill thoughts towards this gentleman,  but certainly not pleasant ones. I do remember exclaiming, “really?” on one of my last drives.

But today when I drove by, I was more than pleasantly surprised. In place of the usual partisan soundbyte was a sign that read:

God bless medical workers.

My feelings about this person increased a hundred-fold. Who is this guy? Why the switch to a positive message? What would happen if instead of spewing spin and negative slandars we took more time to pray together, to celebrate good work, to point to where God is active?

My entire drive I thought about that sign.

I thought about my family members who work in the healthcare industry.  I thought about doctors and nurses who had cared for me and for loved ones. I thought about all the medical professionals involved in the tragedies this week in Boson, MA and West, TX. I thought about those who are working to fight malaria.

I don’t know whose sign it is.

I’m not any closer to relationship with that man. 

But he is in my prayers tonight. I thank God for some good words on a long drive and for a perceived change in attitude. 

I am hoping the next sign inspires me as much as this last one.

Three times, I’ve heard stories of students who came to Iowa from Tanzania to study while in high school.  A heart-breaking story of a student who returned only to contract malaria and die.  The passed-along word to be in prayer for a current student who’s father had just died of malaria.  And the joyful exclamation of a student who rushed to a clergywoman at a Chrysalis retreat when she heard that she was a United Methodist pastor: “Thank you for saving our lives!”

I’ve heard the stories of two veterans who served overseas and contracted malaria.  They battled “Annie” the anophales mosquito and came out on the other side to tell their story.  Both are helping to spread the word among their churches.

I’ve heard from moms who have sent children away on mission trips and pray for their safety.  I’ve heard stories of hospital visits here in the U.S. where no one could tell them what was wrong because malaria is so rare here.  I’ve listened to accounts of baptisms of children who we hope are still living.

I have not been to Africa.  I have never had malaria.  I have not experienced the terror of watching a loved one grow feverish and get sick with an illness you knew you could stop if only you had enough money or resources.

But I know people who have.  And their stories are heart-breaking and beautiful and it is an honor to be able to hear them and to work with them and on their behalf to help save lives.

1,440 children died from malaria today. That is 1,440 too many.

But today, hundreds, if not thousands of people, were also seeking for a way to be light in the darkness after tragedies like the explosions in Boston and the earthquake in Iran.

We posted quotes from Mr. Rogers and prophets and preachers on twitter.  We changed our profile pictures to something quintessentially Bostonian.  We lifted up prayers that we would remember and that things would be different and told ourselves that we wouldn’t be afraid, that we weren’t going to let the darkness win. But then the next day comes… and life takes back over… and we let the thoughts fade and the pictures get changed and we start complaining about the scores on Dancing with the Stars.

Today, 1,440 children died from malaria.

Josefina Cassava stands with her son Jomacio in the doorway of their home in the Cacilhas village near Huambo, Angola, after they were provided a long lasting insecticide-treated mosquito net by the MENTOR Initiative. Photo by Mike DuBose, United Methodist News Service.

So tonight, I changed my facebook cover picture to the beautiful faces of two members of our human family from Angola. Because I’m not going to just let those prayers and those thoughts of today fade into memory tomorrow.  I want to be different tomorrow.  I want to hang on to that light.  I want to be one of those helpers who runs into the fray.My new prayer is that we might join our broken hearts together to actually work for good in the world.  There are lots of fantastic places to start, but in my life that place is this battle against malaria.  And so I want to invite you to join me in being light, in making a difference, in helping to save lives.

I’m going to tell you stories… like all of those ones that I mentioned above.  I’m going to share pictures and help put a face to the work we are doing.  But above all, I want to invite you to imagine with me the possibilities.  This effort to stop deaths from malaria… it’s not just wishful thinking.  It is doable, it is real, it is happening all around us and you have got to be part of this.

One way to start… check out our website for this project in Iowa:  www.inmiowa.org

If you live here in the state, especially check out the “Statewide Pancake Breakfast” link and find a place near you where you can eat some pancakes and help raise funds to save lives.

Our goal here in Iowa is to help save 200,000 lives from malaria… by covering those children with a bednet as they sleep and helping to provide the funds for diagnosis and treatment.

The best part… it only costs ten bucks.

Ten dollars can save a life.  Ten dollars can prevent malaria.  Ten dollars can diagnose and treat a disease that kills.

Ten bucks.

Let’s be light. Let’s shine in the darkness.  Let’s never give up.

You see, many little towns in Iowa still have more than one United Methodist Church because one of them was Methodist and the other was Evangelical United Brethren.  Both became UMC and they never joined. Many of these churches are now part of multi-point charges served by the same pastor, who often work together..

Long story short… I found myself parked outside of the Toledo worship center half an hour before the presentation.  All the doors were locked and the lights were off.

I gave them 10 more minutes and then started trying to find the pastor’s number in old emails. About that time, he called me and I instantly realized I was at the wrong building of this four-point charge.

I should have known something was wrong, because the little old ladies in churches like this always show up at least half an hour early to start the coffee pot.

Back in the car, down the road a few miles to Tama,  and all was well.

But that flight came early. My cab arrived at 4. I was done with socializing around 1. So… yeah, not enough sleep.

I got on my flight and crashed. I slept the whole way to Dallas and then shuffled my way through the airport.  I got to my gate and they started loading and I sat down and closed my eyes.

But behind me, this lady started talking to her seatmate. What the book/movie Fight Club calls a “single-serving friend”. In between dozes I heard them talking about work, and then family, and then struggles. As we started our descent into CR, she suddenly asked if she could pray with him. And they did, loud enough for others to hear, powerful enough that I was touched… as if the prayer were for me, too… and I had to whisper,  “amen.”

She shared her own stresses and they commiserated over lack of sleep… which was when the impact of her ministry really hit home for me.

This woman was just as tired as I was. But instead of cocooning herself on the side of the plane with only one seat (yeah, just one), like I did,  she saw every day, every plane ride, every conversation,  every single interaction as a place where God might use her. It is what we talk about often… and yet sometimes find it so hard to practice.  I found myself wondering how many opportunities for ministry I had missed, because I wasn’t looking.

I was so struck, that I found a way to walk off the plane and to baggage claim with her. And I told her I thought she was doing a really amazing thing. She was challenging me to think about how I live my faith everyday. I told her that what she just did is how we should all be living as disciples of Jesus Christ.

She shared her faith on a plane. Not by preaching, or apologizing, or through shouts or platitudes or tracts. But by listening and sharing… being in relationship with a “stranger” and then opening up the possibility of prayer. It was beautiful.

We must — at some point along our Lenten journey — be candid about death. Lent begins with the reminder of our mortality, with the ashes from which we are knit together, and the season reaches its climax in the crucifixion of Jesus… Even Jesus, praying at Gethsemane before his death, asked his friends to keep him company. “Then he said to them, ‘I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here and stay awake with me.’” (Matthew 26:8, NRSV)

Lord, tonight as I stood at my kitchen window washing dishes I thought of my mom and dad.

I’m excited to be traveling with them soon and I can’t wait to see the joy as they hold their newest grandson in their arms.

But to say I don’t worry about them would be… well, untrue.

It surprises me that I feel old somedays.

I know things change and life moves and sometimes it just moves way too fast.

And a scary realization is that if I’m getting older… if I’m an “adult”… then my parents are getting older, too.  (sorry, mom.)

Between Brandon and me, we’ve had lots of conversations and what-ifs about our parents lately. 

Help me to slow down, God.

Help me to take a deep breath.

Help me to not take so much for granted.

In Your last nights, You asked your friends to stay by your side.

The ones who had traveled with you.

The ones who knew you so well.

All you wanted was time. company. love. relationship.

Why is it so hard for us to make time for those things in our daily lives? 

We know we want them.  We know how important they truly are to us.

But the phone call isn’t made.

We fill our schedules instead of our hearts.

How on earth has it been this long since I talked with my dad?

We hurry and work and sweat and stress… and for what?

What if we lived as if we were dying?

That’s a silly cliche, I know.

And to be honest, God, if we moved beyond the trite statement and really took your words seriously…

well, I fear that if I truly died to my self and lived for you that everything would be different… and that’s scary.

You ask us to die… and you ask us to love… but what if we love so much that we don’t want to die?

What if we love people and don’t want them to go?

What if we don’t want things to change…. or if we want them to change in ways that might require less time for the work of ministry so that we can spend more time with family and the very companions you have brought into our beautiful messed up lives?

Help me to understand how to love… and live… and what it might really mean to die.

Today’s prompt begins with verse 6 of the familiar Psalm 139 (NRSV): “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.”

Look up today. Let the high places catch your eye and your imagination. Be full of wonder as you pick up your pen to pray.

Holy God, we turned up the thermostat tonight.

Outside our walls the wind is rushing and swirling and stirring up everything in sight.

It is a cold and bitter wind.

It is the kind of that makes you want to hunker down and drop your head and close the hood of your coat in tighter.

It is a wind that humbles you.

Brings you to your knees.

It moves with such power that it goes through your very bones.

Goes through the bones of the house.

Gets to the core even if you are wrapped up tight.

Sometimes, God, you blow like that in my life.

Your Spirit moves so fiercely through me that I have to back away.

I want to curl up in a ball.

I want to become small so that you won’t notice me.

But you do.

You get to me.

You get into the depths of me.

But instead of a cold and bitter wind, it is a touch of fire, a spark of movement, a calling to go and to do.

And when I hunker down and try to resist, you get me anyways.

You fill me up so that I can’t take it anymore.

And brought low to my knees I have to respond.

Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.

Jesus and the devil have a contest of wills in the desert (Luke 4:1-13). At one point, “the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, ‘To you I will give their glory and all this authority.’” (4:5-6, NRSV)

… the devil said to Jesus, “All of this can be all about you.”

In your prayer-writing today, wrestle with God against the temptation to see life as “all about you.”

Breathe in God.
Breathe out my tendency to waste time.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out my doubts and regrets.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out fretting over my figure.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out the dirty dishes on the counter.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out the successes I had this week.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out my ambitions.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out tunnel-vision of a busy day.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out a selfish definition of “busy”

Breathe in God.
Breathe out time spent talking when I should have been listening.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out the stuff that fills my cupboards.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out goals and dreams.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out tomorrow’s to-do list.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out what I want people to think of me.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out me.

Breathe in God.
Breathe out me.

Gradually,  may I be filled with what you desire.  May I decrease as you increase.
Breathe in God.
Breathe out me.

Yesterday,  you surprised me in the fierce love of a child.

I’m familiar with your parental love: guiding me, pushing me, wanting to see my full potential – the potential you gave to me – lived out.

But I had not made the connection until yesterday with how you also love as a child.

My nephew and I are bff’s. He is three and funny and awesome. And before I had even opened the door to his house yesterday I could hear his voice: Aunt Katie!  Aunt Katie!  Aunt Katie!

I was told that as soon as he got up, he was asking about me. An hour later,  I was on his mind. His love is pure, full, exuberant.It astonishes me.

Holy God,  I am humbled by remembering that I am on your mind,  too.
You know my waking and sleeping.
You are eager to see me.
You are calling out for me before I’m even ready.
You are genuine and fully present,  and you love me.
You want to sit by my side and talk to me.
You want me to be a part of what you are doing in this world.
You grab me by the hand and tug me into your joyful kingdom.
You are stubborn and relentless and I know eventually I’m going to have to give in.

Keep loving me with reckless abandon. Keep loving me with the ferocity of a toddler.  Keep at me, God… you know you have my heart.

Psalm 62:1 & 5 (NRSV): “For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation. For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him.”

After waiting on God, write a prayer that arises from the silence.

God, I’m trying to wait for you.
I’m trying to focus on you.
But I am so easily distracted.

The cats are playing in the bathtub. (yes, the bathtub)
My husband has fallen asleep watching an e-sports match and is snoring.
The screen is too bright and I should have shut it off.

For God alone my soul waits…
Heck, I can’t even get the silent part right.

I have a feeling, Lord, that you wait for me more than I wait for you.
I know you are my hope and salvation.
But I take it for granted.

Clear the chaos and the clutter
Clear my eyes so I might see
All the things that really matter
Help me be at peace and simply be.