My fourth grade neighbor was racing toward school, and his mom trailed at least six paces behind. Recently diagnosed with breast cancer, she worked hard to keep up with him, but a drainage pump banged against her leg and she fell further behind. Realizing he’d missed the bus, I knew what I had to do.

I pulled over and flagged down the young neighbor. “Need a ride?,” I called. He hesitated and looked back toward his mom, who wildly gestured for him to take the help. With just a moment left before the first bell, he clamored into my mini van, and I peeled out for the school.

Moments later, after pulling through the loop for drop-off, I smiled the feeling of satisfaction that comes from helping another…and not falling too far off of my own schedule. Two minutes was all it took to do good. I could still work out! Sweet.

I chattered away with my three-year-old, who was quite excited by our brief guest-rider, as we headed for the gym. As we were nearing our destination, we came to a red light. That’s when I saw it: the neighbor kid’s lunch box.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! This cannot be happening! Not now! I have exactly 31 minutes to work out!

With a deep sigh, I pulled into a neighborhood to u-turn, and prayed aloud for God to reorient my heart, too.

Help me to remember that people are always the most important, God…that serving others is my highest call.

The truth is, serving one another is rarely, if ever, convenient. Picking up on the opportunities to help a neighbor or even a stranger requires that I let other things go.

Less time for me. Less chance for down time. Less opportunity for the ever elusive workout. Less pages read in the books on my nightstand. LESS.

Ironically, the very neighbor-mom whom I found myself serving on this day had shared with me just a week earlier this verse: “He must become greater; I must become less.”       -John 3:30 To her, it was a funny way to make my sad eyes smile as we discussed her cancer and treatment. To me, those words are a formidable challenge.

God is growing me here. Often, there is still too much of me in the mix. I protect my time like a mother cub looks after her baby, and I am reticent to give over a piece of my scheduled morning to help someone in need. So, God gives me the gift of a camouflaged lunchbox to help me see what is hiding in my heart. And He gives me the opportunity to make a choice.

Ten minutes later, the front desk woman looks at me incredulously as I try to explain how I have the lunchbox of a certain grade schooler who is not my child – whose name I can recall, but whose teacher has escaped me. “You can find him…,” I nervously exhorted and questioned, all at once, as my voice trailed off. She nodded in my direction.

They found him. I know, because later that day, he bounded off the bus, empty lunchbox in hand and offered a shy smile.

“Hey, thanks for the ride this morning. I really appreciated it.” No problem, I told him.

No, no problem. It turns out less of me is always something to feel good about.

I’ve kept my regular routine at the gym, but due to a back injury (which is healing, thankfully!) I’ve been relegated to the squishy track that circles the place where people really exercise. I’m walking fast, but I’m only walking. No offense to those of you who walk to work out! For me, more aggressive exercise is a stress reliever and helps keep me feeling great. In short, I am missing the sweat.

I feel a twinge of guilt as I go to shower. Some people are really sweating at the gym, and I am taking up space in a locker room shower. Some days I feel slightly ridiculous. I remind myself that it will change soon – I will lift weights again, and rejoin the center of the gym where the more aggressive workouts happen. But not today. Today, I am marking time.

I am marking time because, if I don’t keep coming to the gym, it will slide off my calendar like hot butter slides off a dinner roll. I have to mark time to keep the time. So I show up, and I walk.

Last time I was rapidly circling the track, it occurred to me that sometimes I mark time spiritually.

I think this is somewhat universal. I’m talking about the mornings I show up to read the Bible, but don’t wait expectantly for God’s voice or invite the Word to read me. The Sundays I drag myself out of bed and meander into church, remembering I should be there, but forgetting that it is lifegiving. Nights when I drive to small group or a ministry event because I “have to” without the joy of “wanting to.”

You’ve been there too, haven’t you?

I think most of us wind up in this space from time to time, but we shouldn’t reside in this rhythm of faith. When we become aware of marking time spiritually, we need to reorient our heart, soul, and mind toward Christ, and seek renewal.

So, how do you seek renewal when you realize you’re spiritually marking time? I’ve got a few ideas on this. Because this kind of placeholder faith has a pull all it’s own, it often requires an intentional approach for change to happen.

One way to break out of this pattern is by trying something different. If you find yourself showing up for time with God, but not really meeting God, you might try one of these ideas:

1.) Join in wordless worship. I first experienced this quite by accident in January, and found it is powerful. After losing my voice completely, I was forced to stand shoulder to shoulder with others who forcefully sang their hearts out in worship. I joined with my spirit, but did not add to the sound. Once I got past the awkwardness of a different way of worship, my wordless worship helped me to meet God in a new way. I focused on the imagery and words of the song, and allowed them to take up residence in my heart.

2.) Adopt a meaningful breath prayer. Breath prayers are simple phrases that can be prayed repeatedly over the course of our day. One of the most popular breath prayers is the phrase, “Lord, have mercy on me.” Each of us has phrases that speak to us on the deepest level. The phrase might be scripture, but it doesn’t have to be. Perhaps it is a line from a favorite song or hymn. Let a phrase that speaks to you become your breath prayer, and when you feel difficult emotions rising, breathe deeply and whisper your prayer. Initially, this may take concentration! You might try jotting down the phrase on an index card and putting it in a visible place. Over time, this phrase will start coming to you, rather than you coming to it. That’s the beauty of this discipline!

3.) Ask God to reveal Himself to you. This is perhaps the most powerful way to break the pattern of marking time. Start your morning with a simple invitation: Lord, right now You feel distant. I want to come closer to You. Please show Yourself to me today. Put up your spiritual radar, and consciously look for God. You will be amazed at the varied and unexpected places you might find Him.

For me, Lent is proving to be a heavy season. And I think that’s exactly right.

There is nothing light about Jesus humbling himself to a cross. When I think about what it means to “take up a cross,” the imagery that comes to mind is that we might stumble along under a dense log’s weight, rather than skip with driftwood resting atop our shoulders.

Don’t get me wrong here. I understand grace! I understand that the work is done. I am understanding it more now than ever before.

But maybe that is why I also understand the need to feel the heaviness of the cross. Grace that runs so deep means a staggering debt was paid.

So, this year for Lent, I’ve given some things up, and I picked something up. I picked up a manuscript that I’ve known I was to write for two years now. But I haven’t. Because, well…

It’s heavy.

In fact, at times it feels I might be carrying a load of cinder blocks over my shoulder this Lenten season. This writing requires reentry into some of the harder places of life. And then, there is the hope of exiting the other side.

There is the audacious hope of bringing others with me through the tunnel of grief. That is part of my call, my mantle. That is why I’m writing for these 46 days.

Lent can be heavy, and yet our hearts can still find light. If you are carrying something heavy right now, be encouraged. Press in to Jesus! Carrying the cross also means this: there is resurrection power at work in you. Let us never forget what awaits us on the other side of heaviness.

Eph 1:18-20 I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms…

The year was 1982, or maybe 1983, and at Johnson Elementary School, every Valentine’s day brought a carnation exchange. This was the brainchild of an enterprising PTA parent. The proceeds, which benefited the PTA, came from the sale of single carnations, which were delivered to children all throughout the day for a small sum. In the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, kids lined up to purchase carnations for their classmates. The clever designer of this exchange also built in an up-charge for color, where a white carnation cost the least, followed by yellow, then pink, then red. (Anyone else remember this?)

For another small fee, the recipient of a carnation could then come up to the carnation table at lunch and discover the sender of their carnation. As you might guess, as much money came from those paying to learn who their secret admirer might be as from the original sale of the flower. And there was only one way to ensure anonymity…pay a fee when you purchase the carnation to keep your sender status a secret.

Gaggles of girls giggled as they anonymously sent carnations to boys, and boys bullishly fired off carnations to their true love(s). Then there also was the “arranged friend swap” where good friends would simply pre-discuss the exchange of the carnation – color and all – to ensure delivery to one another. Because carnations equaled popularity. The more you got, the cooler you were. And if you got a red one, well…that was immediate rock star status.

Valentine’s Day was a popular kid’s dream at Johnson Elementary; a day of carnation affirmation, as the “in” kids went from class to class, looking surprised as flowers piled up on their desks, carrying fistfuls of declarations of like and love through the halls of school.

As you could probably guess, this wasn’t such a good day for the misfits and the kids who weren’t winning the love, or even the like, of others. These were the kids who’d come off the bus empty-handed.

But one kid’s plan would change all that.

That kid was my brother, and what he was about to do would turn Johnson Elementary upside down for just one day.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, my brother went to his piggy bank and took out enough change to send carnations – multiple carnations – to the kids on the fringe. He thought about which classmates would sit all day, longing for the next delivery to be theirs, and leave disappointed and feeling dejected. And he did something about it.

He bought them carnations. Not just any old white carnations – nope, he sprung for red. And he ante’d up the extra, so these kids would never know who their admirer might be. (I think he was in the second grade that year, and I’m pretty sure, as I think about it, this sort of selfless love and concern for others is one example of why Jesus tells us to become like little children.)

As carnation after carnation was delivered that day, everyone thought it must be a mistake, but the PTA lady reassured the kids, one after another, that they were indeed the recipients. At lunch, they lined up to pay the small sum to discover who sent these carnations…but much to their dismay (and their sheer delight), it was a SECRET.

I’m gonna guess this was a banner day for most of these kids. There is something about carrying around unexpected red carnations that delights the soul.

I still remember my brother’s excitement on the evening of the carnation delivery. At dinner, he unfolded the details of that day like a napkin, trusting only my mom, dad and me with what he’d done, and recounted the looks on the faces of those kids who never thought they’d get a carnation. My brother glowed as much as the kids he described. We listened to his story, in awe of his ability to think this up all on his own.

My brother’s Valentine kindness made an indelible mark on me. In recent years I’ve turned the carnation exchange over repeatedly in my mind. I relish my insider-status (even if it was after the fact), relive the details, remember those kids, and still smile when I consider what my brother did that year.

So, here’s the carnation challenge:

I wonder, if you think about it for a moment, who God might have put in your circle this year that you might impact with an unexpected “carnation”? Would you do something for someone who would otherwise feel like they were on the outside looking in this Valentine’s Day? Here are a few candidates to consider:

It doesn’t have to be anything big. A card, a note, a carnation…all of these could be the love of Christ to someone who feels alone this February 14th.

Here’s the thing about God: He calls us to action. He calls us to be His hands and feet. Taking that charge to heart blesses us as much, if not more, than the recipients of our action. Join me in the carnation challenge this year…and send me your stories. I’d love to highlight a few in the week to come.

It’s always the same secret.

I think I might be called to…do what you’re doing. To speak. To write. To teach. But I don’t know how to start.

I want to tell you two things, dear friends. No – three.

1.) You are incredibly brave. Finding the voice to speak what God has put on your heart takes courage. You have sufficient courage to speak what you are feeling in your soul. Once, someone I admire called that “completely audacious.” I agree with her, and I’m always privileged to meet another sojourner who could be audacious, just like me; audacious enough to believe that they are called.

2.) Listen to your heart. You ARE called. If you follow Christ, you are called to tell His story. Some of us tell it by speaking, others by serving. Some tell it by writing words on a page, others by rounding up two and three year olds on any given Sunday at 9am and lovingly caring for them each week. The part you play matters less than playing a part. When you get that straight in your heart, all the rest becomes secondary..but there is something that warms the heart about finding the thing that God has truly purposed you to do. I affirm your call; you are important to God’s story.

3.) Start right where you are. Listen, I know this sounds simple – maybe too simple. But it’s true! When you plug in to your community and use your gifts there, you have opportunities to learn, grow in your call, and get better at your part of the story. Often, when we are faithful right where we are, opportunities open up for us to do more.

So, here is some encouragement for you, friends. Thank you for using your gifts – whatever shape and size they might be – for Kingdom purposes. That is the highest calling of all. May God bless you in the work of your hands.

Consider this: One very strong leading indicator in spiritual life might just be your prayers.

What are you praying about right now? If you’re like me, often your prayers fall into several categories of relatively repetitive phrases. You might pray similar things for a period of time, or even pray a scripture or keyword for the year. If you journal, flipping back through the pages will reveal a great deal about your relationship with God – both where you’ve been and how the relationship is “trending” now.

I discovered this recently when I tried praying in color. With a blank journal and 24 vibrantly hued Sharpies in hand, I drew out my prayers. For me, this method is an outstanding way to stay focused in a specific area, fully exploring what I want to say to God about it, and also taking time to hear what God desires to say to me.

And so, I artfully prayed in color. Above a UPS style truck, which I drew bringing opportunities, I sketched out a delicate angel, keeping watch alongside several words that summarize my prayers.

That’s when I realized that prayers are a leading indicator. Because my words have changed. Really changed.

I’m not sure exactly when it all shifted for me, but the new words summarize things God has been teaching me, and also my hopes and dreams for this season.

I should mention that my circumstances haven’t changed – just my focus. You might read my little list and think, Aah…semantics. For me, this is much more than word choice. These words reflect attitudes of the heart.

When I trend my prayers, I see that God is helping me to move toward things I really need. Rather than planning out the year, I’m focused on obedience in this moment, and that is a trend I’m learning to appreciate. It’s a necessary realignment for me.

What about you? What do the leading indicators tell you about your spiritual life right now? 

I don’t remember what the woman looked like who delivered the news. I do remember the crushing blow of her words, “I am so sorry. Twin B’s heart has stopped.” Silence. So much silence. And then, “Is there someone I can call to be with you right now, honey?”

I felt blank. Empty. My soul was a chalkboard without words…foreboding blackness. I stared back in disbelief. “Excuse me?,” I managed to sputter…and so she repeated it all again so my disbelief could become understanding.

I’ve never written about this before. January comes, January goes. Once, six years ago, my baby’s heart stopped in January. In the coldness of this month, it is never lost on me. The wind bites, but not as much as the sadness. I do not speak of it, but I carry it. I have never really put the loss down.

My husband and I planted a dogwood for Isaiah. It stands, naked, in the backyard.

But in the Spring, it will bloom. Yes, the dogwood will bloom again this Spring, both from its branches and in my heart, because death has no finality for me. I am a Resurrection person, and I will see Isaiah again. Next time I see Isaiah, I will hold him and tell him how much I’ve missed him.

My dear friend said to me years ago, “Your joy goes as high as your sorrow goes deep.” I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand. But after losing Isaiah, I came to know how right this friend was. So my daughter, Isaiah’s twin, carries the middle name, “Joy.”

When I look now at my Lauren Joy, a healthy, vibrant 5-year-old girl, I am reminded often of my sweet Isaiah. Lauren is Joy today, and this brings me strength to face the blustering winds of January.

Because I…I am a Resurrection person. And I will know the full joy of my little Isaiah in the next chapter.

One of the most compelling speakers at STORY was Ann Voskamp, author of One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are. I appreciated her blend of poetry and the practical…more poetry than practical, but there were moments of pragmatism, none the less.

In one such moment, Ann spoke about the habit of gazing. “Creatives have the habit of gazing,” she said. “They notice, attend, and respond to the small.”

It sounded like an observation, but this was a clarion call to my soul.

Somewhere in the hurry of life, I think I stopped seeing. Not always, not every day, but many days passed between taking the time to gaze. Too many days.

Gazing is a habit of the soul.

The leaves are changing today. An elderly man with slumped shoulders smiles from beneath his cap. The air is crisp, and a precious, blonde-haired little boy just climbed into my lap. Somehow, the little one’s heavy sigh sinks into my chest and, as his brown blanket falls over my knees, I feel his warmth. He is up early from his nap; my blogging time is winding down. I will gaze at him for a while, and see what I might learn from his sweet presence.

Take the time to gaze today – even if just for a moment. Breathe out your frenetic pace, and breathe in the stillness of God. Allow God to speak to you in this moment. That is the first step to learning to see again.

Ed Saxon, the producer of many incredible movies including blockbuster hits like Philadelphia and Silence of the Lambs, spoke about risk and being willing to fail. “Taking chances is something to revel in,” he said. I bet that everyone who presented at STORY would agree with that statement. I was struck by the way this tribe of storytellers is willing to take great risks to tell the greatest story in a creative and meaningful way.

“I’ve got a lot of light bulbs that didn’t light up in my lamp factory,” Saxon confessed. Really? I thought. How encouraging.  One reason I went to STORY was to glean practical tips for the creative process. For me, this concept of required risk and inevitable failure qualified.

The concept of risk also permeated Tom Ryan’s sharing. Ryan is the CEO of Threadless, where the concept of crowdsourcing t-shirt designs began. In fact, Threadless was crowdsourcing in 2000. To put that in perspective, in 2006, the term crowdsourcing was introduced…6 years after Threadless began doing it.

Ryan talked about the challenges of beginning the company, where the seed money was the $500 cash winnings from a t-shirt design contest. It wasn’t easy to take such risk with a concept that wasn’t proven. In the margin of my notes, I wrote: Failure is part of the creative process.

Church, we cannot always play it safe with what is known. We will miss many opportunities if we only adopt the ideas of others and never take risks to create the ideas the world around us can adopt. Between the tension of what is and what could be, there is a lot of ground to cover. Some ideas will work, some will fail miserably. That is all part of the process. If we own the successes, we also must own the failures.

Several years ago, I had a mentor who would ask, “Christy, are you taking enough risks? When was the last time you failed?” I don’t see that friend very much these days, and I miss the accountability. Turns out I need to hear that question often. We all do.

So, I’m asking you…are you taking enough risks right now? When was the last time you failed? Try something new today, and embrace the possibility of what could be. Don’t let fear hold you back from something great!

Esther Havens is where I’d like to start, partly because I have told several people that for me, the conference was an “Esther Havens moment.” Esther is a gifted photographer who, by her own admission, set out to take the pictures we all see in National Geographic: the poor, sad child in Africa who is starving and hopeless.

She got the shots. But even though she flawlessly took the pictures she’d planned, she felt empty inside. When Esther came home from photographing the sad faces of poverty, she felt challenged to tell the story differently.

Esther knew that the problem did not lie with those she photographed. Rather, she asked God to “change the photographer.” She shared this story with such vulnerability, I felt her words in my own soul. Fitting, as she would later say, “Connection requires vulnerability.”

As Esther worked behind the lens, she began to hear the phrase, “Who we are is not our circumstance.” So, Esther did things differently. Very, very differently.

She took a light into the field and began asking people to look into the light as she took their photographs. The result is an unmistakable glow. Rather than looking down on people, Esther took a knee and looked up to them. She asked questions to find out what sort of images the individual she was photographing might like to show the world. The outcome of this brand of photography will take your breath away.

Esther talked about how she began to see beauty in the midst of poverty. As she spoke, I felt God stirring something in my own soul. I felt a need to be changed; a desire to tell the story differently.

This, my friends, is just the beginning. “We have this moment,” Esther said. The question is, how are you telling the story in your own life?