What fills your bucket?

Years ago, I taught at a school and we always talked to our kids about being “bucket fillers”. Bucket filling included using kind words, being respectful and going the extra mile in class. All things that “fill the bucket” of the recipient of these actions.

Just the other night, a friend asked me what was filling my soul right now. She didn’t ask me about my “bucket” but it made me think of that.

I paused at the question. I paused because quite frankly, they asks me this a lot. This person is great at asking questions, for the record, but most always the question feels loaded, like they know my soul is empty and I am just giving and giving with no reciprocation. This great question asker said she knows I give a lot, but who is giving to me?

This question made me think and agitated me a little too. So here I am, thinking. I am like yep, I am so soul drained and giving and not pouring into myself at all. I pondered the question more, thinking about what or who is pouring into me.

It was then that I realized the habits I’ve cultivated in my life are pouring into my soul, along with some steps of faith of taken this year that have led me to do things I never thought I would.

All this to say, maybe the daily things we cultivate are bringing joy and filling our souls; we cannot depend on others to do that for us. Maybe that’s what agitated me the most about the question, it was posed as if filling our souls is the job of those around us, as if pouring into others is the most soul sucking thing a human can do. If that’s the case my soul would always be a mess, sometimes overflowing and other times, as dry as a desert.

So, here are the daily habits that cultivate joy and fill my soul.

1. Daily Bible reading and study

2. Daily movement through cardio and/or weights

3. Reading books based on Bible study

4. Reading a chapter or two of a “fun” book daily (usually at night) and listening to audio books

5. Listening to good podcasts

Those are daily things but I also have things I don’t do daily but make sure they happen often.

1. Community-connection with other from church, my neighbors, etc. I can’t do life alone and when I start to hide myself away, I know that’s not good for my soul.

2. Service-through my vocation or through other areas, serving people takes the focus off of me. Thank goodness.

Also, taking risks around goals can be super soul filling.

1. This year I taught adults in an ELD class and it was one of my best teaching experiences yet.

2. I get to teach teachers how to teach EL students in a course this summer!

3. I’m ALMOST finished with my book project about my grandma and my family.

4. Brian and I will climb a 14er (a mountain that is 14,000+ feet) on our anniversary on June 28th.

Ok, so these lists are not written in a “look at me” way but a way that can remind us that we probably all have daily habits that pour life into our souls, we have goals and dreams and serve others in ways that feed and nourish our spirits. We cannot, ever, wait on the world around us to nourish our souls because it will not happen that way.

I also think that if the lists never get done, the goals never met, the steps out in faith never work out as planned, we can rest in who we are in Christ. He can fill us daily. No need to strive.

One last thing in the soul filling business, stop looking all around you. What fills my bucket may not fill yours and vice versa. Comparison is the ultimate thief of joy and will deplete anyone’s bucket pretty quickly.

So what is filling your bucket today?

Listen for your name…(Easter 2024)

The greatest sermon Jesus ever preached was when He called Mary Magdalene by name.

As she waited in anticipation to see Jesus at the grave, she was so upset because the stone had been rolled away and she thought Jesus’s body had been stolen. He asked her who she was looking for. She still didn’t recognize Him, even thinking He was the gardener. Then He simply spoke her name. Let that sink in. He simply said, “Mary.” She immediately recognized Him for Who He was.

Mary was in the greatest despair and all it took was the recognition of who she was and hope overcame her; she knew she was in Jesus’s presence. She immediately told the disciples what she had seen. The prophecy had been fulfilled.

It’s interesting that Jesus appeared first to a woman, a woman in distress and one who was not highly regarded, yet she had placed her hope in Jesus and anticipated that He would fulfill His promises as He had said He would.

I am so thankful that Jesus still appears to us daily, to the normal, less highly regarded, to us who have sinned and live in broken bodies and whose lives are not perfect.

The greatest sermon we can receive today is to stand beside the empty tomb and to listen for Him to simply say our names.

Happy Easter. Praise God that the tomb is empty and He said my name.

““Dear woman, why are you crying?” the angels asked her. “Because they have taken away my Lord,” she replied, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” Jesus asked her. “Who are you looking for?” She thought he was the gardener. “Sir,” she said, “if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and get him.” “Mary!” Jesus said. She turned to him and cried out, “Rabboni!” (which is Hebrew for “Teacher”). “Don’t cling to me,” Jesus said, “for I haven’t yet ascended to the Father. But go find my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene found the disciples and told them, “I have seen the Lord!” Then she gave them his message.”
‭‭John‬ ‭20‬:‭13‬-‭18‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Race day…Short stories in three parts {Part 3}

This is the last short story from the poem I wrote back in December. The poem was called “The Beauty of Pain”. Each short story looks at an analogy from the poem.

She had wanted to swim since she was a little girl but the lake had been off limits then. Her mother said it was because she had never been taught to swim. She never understood that. “So what?”, she had thought, “Teach me to swim!”

So that’s what she had done, years later of course. Her mother had always warned her of the multitude of horrible things that could happen with water. They would go to the beach and sit on chairs at the water’s edge as the waves lapped up their legs. If they did go in, it was “just so far” as not to drown or get eaten by some water dwelling whale. They would sit at the bank of the river and watch their dad fish and sometimes fish too.

It was strange really. Being an adult and still proving to your parents, really to yourself, that you could and would do the thing that you never had the chance to do growing up.

The gun shot blasted through the air and she took one look around her at the masses of bodies in their wet suits, goggles and swim caps. They looked like ants crawling on the beach, writhing towards the water. To a slow painful death in the water.

She snapped out of her spiraling thoughts and remembered her purpose for being where she was, she was about to swim. She glanced quickly at her training partner and smiled. This was it.

They jumped in the water behind an older man, thinking he would be someone they could set pace with since they were slower swimmers. The water was icy cold and she was thankful for her wet suit. She quickly realized that being old does not mean being slow as she struggled to catch up with the older man she had thought would set their swimming pace.

She closed her eyes and breathed in and out with each stroke and head turn. She tried to stay calm and channel her energy.

Her lungs burned more and more with each stroke. She wasn’t sure she could reach the other side. She had to think about something other than the undertow of the ocean, the kicking legs and arms of the other swimmers and her own breathing.

With each stroke, she thought of her. She thought of how she always drank coffee in the same mug each afternoon, her smile and sing songy, “Hello!” when you would greet her or call on the phone. She thought of her laugh and her silly smile and the way she would dance and sing at random times. She thought of her perfectly manicured nails, always asking if her hair was too short or long. She remembered how she used to sit with her as a little girl when they waited for the laundry to dry or took a break from work that morning. She would make her “sugar coffee” and they would talk and she’d feel as grown up as her mom.

She remembered the countless hours she spent in the kitchen, baking, making new recipes for the family, for neighbors. She remembered how she went through a phase years ago when she cross stitched and taught the girls how to. She took a deep breath, turned her head and as she looked up at the yellow wet suit in front of her, she was reminded of the daisy with the yellow center her mom had painted years ago that still sat on a ledge in her home.

She remembered going to exercise classes at the local elementary school with her, sitting with her as she watched afternoon soap operas and scratched her back.

She remembered the day she had her first baby and her mom raced to her side from a camping trip more than three hours away. She thought about how she called everyday and checked in, half across the country. Always there, sometimes with unsolicited advice but never without pure love.

She thought about how her mom doted on her kids, her and even her husband; always proud and loving. She thought about how brave she was mainly, especially lately.

Her lungs burned and her body screamed within her as she realized she was close to the end of the swim.

She heard her family screaming as she made the transition out of the water to the bike, with her mom, her newest swimming partner.

Happy New Year 2024

Here I am. You knew I would be here, waiting for You, waiting to see what You have in store for me.

Here You are, waiting to speak to me, knowing the next steps I’ll take before I’ll even take them. You’re holding my hand.

Here I am. I remember the past to remember Your goodness, to recall the times I’ve clung to You and the times I should have.

Here You are, inviting me to cling to You this new season. In the known and unknown, You call me to rest in You.

Here I am. I’m making plans, dreaming dreams, setting goals.

Here You are, whispering to me, asking me to be still, to listen. “Wait, child, before you go in. Wait on Me, listen for Me, I’ll show you what you need to know for this new season.”

So here I am, asking and waiting.

Jeremiah 33:3 “Ask me and I will tell you remarkable secrets you do not know about things to come.” NLT

That Mountain…Short stories in 3 parts

If you missed my previous blog post, you may need a refresher. Last post I wrote about beauty and pain. I gave three analogies to illustrate. I wanted to embellish those analogies so I decided to write short stories about each one. Here is the first one, “That Mountain”. Enjoy.

He looked out at the horizon. He had always looked at the mountain with awe. Every time he came to visit his son, he would take his coffee on the front porch, looking out at the snowcapped mountain, enjoying the view, skeptical about the weather out there and who would ever climb “that mountain”.

He never had intended to be a cynical man, or old for that matter but life happens. One day you are young and care free and the next minute, you bury your wife of nearly 50 years, and realize most everyone you know has gone on or may be close.

The old man squinted his eyes as he saw the first peak of the sun over the snow cap. He heard the birds call in the distance and was reminded that life goes on as the neighbor’s car door slammed and the engine revved.

“When you think life stops, it simply holds its breath and slowly exhales.” The old man’s wife was always saying clever things like that and writing them too. She had filled books with her writing and journals with memories.

The old man heard his son’s footsteps behind him, even before he opened the door. He always had a heavy footfall, even when he was a boy running around the house.

“You okay dad?” his son’s face was etched in worry. He remembered the softness of the boy’s face when he would pull him close as a child. Now his face was still strong and handsome, but also traced with years of life.

Tomorrow was the day they had planned for, trained for, and prayed for. Tomorrow was the day they would climb “that mountain”.

“Yes, I’m okay son. I’m just sizing up the opponent”, he chuckled, guzzled the last of his coffee and headed into the house, remembering the day and work ahead. He had to summit a mountain tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXX

His shoes felt tighter than he’d like with the new socks and other gear hugging his calves and lugging at his waist. His son had told him he needed these things to make the summit. He had bought new shoes from REI; he may as well have taken a loan for a sports car with all the gear he had to climb this mountain. He was ready though, slow and steady, he would climb that mountain.

The conversation had spiraled into a sentimental record replaying the same song. This was “for his wife”. It was “what she had wanted”; “your mom would be proud of us, huh?”

She was always the one wanting to go on the hiking adventures. She had these romantic notions that through hikes-the kind where people lived on trails for months-were nothing more than meeting people, becoming best friends and having lifelong pen pals. She was a dreamer of the highest order.

The old man’s legs ached and his lungs cried as they made the first few miles in the dark. Their head lamps glowed and cast dim shadows on the trees around them making the world seem a lot scarier and wilder than maybe it truly was.

His son had parked the car earlier, looked him square in the eye and said, “Dad, you got nothing to prove. We can head out now and have a nice breakfast and a nap.” It reminded the old man of his groomsmen on his wedding morning on the way to golf, giving him an out, knowing with all their hearts he’d never take it.

“I’m good. Let’s say we climb this and then get breakfast.” The old man had a twinkle in his eye and smiled as he grabbed his son’s hand and squeezed it. At times his son looked just like her.

So they walked and they climbed. The old man clung to his hiking poles for dear life at times and other times he would stop, holding nothing but his camera and cling to the world around him.

The old man and his son would talk and climb, talk and climb. They stopped for snacks and rests. They took pictures, solved world problems and reminisced on the days that she was here.

At some point the old man had asked his son a question. “What if we don’t make it to the top?” The younger man had answered, “Well, dad, I guess we will make it as far as we can and maybe try again.”

It was a noble answer from a younger man who had a few more years to go. The old man knew this was probably one of his only chances.

He felt the wind pick up and he pulled the scarf around his face, his sunglasses shielded his eyes from the wind and now, the icy drops that hit his face. The stinging continued for what felt like hours as they trudged further and further along. He contemplated life, living, death and dying. “How would he die?” He thought aloud. His son yelled through the whipping wind, “I don’t know dad, but you can’t die here ‘cause I’d have to pull you down this mountain.” He grinned and still had a sparkle in his eye, just like her.

The old man decided not to die that day. He climbed until he ran out of air, taking puffs of his inhaler and slowly staking his claim on the side of the mountain, “that mountain”.

“We’re here dad,” the son took his dad’s hand as they turned and looked at what they had just climbed, the wind whipped at their faces. The old man steadied himself on a large boulder, sitting and pulling out a small box. The young man breathed deeply, wiped sweat from his brow and took a picture of the old man.

“I want you to climb a mountain with your son…” She had had many wishes, this was one. There was more, more to her wishes, her dreams, but for now it didn’t matter. She was the dreamer, they were the do-ers. They were together. She was there, with the old man and his son. Tbey had climbed “that mountain” and now it was time to slowly exhale.