The annual elementary school Thanksgiving feast is such prominent event from my childhood, and one I’m incredibly grateful that my own children have never experienced.
It is normal to think of our children. We worry about them. We celebrate and sometimes share their successes. And perhaps even to a greater degree, we suffer and endure their challenges and failures.
As part of their visit to Episcopal High School, the Buddhist monks taught the art of constructing sand mandalas through demonstration. Days of demonstration.
You will encounter challenging rocks that stand in your way, and you’ll have days of drought, but focus on staying in good soil, so that you will continue to bloom toward Jesus.
What in our lives now is the same as it was pre-pandemic
We are waiting, as a family, as a community, as the Body of Christ, in palpable anticipation for the end of this pandemic.
In the days leading up to the start of school I had several conversations with my son Sam and all of them started the same: “Mom, I’m scared to start first grade.”
“While 3 feet of distance will be encouraged where possible, the priority…is the full return of students.”
Isn’t it the fundamental call of all Christians to take on the role of God-bearer?
As I write, my current circumstances are probably as different as could be imagined from Clare on her bed of not-even-straw.