Make hay while the sun shines.

*Disclaimer* I am not a farmer.
The extent of my farming knowledge is limited to a series of failed herb gardens, a hay bale ride at a corn maze, and several episodes of Curious George. But I will persist to muddle through this analogy.

There’s a sayin’ down on the farm (I think) that goes like this,

“You make hay while the sun shines.”

To my understanding it’s pretty hard to cut and bale hay when it’s raining outside.  Makes sense right? Can’t fight the weather.  So when the sun is shining, work hard outside…cut all the hay, plant seeds, repair fences, but when it’s raining all that ambition needs to be moved inside.

Rain comes into our lives in many different forms. Small showers that overcast an overall sunny week.  A bad day.  An awkward or difficult interaction with someone.  Wild children.  A broken phone.  Things that can force us inside for a moment, but nothing a bath, a pound of chocolate, or time with authentic friends can’t cure.

Sometimes we experience seasons of rain.  Relentless storms that pound down and never seem to let up.  Broken relationships. Illness or death.  Depression.  These storms make working outside impossible.

Serving others, Being a Light in the Darkness, Sharing God’s Love with a hurting world can all feel like a burden when a storm is raging.

When the rain is beating down around us, retreating inside is not cowardly or selfish…it is prudent.  Fighting the weather is a useless fight.  Take your fight inside to work on yourself.

We can’t be prepared to work the farm, if we don’t take opportunities to fix the tractor.

There have been several storms in my life that have compelled me to retreat.  Seeking out good counsel (whether this be trusted friends or a professional therapist) has been essential for me to process hard things.  Inviting someone into my pain helps ease both the loneliness and isolation that seem to appear in the midst of a storm.  It helps me to remember my worth and the depth of love surrounding me.

Taking care of yourself is not a selfish act. It means you want to give your very best self to the people around you

If you are standing in the middle of a storm right now, tirelessly giving to all those around you, please know it’s okay to go inside.  It’s okay to work on yourself for a while.  It’s okay to ask for help.  We can’t fight the rain.  

Sunrises and storms.

Last year, my Lenten journey was one of discovering joy. Rising early, in the still and quiet hours of the morning, and bearing witness to the beauty of the sun rising and starting a new day.

My journey this year, seems to be the complete opposite. Bearing witness to pain, instead of beauty and joy.  Instead of pulling me out of bed to experience the joy of the sun, my journey this year pulls me out of bed to experience the power of a storm. (My neighbors think I’m really normal…crazy lady sitting on the porch at the crack of dawn and standing in the middle of a rainstorm.)

Standing in the midst of a storm is scary. The wind whips and thunder crashes. No matter how old I am, it just makes me want to crawl under the covers in a safe place. Storms have power and are an unstoppable force. Any person with small children (or fur babies) knows the struggle of praying for temporary deafness so the storm doesn’t wake those precious bundles of joy. But it doesn’t usually work because storms, by their nature, command our attention.

Much like pain.

I’ve been reading a fantastic book called The Gift of Pain by Dr. Paul Brand. The book recounts Dr. Brand’s experiences working with leprosy patients over his extensive career. He was pivotal in changing the idea that the leprosy bacteria eats away at the body. He helped discover the main effect of leprosy is numbness…painlessness. The lack of pain leads a person to unknowingly cause harm to their own body. Without the wisdom pain brings, his leprosy patients were unable to protect themselves. He tells unbelievable stories of people walking on severely broken limbs because they had no way to tell there was a problem. Or even something as simple as a pebble in the shoe, a person that feels pain can compensate by redistributing their weight until the pebble can be removed.  But a person who feels nothing? They will continue on and most likely cause an injury, that will be more susceptible to infection because there is no pain to remind them of the injury.

Pain is our body’s teacher and protector.

In our society though, pain is something to be avoided at all cost. Pain is pushed as far away from the body as possible. Because of this fear and revulsion of pain, people in pain are typically pushed aside also. It can be difficult to wade through the waters with someone experiencing physical or emotional pain. It almost always guarantees inviting a certain amount of pain into your own life.

Galatians 6:2 doesn’t just recommend walking with those in pain, it tells us it fulfills the law of Christ.

Bear one another’s burdens, and so you will fulfill the law of Christ.

Bearing burdens doesn’t necessarily mean fixing problems. We can’t always make pain go away. Sometimes pain needs to be there to teach and instruct. Sometimes pain alerts us to bigger problems. And sometimes pain is mysterious and we have no idea why it is present. Bearing burdens simply means making the load lighter. Taking on some of the pain, so the other person can breathe.

So, let’s be a Church of burden bearers. Not shying away from hurt, but gladly walking aside those among us in pain. Wading through the murky waters together.

I love folding laundry, and other lies I tell myself.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret.  I absolutely love folding my family’s laundry.  I know, right? Go ahead and start polishing that statue of me. Make sure to get my halo just right.  My children will rise up and call me blessed.

Let me set the scene for you.  It’s 3 o’clock.  I’ve done all the fun things with the kids all day.  School work is finished.  I’ve just tucked them all in for an hour (or two) of video games.  I grab my overflowing pile of laundry and announce, “Mommy’s going to fold laundry in my room.” The children generously praise me for being so hardworking and loving them so much.  I plop down on the bed, turn Netflix on, fold a sock.  The End.

Sitting with my laundry while I binge on TV makes me feel semi-productive.  Sure I’ve watched 6 episodes of Fixer Upper, but I also folded this sock and I’m clearly still working because I’m. sitting. next. to. a. pile. of. laundry.

I find myself telling similar lies in my faith life.

“I’m doing so many things for you, God. Aren’t you impressed with all the church I’m attending? With my kids!? I’ve got those rugrats there every week. Every week, I tell you! I smile at people. Even when I don’t feel happy,  I still smile.  Isn’t that self-sacrificing, God? I volunteered at the place, before, remember? Such good times!  I’m doing alright.”

But I’m fairly sure real faith looks a little different.  It looks a lot more like a heavily pregnant woman riding a donkey across the desert because she said yes to bearing the savior of the world.  It looks a lot more like Moses going before a king and asking the impossible because a burning bush said, “I AM.” It looks a lot more like pouring out expensive oil and tears at the feet of Jesus.

It looks HARD.

But here’s the catch of lying to yourself.  Sitting next to the laundry isn’t enough to get it folded.

Sitting next to real faith isn’t enough to get things done either.  If we aren’t doing hard things, we aren’t doing it right.  Real love requires sacrifice. And sacrifice hurts.  There’s no formula because God calls us to different hard things. Forgiving wrongs. Loving the unlovable. Serving the poor.  Caring for the forgotten and neglected.  Love is action.

Sitting in close proximity to real faith isn’t enough.  We have to dig in, and do the work.

 

 

 

 

No pain, no gain

I didn’t foresee myself back at the blogging game this Lent.  I’m pregnant and busy and there are probably a billion other excuses I could make.  But, alas, I find myself back here because I’m pretty sure God is taking me on a journey, and I’m supposed to drag some people along with me.

My journey this Lent isn’t going to be one of humble simplifying or recognizing the joy in the sunrise.

My journey this year is focused on pain.  Sitting in the midst of the pain of others.  Feeling and learning from that pain.  Doesn’t that sound like fun? Are you ready to jump on in and journey with me?  Before you call me a masochist  and quietly leave my page never to return, hear me out. God has been reminding me over and over lately of the harmfulness of indifference and apathy.  Despite my best intentions, I’ve succumbed to this blissful medicine because sometimes taking on the hurts and burdens of the world and those around me feels like too much.  It makes me feel uncomfortable to worry about the injustices I feel I have no control over.  It’s a lot easier to ignore, put up some blinders, and carry on with things.

But things never change without people with broken hearts taking action.  

Pope Francis has declared this the Jubilee Year of Mercy.  A time to focus on how people should be treated.   Jesus extends unending mercy to us.  A forgiveness that surpasses anything we could ever deserve.  A forgiveness that calls us children instead of criminals. Everyone needs to feel this amazing mercy and grace, and we are called to show it to them by being Messengers of Mercy.  Displaying and extending God’s mercy. The first step is seeing people as God sees them and that includes having your heart broken, even if it’s uncomfortable.

I think our immediate reaction to pain is to push it away. Get it as far away from us as possible. But pain indicts there’s a problem.  Something we need to fix.  Without acknowledging the pain, healing will never happen.  I don’t want to ignore the wounds in my own life, and since God calls us to serve and love our neighbor I don’t want to ignore the wounds around me either.

So I will sit with pain this Lent.  I will sit in silence and pray for my heart to be broken for the hurt in the world.  We, as Christians,  can’t sit aside and ignore the wounds festering around us.

Jesus certainly didn’t. 

 

 

 

 

A Different Kind of Christmas

Let me just start by saying I LOVE CHRISTMAS! I love ALL things Christmas.  I love the music, cookies, parties, family coming from far away, Christmas cards, decorations.  I love it all! Well, except the Elf of the Shelf….that little guy creeps me out.  I love ALMOST all things Christmas.  Creepy elves notwithstanding, this is my favorite time of the year.

Christmastime just feels different.  It feels bright and hopeful. The Christmas lights make an otherwise ordinary neighborhood, seem magical and Narnian. Grudges are put aside and relationships are rekindled. Even the secular world seems to understand that there is something important and mystical about this time of year.

Christmas and the preparation before, Advent, are a departure from everyday coming-and-goings. It is an opportunity to reflect on the goodness and love of God.  A chance to push through the distractions and sit, like Mary, at the feet of Jesus.  But how often do we get caught up in the busyness of Christmas? How often do we let our “to-do” list or “to-buy” list keep us from soaking in how beautiful this time of the year can be? How often are we Martha, when we should be Mary?

I had a pretty incredible and life-changing Lent this year.  Since then, I have been on a journey to simplify.  To learn to have less, to be content with less. So naturally this journey is leading me to a different kind of Christmas.  A Christmas that hopefully looks less like the world, and more like Jesus.

Because lists are easy and who doesn’t like a good list,  I’ve made a list of 3 ways my Christmas is already looking a little different this year.

1.  My sister and I have decided to exchange family gifts.  Between the two of us, we have 7 children, 2 husbands, 1 dog, and a partridge in a pear tree.  That’s a lot of stuff.  So in an effort to reduce the stuff, we are giving a gift that will draw the other family closer to each other.  The gift of family time. The gift of experience.  The gift of less.

2.  One of my most important goals as a parent, is to raise grateful children.  Children who understand and appreciate the everyday luxuries we experience.  Children who have concern and empathy for those who don’t enjoy the same luxuries.  I’m learning, though, that grateful children do not just happen.  It is a very intentional and difficult process. It is a process of sometimes saying “no”, even when you have the means to say “yes”.  We started fairly early on in our parenting journey only giving our kids 3 gifts at Christmas. Guess what? They’ve never been disappointed on Christmas morning.  They have been able to truly enjoy the gifts they receive. They will learn and grow from the gift of “no.” (I did not mean for that to sound so Dr. Seuss, but you’re welcome.)

2 1/2. Along the lines of gift giving,  I’ve been trying to change the way my mind thinks of what constitutes a good gift.  A dollar amount?   A checked off item from a list? More stuff to fill up space?  I’m thinking outside the box this year.  I’m shopping second-hand, giving experiences rather than stuff, giving my time, and making gifts.  I cleaned and downsized my kids’ toys a few weeks ago because we were drowning in them. A few friends came and picked up things that were literally just collecting dust. One friend got all her sons Christmas toys. This is what Christmas gift-giving can look like.  Swapping, sharing, giving, loving.  It doesn’t have to cost a bunch of money and several hours at the mall to be a good gift.

3.  I’ve tried to celebrate Advent as a family in the past, but got burned out.  Mostly because I was still trying to keep up with all the Christmas craziness.  So this year, we are doing Advent.  We are focusing on preparing our hearts, not just our tree.  We are doing a simple Jesse Tree devotion every morning.  I drew a tree on a white board (we aren’t fancy in this house),  and I’m giving my kids the gift of anticipation in Jesus’ coming.  I’m giving them the gift of knowing the whole of history was groaning for Jesus to come.  I’m giving them the gift of understanding what an amazing thing happened on Christmas morning.

All that being said,  I can’t wait to decorate my Christmas tree and I’ve already started listening to Christmas music.  I’m sending out Christmas cards, and I will probably buy something from the mall at some point.  I’m not on a rampage against consumerism, but I am making the commitment this year of less.  I will buy less.  I will do less.  I will hang up my apron for a little while, and sit at the feet of Jesus.

Cleaning the oven

I cleaned behind my oven yesterday.  I can count on 0 hands the number of times I have cleaned back there.  Did I suddenly get the urge to make sure my home was spotless and clean? Did I feel like my children’s safety was at risk because of the things growing behind my oven? Was I overcome with a desire to get on my hands and knees and scrub something?

Nope, I have someone coming over.

We’re getting ready to have some work done on the house, and I was worried if the workmen saw the mess behind my oven, they would be utterly appalled at the squalor and near slum-like conditions we were living in.

I am never quite as motivated to clean as when I have an impending guest.  What would have normally taken days to do, will miraculously get cleaned in the 30 minutes prior to my visitor arriving.  I will fly through the house like a bat outta hell to get the whole house picked up and answer the door out of breath due to my cleaning marathon.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I love having visitors and I love entertaining people at my home.  Please keep coming over…it’s probably the only way my floors will ever get mopped.

So I pulled out the oven, got on my hands and knees, and scrubbed.  As I was scrubbing away, I was struck with a thought…

Nothing inspires deep cleaning as much as the threat of someone else seeing our filth.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!  My cleaning session had taken a very sudden turn into a spiritual lesson.

Is this also how I approach the sin in my life?

Am I ignoring the hidden filth simply because others can’t see it?

Am I only motivated to clean the areas in my life where others may possibly get a glimpse of my struggles?

Unfortunately, the answer is yes to all the above.  It’s much easier to ignore the sin that stays hidden from others eyes. Without the threat of others seeing my shortcomings, I’m less likely to address areas of my life that keeping me from drawing closer to God.  I don’t have to share my thoughts with others, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t sinful.  Anger, pride, lust, envy, impatience, unfaithfulness all lurk hidden from others sight, but very present in my life.

Hidden sin taints and corrupts.

Luke 6:45 states:

“From the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks.”

Angry thoughts become angry words.  Judgmental thoughts become prideful actions.  Hidden sin seeps out.

I need to pull the oven out, get on my hands and knees, and do some deep cleaning. Not because I’m worried about what others will think, but because I want to be clean.

It WAS a Good Friday

Lent is over….

I have so many thoughts and feelings.  It has been 40 days of growing, praying, learning, kneeling, fasting, and being pruned.  Letting God, the loving vinedresser, cut away the things in my life that were choking out the new growth. Cutting away the sin and distractions that were keeping me from loving Him and others like I should.  Cutting away the excesses in my life that had piled up and piled up to the point where I could hardly see around them.

“If was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name He may give you. This I command you: love one another.” John 15:16-17

We have the ability to love and serve and bear fruit because God first loved us.  He loved us enough to send a perfect, unblemished lamb to be sacrificed in our place.

Good Friday is a day of remembering this sacrifice.

In the Catholic Church, we venerate the Cross on Good Friday. We come, with all our hurting and pain, and we kiss the Cross that gave us Life and freed us from sin. We remember and we honor. My heart longs for this way to express gratitude for something words will never be able to encompass.  Salvation and Life.  Words may fail me, but actions convey the burning in my heart.  Walking up to the Cross with my brothers and sisters, I was overcome at the beauty of the Body of Christ. I saw children being carried by their parents, seniors being wheeled up by their children, and every age in between.  Christ’s Bride knows no age, no race, no economic class, no distinction between abled and disabled. We are all the Body of Christ.  We are all seeking together to follow and love God by serving one another.

I am infinitely grateful for my faith community.  They have supported, encouraged, questioned, prayed for, counciled, and pulled me through my Lenten journey.  I am a better person because of the people God has placed in my life.

I know my journey doesn’t end here.  God still has so many things to teach me about simplifying and serving.  My prayer now is for God to give me eyes to see people as He sees them.  I have experienced a glimpse, this past 40 days, of His all-encompassing love for the world, and I want that same love to overflow from me.

Giving Jars and Giving Thanks

A few of weeks ago, my husband and I, along with a group of amazing adults and teens, attended the SC Diocesan Youth Conference. This is youth led conference for youth.  It’s amazing and powerful.  It’s a weekend I look forward to all year long.  This year was no different.  The weekend of the conference always falls right at the beginning of Lent, so I had just started this crazy Lenten journey and I was pumped to grow and be nourished with 700+ Catholics from around the state. The conference started out as to be expected. Amazing skits.  Awesome speakers.  Great music.  My heart was hungry for this.  I had been craving a time set aside to really worship and focus on God.  I needed to have my cup filled. As we were getting ready to head back to our rooms Friday night, we found out the conference center had no water. What!? How can you have a conference with 700+ people staying on campus without running water? Well you can’t. The conference had to be cut short.  My heart was broken.  It was broken for the youth who had planned the conference.  They had put so much work into planning and organizing this weekend.  It was broken for our youth who wouldn’t get to experience the joy and renewal this conference brings.  And it was broken for myself.  I had looked forward to this weekend.  I needed this.  Didn’t God know we all needed this weekend?

We had a short morning session on Saturday, then Mass.  Both were powerful and much needed.  This is what my heart had been groaning for.  Time with Jesus and other people who loved Him too.  Before we headed home, they had one last speaker come out.  His name was Thomas Awiapo, and he ruined me.

He started by telling his story of growing up in Ghana.  He had been orphaned at an early age, seen his younger siblings die from malnutrition, and felt the overwhelming ache of hunger. Then he dropped the bomb. He said how sorry he was for us that our conference had to be cut short because of the water issues, but maybe we can now understand a little more what children in his country go through.  They walk for miles to get to dirty water, that will most likely make them sick.  By this point, I was unable to sob gracefully anymore.  I had broken down into a full-on, ugly, borderline hysterical cry.  My concerned husband asked if I was okay.

 “No, I’m not okay.  God is ruining my life!”

My husband just blinked at me as Thomas continued his story. Unsure how he was going to survive, he followed some kids with food to a Catholic Relief Services supported school.  The school would feed the children if they attended, so he started going to school in order to receive a meal.  He held up a familiar little box.  It was a rice bowl.  Most churches pass them out during Lent to collect money for CRS.  He held up the box and told us it had saved his life.  Because of the money given to Catholic Relief Services, he was fed and given the opportunity to go to school.  Now he works for CRS Ghana helping other children receive the love he was shown.

This. is. what. it’s. all. about.

What’s the point in filling our cups, if we don’t seek to overflow on others?

I have been replaying this experience in my heart and mind for the past couple weeks, and praying about what my response should be.  What can I do to make a difference? How can I teach my children to be sensitive to the needs of others and foster a spirit of joyful giving? How can I soak our lives in gratitude? Cue the birth of the giving jar.

My hopes for the giving jar are for it to be a constant reminder of everything we have to be grateful for.  God has given us so much.  I want my children to be able to see how richly they have been given unto.  I also want them to feel the ache for our brothers and sisters who are hurting.  I want them to learn to give, not out of reluctance or guilt, but out of joy.  I want the giving jar to help teach our whole family what it means to really follow Christ.

I am so glad God is ruining my life because this new life I’m learning about is overflowing with love and grace.

Jesus in Disguise

All my clothes are dirty.  When you only have a pair of jeans, three shirts, a skirt, and a pair of shoes, there’s a high probability everything will end up dirty before I get around to doing my laundry.  As I have falsely lamented in the past,  I literally have nothing to wear.  I am stranded in my room, in a towel, at the mercy of the washing machine.  This is a perfect time to reflect on my journey thus far. 

Before I started, I was sure this was going to be absolute torture.  Wearing only 7 articles of clothing seemed like it was going to be a huge sacrifice, and I would end up daydreaming at length about what I would wear whenever Lent is over.  That hasn’t been the case at all.  My clothing fast has given me more a sense of freedom than sacrifice.  I feel free from the need to impress people.  I feel free from the decision of “what to wear”. I feel free from discontentment.  What I didn’t expect is how God would use this fast to make me painfully aware of my own sin.  I have seen that I am prideful, selfish, impatient, and most recently self-righteous.  

I purged my closet this week.  I went through my 253 items of clothing (yeah I counted), and chose a portion to give away.  (Side note: Can we talk about the fact that I had 43 t-shirts? How does that even happen!?) I packed all my items up and took them with me to the Catholic Charities Clothing Closet, where I volunteered to serve this week.  The Clothing Closet offers a place where people can come to get clothing items they need.  They usually provide an outfit (pants, shirt, socks, underwear), toiletries, and any other miscellaneous items a person may need at the time (jacket, shoes, belt, etc).  I started my day by helping to fill a few clothing orders.  The men I helped were so kind and grateful.  What I was doing felt important.  I kept thinking about Matthew 25. 

“Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.”

I was clothing Jesus by serving these men. 

As it slowed down a bit, I switched to sorting clothes that had been brought in as donations.  One of the other volunteers told me they have to be a little picky with what they choose to keep because they want to find things to best meet the needs of their clients.  So I started sorting…..and this is when my self-righteousness flared up.  I was appalled at some of the things people had donated.  There was clothing with holes, stains, and covered in dust and animal fur. There were also items donated that would have no use to most people, like vests with cats on them. I even found a pair of used underwear in one of the bags.  I was frustrated. Didn’t these people consider the people who would be receiving these clothes? Didn’t they think at all about what needs they would have?  Didn’t they realize they were donating clothes to people, not an organization? Then, I had to sort the clothes I had brought….

And I realized, I hadn’t considered the people who would be receiving these clothes.  I hadn’t thought about their needs. I had donated these clothes to Catholic Charities, not to the men and women who would be receiving them. I had just gone through my closet in an effort to get rid of excess.  I wanted to purge the things I no longer use or need. I had gotten rid of things, purely to get rid of them. In about 3 seconds my fat, self-righteous bubble popped. 

I don’t think it’s wrong to give away things we don’t need or can’t fit into anymore.  I think it’s a great use of resources to reuse unwanted clothes for a good purpose.  But when we forget to consider the people whom we are donating to, we lose sight of the bigger picture.  People are important.  I think one of the most important lessons Jesus taught us is to notice people.  He noticed Zacchaeus up in the tree.  He noticed the woman who touched the hem of His garment.  He noticed thieves and prostitutes, tax collectors and Pharisees.  He saw everyone, because to Him, everyone is important.  

It was easier for me to see the people I was helping when they were right in front of me. I should have been praying for the people who would receive the clothes I was donating.  I should have been thinking about their needs as I was putting clothes in the bag.  I should have been considering I was clothing Jesus with the clothes I was pulling out of my closet.  

“Each one of them is Jesus in disguise.” Blessed Mother Teresa

 

Dirty Feet

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about washing feet.  I’ve been imagining what it would have been like to have Jesus kneel before me, take my feet, and lovingly wash the dirt and grim off them.  I want to say it would have been a beautiful and moving experience.  I want to say I would have been deeply touched. I want to give the “right” answer, but the only thing I can think about is how uncomfortable I would have been.  

Accepting help from others has always been hard for me.  I don’t like admitting that there are things I can’t do on my own. I have juggled strollers and babies, rather than asking someone to open the door for me.  I have felt resentful of my husband, rather than just asking for help with the kids.  I have alienated friends, rather than asking to talk through a hard time.  For some reason, I feel like I have something to prove to the world.  I think there’s probably a word for this sickness….oh yeah, it’s called PRIDE.

A couple years ago, I was struggling pretty intensely with some emotional issues.  It took me months to work up my courage to start seeing a therapist.  Even then, I was mortified if someone found out I was receiving help.  I felt like people would think less of me.  That asking for help meant I wasn’t good enough to handle things on my own.  Looking back, I can see how wrong I was.  Getting help through a hard time didn’t mean I wasn’t good enough, it means I was strong and humble enough to let someone else serve me. It means I was able to admit my feet are dirty too.

“He came to Simon Peter, who said to Him, ‘Master, are you going to wash my feet?’ Jesus answered and said to him, ‘What I am doing, you do not understand now, but you will understand later.’ Peter said to Him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered him, ‘Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.”

Jesus washed feet because they were dirty.  We all have issues and sins we struggle with.  We all have things that hold us back from living the holy lives God wants from us.  We all have dirty feet. I think Jesus’ teaching about washing feet is definitely about learning to serve others, but also about letting others serve you as well.  We need the humility that comes from letting someone else kneel before us, take our feet in their hands, and let the water wash away the filth and muck picked up on this journey.  We can’t do it alone.  We are called to live in community with other Christians because we need one another.