Lenten Writing Project Reboot 2020! Writers' Reflections in the Wilderness of Lent
Words of Faith
Spirit to Spirit Writing Project
The word Lent comes from an old English word meaning lengthening of days. In Christianity, it refers to the time before Easter, traditionally observed through repentance and learning. It's a season to be intentional about changing and growing. Some people give up items to create space and time for new life and habits to grow. Instead of giving something up, I invite you to try to commit to answering these writing prompts each of the 40 days of Lent. The discipline it takes to set aside time each day to reflect and write about God and your relationship with spirituality is a journey that you will emerge from with a renewed spirit. Every writer has their own special voice to add to this project, whether poetry, prose, essay, thoughts, lists, or through comments, prayer, and encouragement.
How do I participate?
Each day, a writing prompt will be posted. A prompt is a question or statement that is meant to inspire your thoughts in whatever genre you feel moved to write. Post your reflections as a comment under each day's prompt (for further instructions, see 'How To Post' on the right side of the page). It is up to you if you write, read, or pray along with us each of the 40 days of Lent or just drop in from time to time when the spirit moves you to participate. Writing regularly is a discipline that many writers struggle with and this is a way to involve that discipline as a Lenten practice. Through writing and leaving encouraging words for others in this project, we become a supportive spiritual writing community
When you least expect it, snippets of wisdom appear from unlikely sources; mentorship from above slipped in without fanfare. For me, profound tidbits of divine insight often make an appearance while reading fictional stories purely for the pleasure of it. For example,Jan Karon is the author of a series of novels featuring Father Tim Kavanaugh, an Episcopal priest in the little town of Mitford, South Carolina. Woven in with the humorous account of a clergy's life, trials and church, "aha!" moments abound. Right away, on the first page of the first book, one such moment appeared. "He arrived at the office, uttering the prayer he had offered at its door every morning for 12 years: Father, make me a blessing to someone today, through Christ our Lord. Amen." Such a simple prayer, and yet it's made a profound difference in my life. For the past several years, praying it every morning before even leaving my bed, the tone of the day is set and I watch for the people who, at my request, God sends my way in order so that I might act as his hands and feet; a delivery person for his blessings. While I wasn't exactly a slacker before, this prayer has propelled me to greater awareness of my role as a Christian to make daily conscious effort on behalf of the people in my pathway.
ReplyDeleteThe Mitford series is filled with hundreds of wonderful insights such as this, all of which I feel are direct messages from God to me. While laughing along with Father Tim, I'm growing in my faith and becoming more of the person I want to be. Mentorship at its best!
thank you for the reminder. awake to those we meet in body and mind. your alertness is inspirational.
Deleteronaldo
I've read a few of the Mitford series books too and have enjoyed them!
DeleteFaithful Mentors
ReplyDeletePsalm 119. 33-37
“Let us open our texts.”
Life lays out lessons to learn.
Truth brings life alive, mindfully “infects”
A life-long dis-ease, itself to discern.
Roald & Elsie sat with their boys.
Reading children’s classics with their “help”.
Games played, chores some, not just toys.
Family created for parent and whelp.
George, Anne, Berndt & Astrid grand-parents true.
Spent time with their children’s children, a boon.
Often ‘midst daily living they invited in the crew.
Sleep overs, afternoons, festive events gone too soon.
Uncles, aunts, cousins, good friends abound.
Listing names too many but life’s mentors all.
Richness with abandon, laughter does resound,
Relational forests, mountain ranges, adventures call.
Church family always present, many homes known.
Pastors, teachers, servants of our friendly God,
Touched our little family with truth’s sown,
Worship central, projects many, planting love’s sod.
Formal schooling included staff, teachers, groups.
Lessons transmitted, books read, papers written out.
Cafeteria workers laying out macaroni, fine soups.
Custodians smiling, bus drivers keeping order with a shout.
Class-mates passing notes, poking dullness awake.
Bemoaning tasks requiring thought, struggle to do.
Late night cramming, learning schedules to make.
Sharing personal insights, encouragements not few.
Each tends their candle, understanding: a flickering flame.
Spirit relights the wick again and again and again.
Creator supplies wax, molding us in the days’ frame.
Word Incarnate holds our hand, singing truth’s refrain.
The Rev. Ronald Allen Melver, M.Div.
11 March 2013
I wish I could remember his name! He handed each of us in that college class a poem, mimeographed in purple ink. Not a word was said as we each read silently. I felt my tears well up as I read, and my burdened heart was touched with longing to help that tormented grey gull. I was filled with compassion for anyone who was marginalized in any way.
ReplyDeleteThe title and author were on the little mimeographed handout, but I have not found more about this poem. What I know about the author, William Hodding Carter, II is this: He was born February 3, 1907, and died April 4, 1972. He was a prominent Southern U.S. progressive journalist and author. Carter was valedictorian of his high school class and then graduated Columbia University. He taught university briefly, but spent most of his life as a journalist. He won the Pulitzer Prize in 1946 for his editorials. His passion was fighting social and economic intolerance. Late in life, Carter attended the Protestant Episcopal Theological Seminary in 1965. He often used Reverend Henry Ward Beecher’s quote, "There are two things we should give our children: one is roots and the other is wings," which is also a favorite of mine.
Palette by Hodding Carter
See those grey gulls balance against the sky?
As like as like, aren’t they? It’s better so.
I saw some fisherman snare one and tie
Red flannel to its leg, then let it go;
I watched it rise again, briefly to soar
Until its wheeling mates, catching the brave
Glint of the pennon, screamed their rage and tore
Its life away above a sobbing wave.
Never will I forgive them for that day
They sent a tortured sea gull up to die;
Yet in our town the most of us are gray
And don’t like unasked colors in our sky
And, God be witness, there are few we spare
Whenever He ties scarlet here and there.
A mentor will bring to our attention a significant piece of life. You have shared eloquently. thanks.
Deleteronaldo
Flossie
ReplyDeleteMrs. Claus to us,
she was Flossie to her friends.
She was our 5th grade Sunday School teacher.
She had no college degree,
not that she wasn’t smart enough
it just wasn’t what most people
and especially few women did in her day.
But she taught us with purpose,
energy, high expectations
and love.
She taught us Jesus parables with contests,
which I never won.
She taught us to live every day
and every year of your life
with passion.
She did and she was 116 years old, in my ten year old mind,
when she taught us,
(that’s about 72 to the rest of you).
She taught us to enjoy life and laugh
in spite of your struggles.
She did.
She loved us that year in Sunday School
and in all the years that followed
when we would see her in church and around town.
She worked part time at a grocery store
but she taught Sunday School for a living
and oh could she live!
the smile of recognition broke open, does every sunday school have such a blessing?
Deleteronaldo
there indeed was a Mr. Wills......
Advisors
ReplyDeleteA girl child needs someone to go to when she doesn't understand. My grandmother (Gramma) was there for me to answer why bees sting, and flowers die people move away. The school looked big and mysterious behind the tall windows on three floors. I needed someone to tell me what would happen behind those walls. Mrs. Young told me there would be desks in rows
and blackboards and chalk and a flag to salute. I was lucky. She was my first grade teacher.
You had to be in third grade to be in the beginner’s band. Mr. McBride was the band leader. He put a chair beside me on which to prop my big heavy saxophone so I could play.
Helen was older than the rest of us kids at Weidermeyer Apartments. She helped us step outside the boundaries of childhood by taking us on hikes in the hills around town and helping us play dress-up, and put on powder and rouge. She taught us to tap dance. At ten I was old enough to sing in the choir and Reverend Chlonniger and his lovely wife helped me found my faith in music and Catechism and I am Lutheran still.
Miss Westervelt and Miss Davis were teachers at Lincoln Junior High when WWll broke out. One taught history and Geography the other Art. It was nice after leaving the blood and gore of advancing Nazi troops to do watercolors in landscapes and still life painting.
The pace quickened, a girl teen has to deal with a changing body, moods and a woman's role. I didn't like being told I couldn't do things because I was a girl. Amelia Earhart and Eleanor Roosevelt gave the lie to that fiction. But it took a while. Life became very full, marriage and children. Doctor Spock and Bishop Fulton J. Sheen became my advisors.
Then there were hippies and changing values and Grandchildren. Grandchildren became my teachers then. They wanted to know why bees sting, flowers die and people move away. And it began all over again.
Clarene Aitken
23.3.13
a snippet of life clearly lived fully
Deleteronaldo