I love a good story. I love great film and television. I’m a terrible reader when it comes to fiction, but I love the beautiful narrative of biographies and non-fiction. Try to imagine something…and I struggle, but real people in real history, I’m hooked.
Most of us find that we love a good story. We always have. This is why people sat around fires sharing stories of the past, why we love when older family members tell the tales of when they were young, why we are often drawn to incredible stories based on actual events, why we love to get together with old friends and retell that time that one thing happened.
Sometime over the past year or so, I’ve spoken about a bird ending up in The Chapel and me desperately trying to capture said bird and release it back into the “wild.”
Also, over the past year or so, I’ve talked about my pizza oven and making a foolish error where I singed some of my eyebrows and eyelashes.
I’m not sure what my deep theological point was in either of those stories… but I’m sure they were meaningful. Likely life-changing.
You won’t believe it…
Last week I was using my pizza oven to roast some carrots. I was flambéing them to get a nice finishing char with a delightful caramelized sauce. And lo and behold, flames shot out of the oven—and I singed my eyebrows and eyelashes again.
I didn’t want to let Sarah know… because I figured she would determine I’m not “responsible enough to play with fire…” So I did the mature thing and didn’t tell her.
Turns out, the fire also singed the hair on my head. I know. My luscious locks.
She immediately noticed.
Then, just this past week—a bird wandered into The Chapel, and I had to catch and release it. Two days in a row.
I don’t know if this bird is trying to draw closer to God, or wants to see the beauty of the space, or if he’s just foolish—but he keeps wandering in, getting caught, and being carried back out.
I’ve now done this three times. Twice this week alone.
And every time—I still get this wild rush trying to catch the bird.
My heart races. I get unusually hot and sweaty. The adrenaline pumps.
I feel like Steve Irwin or Dog the Bounty Hunter…
But instead of crocodiles or criminals on the run… it’s a tiny bird.
Last night at dinner, we had a very serious theological conversation.
Should any food ever touch the palm of your hand?
Weird question, I know—but watch a little kid eat, and you’ll see every food group being palmed like it’s a basketball. Personally, I find that gross…but I’m also not a child, and I’m a recovering germaphobe, so maybe that’s just me.
Adults, on the other hand, tend to keep their food at the fingertips—unless it’s popcorn, nuts, or candy. Those get a pass. Otherwise, palm-to-food contact? No thank you.
Sarah and I made our case. It was clear, logical, and morally superior (obviously). No palm-to-food contact—except for small snacks. Case closed. I even triumphantly challenged the table:
“Name one food that should touch the palm of your hand.”
I love the sun setting later. I love longer and brighter evenings. I love the lengthening of days and the feeling that spring is inching forward with Summer in the not too distant future.
While at the same time…I hated the way I felt this morning.
Anybody else?
I mean, I travel a bit, my wake up time and bed time adjust regularly, but this morning, was terrible.
Right after we sort out the candy, take down the cobwebs and spooky decorations, and toss the rotting pumpkin from our front porch, Sarah is ready to decorate for Christmas and start drinking Peppermint Mochas.
I, on the other hand, am a traditionalist. I need to wait another four weeks or so, watch Santa glide past Macy’s on a Thursday morning, and eat an unhealthy amount of carbs before I’m ready to prepare my heart and mind for Christmas.
We can’t wait to celebrate and remember Jesus stepping into creation. We jump at the opportunity to look toward the little town of Bethlehem. We love the traditions of counting down the days and indulging in the treats of the season.
I bet that almost all of us have, at some point, stood on the beach at the shoreline and watched the water push in and out. As the tide rolls back and forth, sometimes it goes higher on to the dry sand and other times it barely seems to push in at all. Other times, it pulls out deep into the water exposing new mysteries on the gulf floor. No one can deny this ebb and flow. As well, rarely does anyone think when it pushes in, it will never end or when it pulls out the water is receding forever. We have seen the ebb and flow and we enjoy the ancient back and forth.
Life is a lot like this same ebb and flow. In different seasons it feels busy and chaotic and in other seasons it feels quiet and still. Rarely does anyone think this season will stay forever and honestly we all tend to look forward to the change in pace.
We are about to approach a change of pace here at The Chapel. Between Spring Break, the season of Lent, and other great things happening around here, there are lots of details you need to know. Please read below about the upcoming ebb and flow at The Chapel.
