In the Bleak Midwinter

Reflections on Shuffle-Play

So far, what have I done that has made this Advent season different than any other?  Let’s see, I have been slowly feeding my “piggy bank” for ELCA World Hunger.  I found a five-dollar bill in the cemetery the other day and put it in the piggy bank instead of using it to buy myself a latte – so that felt like a step in the right direction.  However, we entirely forgot to light our home advent wreath this past Sunday. Plus, even though I vowed to myself to keep things simple and worry-free this year, I’m already stressing out a little bit about upcoming Christmas services at church and cooking for extended family on Christmas Day. So far, Advent is looking a lot like every other church season – a season of stops and starts, a time of victories and failures.  It turns out that I prepare about as well for the birth of Jesus as I prepare for anything – kind of last minute and haphazard – and please don’t look in my closet or under the beds because who knows the clutter and disarray you will find.

It is an imperfect Advent, an imperfect life.  I can’t take comfort in that because I wish I could always fully complete all the grand plans and sacred endeavors I begin.  If I could, I would have written five books by now (all bestsellers).  And yet, I do take comfort in this:  there is some One greater at work in my life than me.  There is a greater plan that has been devised than any I could dream.  In some mystical and miraculous way, God has chosen me and you to participate in this plan, God’s plan.  We won’t often understand how or why life unfolds as it does, and yet there are times we catch glimpses of the beauty and blessedness of it all.  Maybe that will happen for you sometime this Advent season, maybe it won’t.  Maybe Christmas morning will dawn with a fresh peace and renewed strength in your heart, or maybe you’ll wake up with the stomach flu and stay in bed all day.  Either way, all is well, because this story we live is about more than you and me, what we do or don’t do, rather, it is about God’s story. We are part of it – and it is an immense gift.  Our greatest task appears to be that we simply must open our eyes and see it.

Most afternoons these days I spend a little time sitting with a parishioner who is now on Hospice care.  His remaining time on earth appears short.  There is nothing fun about these days for him as his body and mind slowly fade.  I don’t even know if he hears me when I read the scripture to him anymore – but I still read it and I pray out loud for him.  It seems so stark and strange to walk past the festive lights and trees that are adorning the Sunset home these days and often the sound of cheerful carols coming from the chapel, to go into his quiet room where death is drawing near.  Yet it strikes me that it is precisely in these moments of stark contrasts that we often sense the Spirit’s presence more closely than ever.  Actually, I’ve come to realize that sitting in that room next to Joe and listening to him breathe with the sounds of the world going on outside has become what will set this Advent apart for me as blessed.  It wasn’t the ritual I planned or expected, but in it, I have felt God’s presence.  I’m so thankful for that.

Has God surprised you lately?

Jeremiah 29:11

11 For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.

In the Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him… give my heart.


The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

Reflections on Shuffle-Play (an exercise to write a reflection each day on a song from my morning run)

God has made everything beautiful in its time.  – Ecclesiastes 3:11 

 Oftentimes a word or a phrase will get stuck in my head.  Especially as I am praying over a certain text or a certain thought or a certain church season, a particular word will keep coming to mind stay nestled there.  I’ve learned to pay attention to that.  That usually I’m supposed to be learning something – and that usually if I carry it around with me long enough, ponder it as I go about my daily tasks, when I’m in the car or on a walk, that over time God just might give me something to say about it. 

 So as I’ve thought and prayed in the last days, the word that has been rumbling around my mind is the word, “Beauty.”

 Beauty.  I catch glimpses of it in the ways my parishioners care for each other, and their families, and our church. 

 Beauty.  We are surrounded by it in the landscape on all sides.  I don’t think there are many places as lovely as where we are right now.   And the beauty of our church is also a treasure.  The stained glass, the history that is soaked into the wood and beams.  Now the Advent wreath and a Christmas tree.  What could be more beautiful than this?

 If I asked you to define “beauty”, what would you say?    Would you show me pictures of the sunset at your vacation by the lake?  Would you show me pictures of a sleeping baby, a candle burning, or Elizabeth Taylor around the year 1958?

 If I asked you to define “beauty”, what would you say?  Is it found in the smell of rain?  A silent snowfall?  The smile of a groom as he sees his bride walking toward him down the aisle?  The sight of home after having been away far too long?  The sound of Chopin being played by someone who can play it well?

 Beauty.  If I asked you to define it, what would you say?  On the surface we might have similar answers, but I believe that in our hearts, our answers are as unique as we are.  Because how can I explain to you how beautiful the sound of my husband’s voice is to my ears?  And I could never fully appreciate the beauty that you see when you look at that picture of your old friend, or the lovely memories that the smell of woodsmoke or baking bread or molasses cookies conjures up for you.  The lights of a busy city might be attractive to one set of eyes and look simply like a mess to someone else. 

 My mother-in-law’s idea of beauty – at least of what made for beautiful home decoration was very different from my idea.  I’ll never forget the first gift I received from Chad’s mom after we were married.  When we had gone to visit his parents in New Mexico, I could tell that his mom took great pride in their house and she talked often about how she enjoyed finding things to decorate the house.  Every room had a theme – the living room was all in southwest prints and colors, the kitchen had a farm theme with a concentration on lots of roosters and hens adorning the cookie jars, salt and pepper shakers, placemats and dishes…and the guest bathroom was decorated in “Shabby Chic” as she called it.  It was basically lots of pink and white colors, rose patterns and antique-y looking candle-holders.  I was impressed with the work that had gone into each room – even if it wasn’t particularly how I would have decorated a house.  In fact, at that time having just finished four years of college and four years of seminary and two years of mission work where I just lived out of a backpack, the only “theme” my house could be said to have had back then would have been “early rummage sale.”

Anyway, I must have complimented her decorating in that “shabby chic” bathroom a little too overzealously because a few months later when she came to visit her gift to me was to redo my whole bathroom in “shabby chic.”  In my mind I kept thinking, “Why couldn’t she remember that I complimented their hot tub and their expansive wine collection instead?!” 

 Well even though I was hesitant because it wouldn’t have been my first choice for decorating my bathroom, it really turned out very nice.

 And the funny thing about that is that I remember when it all was happening – at the time I didn’t like it because I felt like she was pushing her idea of beauty onto me.  But now that years have gone by – years in which I got to know her and be a part of their family – and especially now after she has died, those things she gave me that I once accepted hesitatingly, I can see the beauty in them now because they are filled with story.  I can see her reflection when I look at those things – so they are beautiful to me now.

 Have you ever noticed that?  How as time goes by you are able to notice the beauty in things you weren’t able to see before?  It’s like our eyes grow wiser with age, too. 

Like I remember how I couldn’t wait to leave my small hometown and the miles and miles of tiresome country roads that surrounded it – but now when I go back there all I notice are the pretty lakes and peaceful fields. 

And I think about how I approached motherhood so hesitantly.  All I could think about before we had kids was how I had hated babysitting when I was young.  I was uninterested in small children and their strange noises and smells.  But now that I have my own children, I think they are extraordinarily beautiful – and not just mine – but all of them.  I’m in love with every child in our church and every one I see on the street or on television.  I want to adopt them all and bring them home – because now my eyes are wise enough to see how God teaches us amazing things through our children.

Beauty.  Where do you see beauty?  I think beauty has been on my mind this advent because I’ve been pondering not only unique beauty or how our perceptions of beauty change over time, but mostly I’ve been thinking about how even though we like to wrap up this season in shiny paper and twinkling lights, you and I who are gathered here know that it is all about so much more than that.  The pretty decorations and festive adornments around every corner may be nice, but we know that they aren’t the point.  They don’t even begin to hint at the wonder of this season.

A stark example of this comes in a story I love about one pastor who got fed up with all the decorations and clutter.  He felt like all the Christmas decorations had gotten so out of hand that it was obscuring people’s vision of the “reason for the season,” Jesus –- the Jesus that was born in the middle of Herod’s bloody genocide, the Jesus who was born a refugee with no room in the inn, the Jesus who knew suffering from the cradle to the cross. So this pastor went through the sanctuary the night before the big Christmas service and spread out manure all over the floor -– nasty, stinky piles of manure. As folks came in the next day in their best attire, he preached … and did he ever.

 He preached about how the original story of Christmas was not about malls and decorations. He preached about a story that was not pretty. He preached about a God who enters the ugliness, the brokenness of this world and redeems all that is ugly and broken. It is a story the congregation will never forget. And though his methods may sound shocking, the truth of the Christmas story was told.

  I was reading recently that in Ancient times the Persons of the Trinity were sometimes referred to not as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – but as Goodness, Beauty, and Truth. They were called the perfections of God.  Not that Goodness, Beauty and Truth were God – but that those attributes pointed to God.  That when you saw those things, you were in the presence of holiness. This is why we should love those things that are good and beautiful and true – because they are reminders of God. 

So then – if we are looking for our best definition of Beauty – we find it in Christ.   If we want beauty, True Beauty, we won’t find it then in most of what the world sells us as beautiful.  Rather true Beauty is as a pastor friend of mine writes: beauty, like Christ, is found under the sign of its opposite: life from death, speech from silence, light from darkness. A crown from a cross, resurrection from the grave, God is closest in suffering and grief. Anything else is pretending, and “putting roses on the cross.”  True Beauty is love incarnate, living in solidarity with the poor, sick, oppressed and outcast, taking action against earthly injustice.

So then – how can we make this lovely season of advent even more beautiful?  We can do it by seeking the kind of beauty Christ represents – which was never about things that were pleasing to the ear and eye – rather it was about love in action.  It was compassion and kindness and generosity even when it wasn’t comfortable or convenient at all.

We can make this Advent different and truly a time of preparing for Christ’s coming by doing things that celebrate who he is to us.  This doesn’t include being a part of the frantic race to buy more things to fill our homes or to give to others who already have everything they need.  This does include things like making conscious decisions to make advent a time of worship, spending less, giving more, and loving all.

Imagine if we all bought one less present and decided to help others one extra time during this Advent season? 

What does the world need more – one more ugly sweater or useless gadget for someone who already has more than enough, or one additional moment of sharing with people in need out of what God has given us this year?  What kind of blessing could we be?  What kind of good work could we do in Jesus’ name? 

All I know is that something like that would look a little more like a time that is preparing our hearts for Christ’s coming.  It could make this Advent season ring with Christ’s presence.  It could be beautiful. 

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

by Prince

Could U be the most beautiful girl in the world?
It’s plain 2 see U’re the reason that God made a girl
When the day turns into the last day of all time
I can say I hope U are in these arms of mine
And when the night falls before that day I will cry
I will cry tears of joy cuz after U all one can do is die, oh

Could U be the most beautiful girl in the world?
Could U be?
It’s plain 2 see U’re the reason that God made a girl
Oh, yes U are

How can I get through days when I can’t get through hours?
I can try but when I do I see U and I’m devoured, oh yes
Who’d allow, who’d allow a face 2 be soft as a flower? Oh
I could bow (bow down) and feel proud in the light of this power
Oh yes, oh

Could U be (could U be) the most beautiful girl in the world?
Could U be?
It’s plain 2 see U’re the reason that God made a girl
Oh, yes U are

And if the stars ever fell one by one from the sky
I know Mars could not be, uh, 2 far behind
Cuz baby, this kind of beauty has got no reason 2 ever be shy
Cuz honey, this kind of beauty is the kind that comes from inside

Could U be (could U be) the most beautiful girl in the world?
So beautiful, beautiful
It’s plain 2 see (plain 2 see) U’re the reason that God made a girl

Oh yeah! (Oh, yes U are)
Girl (Could U be?)
U must be … oh yeah!
(Could U be?)
U’re the reason … oh yeah
(Could) [x3]

Even If

Reflections on Shuffle-Play (the daily exercise to write a reflection based on a song from that morning’s run)

There are two pivotal words in the Bible story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

The words are “even if.”

If you grew up in the church you likely have known this Bible story most of your life. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego have had their story told over and over – there’s even a Veggie Tales cartoon version of what they went through.

These three Jewish young men refuse to bow down to a huge gold statue that the king has put in place to show off his power. If you read the full story from Daniel, it is almost comical how he demands all these officials come to the dedication of this statue and he commands that whenever people hear the sound of all these musical instruments: the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon (which was a triangular-shaped stringed instrument), harp and drum – they were to fall down on their knees and worship the big ol’ golden statue.

So all the instruments play and the people are falling to their knees to worship the statue when they hear them, but the king finds out that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego do not.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were not always known by these names. If you looked a little bit earlier in the book of Daniel, you would find that their names first were Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah.

These young men had been brought to work in the king’s court and taught the language and literature of the Chaldeans. These three young men were being forced to give up their own heritage and even religious beliefs.  Their original Jewish names had meanings: Hananiah meant “Who is like God” and Mishael meant, “God is gracious”, and Azariah meant, “God keeps him.” 

But now when they were brought into service in the king’s court, their new names had references to Babylonian gods – such as Nego — Abednego means “servant of Nego.” Now, not only are these young men expected to change their Jewish names but now there is another attempt to compel these immigrants to change their religion and heritage as they are expected to bow down and worship the golden statue of the Emperor, and thus to submit to his authority instead of the God of Israel.

They won’t do it.

And the king is so angry. That’s how leaders who are full of themselves (hmmm…sounds familiar) get when people aren’t doing what they want – they throw tantrums. He says, “if you don’t worship you’ll immediately be thrown into a furnace of blazing fire, and who is the god who will deliver you out of my hands?”

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego say simply, “We don’t need to defend ourselves to you, O king. Our God is able to deliver us out of the fire – but even if he doesn’t, we will never serve your golden statue you have set up.”

Even if.

Our God is able to rescue us but even if he doesn’t, we will serve no other god.

Even if.

I was listening to a story told by the lead singer of the Christian band, Mercy Me, Bart Millard. He was talking about how one of his children has a chronic illness and was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at age two. His family has learned how to handle this challenge and that child is now 13 so Bart estimates that his son has had over 37,000  shots in his life – because pretty much any time he eats, he needs a shot, too. And it will likely always be this way.

He was telling about one particular day when the reality of his son’s chronic illness was just getting him down, and he felt weighed down by his worries for his son. He and his son and wife had just left the doctor’s office and they ran into a woman from church. She asked what they were up to and he told her they had just been to the doctor to get the 6-month check-up on their boy’s diabetes and the woman said, “I’m going to pray for healing for him – and I’ll have my church do that, too.”

He said his gut reaction wasn’t gratitude, but anger. He thought to himself, “Like that never occurred to me – to pray for healing for my son. I pray every day for that. I know God can heal him, but God hasn’t.  And that is okay.” He talked about how his family and his son have learned how to thrive in spite of the illness and they believe that somehow, some way God will work through that illness to bless the lives of others through their son.  But then he shook his head and admitted it doesn’t feel okay every day.

He talked about how he wants every day to be like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego and be able to say “I know God is able to heal – but even if God doesn’t, I will serve no other god.” Sometimes he is able to do that with his whole heart as he sings praise music in front of churches and stadiums, but sometimes he isn’t able to do that – and then he leans on Jesus and just has to trust that Jesus’ strength will get him through.

It was a beautiful witness as he talked about a song he wrote called “Even If”.

I pray that God gives us that “even if” kind of faith that helps us remember that God isn’t like a genie to grant our wishes. Rather, God is with us in the fire and we can trust that. Even if and when the worst happens. Even if healing doesn’t come. Even if we mess up bad. Even if, and no matter what – our hope is in Christ alone.

I felt that when my mother was dying in a hospital in Waco, Texas. I knew I was losing her and my heart was breaking – but when the nurses needed to change her bedding or get her cleaned up, I would go for a walk on the path around the outside of the hospital. I would walk and cry and walk some more. I didn’t have any words to pray, I have no idea how I wrote any sermons during that time, but out of nowhere in the midst of the despair, old hymn lyrics would come to mind.

“When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well with my soul.”

It was mysterious and comforting and haunting. God kept singing to me in the midst of the fire of that loss, never letting the reassuring songs leave my mind even as I suffered, even as I knew I had to let go.

Even if. Even if and when the worst happens, God is with you in the fire.

Even If

By Mercy Me

They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now, right now I’m losing bad
I’ve stood on this stage night after night
Reminding the broken it’ll be alright
But right now, oh right now I just can’t

It’s easy to sing
When there’s nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I’m held to the flame
Like I am right now

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Well good thing
A little faith is all I have, right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Oh give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

You’ve been faithful, You’ve been good
All of my days
Jesus, I will cling to You
Come what may
‘Cause I know You’re able
I know You can

I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

It is well with my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul


Reflections on Shuffle-Play (the thing where she writes a reflection based on a song from that morning’s run)

Sweet days.

This life has had a few seasons that were so sweet. Days when I couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning because there was so much joy seeping into the hours.

The first summers I worked at camp: Late 80’s glory. Those lakeshore days flew by in a haze of suntan lotion, The Cure, laughter, and green-apple scented shampoo.

Springtime in West Africa: it was 1994 and I was young enough to have everything in front of me, but old enough to be sure I was going nowhere. Surrounded by the coolest people I knew, everything I owned in my backpack, life was a gorgeous, tortured cornucopia.

The summer of 2001: I was in New York at my first church and planning my wedding to my favorite person. Every meal was the best meal, every song that came on the radio was my favorite song, every day was sunny. Good fortune seemed to smile every single place I looked.

The spring of 2014: I was living in Texas and preparing to go on a reality show in Norway. After living through the deaths of my parents, and the deaths of my husband’s parents, and severely questioning my call to ministry, I won a free adventure in Norway. I told my church I was going (and thank God they gave me their blessing because there was no way I was going to miss out on this adventure) and spent my free hours studying Norwegian, running, drinking tequila with lime on ice in the Texas sun, and learning every skill I could think of to help me in the reality show competitions (how to shoot a gun, how to swim, archery,  – none of these skills proved to be helpful, however, at least for the show). While I didn’t get very far in the show, preparing to go was an absolute blast. It was such a joy to think about something so lighthearted after years of dealing with death and sadness.

The beautiful thing? There were those sweet days and so, so, so, so many more. And I am grateful.


by the 1975

Hey now call it a split ’cause you know that you will
Oh you bite your friends like chocolate
You say, we’ll go where nobody knows, with guns hidden under our petticoat
No we’re never gunna’ quit it, no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
Now we run run away from the boys in the blue, and my car smells like chocolate
Hey now think about what to do, think about what to say, think about how to think
Pause it play, pause it play, pause it
Oh we’ll go where nobody knows, with guns hidden under our petticoats
No we’re never gunna’ quit it, no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
Yeah we’re dressed in black from head to toe, we’ve got guns hidden under our petticoats
No we’re never gunna’ quit it. no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
Now you’re never gunna’ quit it, now you’re never gunna’ quit it, now you’re never gunna’ quit it
If you don’t start smoking it, that’s what she said
She said we’re dressed in black, from head to toe, with guns hidden under our petticoats
No we’re never gunna’ quit it, no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
Hey now we’re building up speed as we’re approaching the hill
Oh my hair smells like chocolate
Hey now you say you’re gunna’ quit it but you’re never gunna’ quit it
Gotta get it, gotta get it, gotta get it, gotta get it, go!
And play it cool
Oh and you said we’ll go where nobody knows, with guns hidden under our petticoats
No we’re never gunna’ quit it, no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
Yeah we’re dressed in black, from head to toe, we’ve got guns hidden under our petticoats
We’re never gunna’ quit it, no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
Well I think we better go, seriously better go
Said the feds are here you know
Seriously better go, oh oh, well I think we better go
Said the feds are here you know
Said Rebecca better know
Seriously better go
We’ll go where nobody knows, with guns hidden under our petticoats
No we’re never gunna’ quit it, no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
Yeah we’re dressed in black, head to toe, guns hidden under our petticoats
No we’re never gunna’ quit it. no we’re never gunna’ quit it no
No no no
Well I think we better go, seriously better go
Said the feds are here you know
Seriously better go, oh oh, well I think we better go
Said the feds are here you know
Said Rebecca better know
Seriously better go



Finish Line

Reflections on Shuffle-Play (the thing where I write a reflection each day on a song from that morning’s run)

My husband’s parents died in 2007 – his father, Butch, in January and his mother, Dottie, in August.  Our eldest, Owen, was just one year old then and our baby, Jesse, was born in June of that year.  The last time we saw Dottie was at Jesse’s baptism on August 5th.

It was a warm afternoon when Chad got a frantic call from his sister that their mother had died suddenly.  In the days to come it was surmised that her death had occurred from an accidental overdose.  There had been some leftover medication in the house from when Butch was on hospice care and apparently Dottie had told a neighbor she wasn’t feeling well and was going to take something to help her sleep. A tiny bit of liquid morphine and she just never woke up again.  One tiny sip of an incorrect dosage and she left behind her children and a whole bunch of grandchildren who had planned on a lot more time with her.  She never had to suffer as she slipped peacefully into death, but she left behind a family to suffer – a family who still just can’t quite believe she’s gone.  Forever wondering why she was so careless, or if there was something we missed?  Was she sadder than we thought after Butch’s death?  Was there a part of her that wanted to sleep eternally or was it truly just a horrible error?  Then, finally realizing that every question will always remain unanswered.

We went down to New Mexico to help clean out their house and Chad and his brothers and sister hobbled around the house in shock making piles and going through papers while I tried to chase Owen and hush Jesse.  I led the funeral service and wanted to do such a good job but I didn’t.  I didn’t know the perfect words to say for a loss like that.  I know better what to say for strangers than for my own family.  I have found this to be true again and again over the years.  I am unable to blur the lines in my roles.  The same thing happened when Butch was dying and Dottie called to say he wanted to have communion one last time and could I bring it to him?  We were coming down to see them in a few days.  I was happy if I could do something for him but I felt sick at the thought of how in the world to do this?  How could I knit together words to pray a prayer out loud for my beloved’s father in his last hours?  I felt like I just barely knew how to be a daughter-in-law – I had no idea how to be pastor to him, too.  Butch was family, real family to me – I loved him.  That was the problem.  I knew I would weep sharing the sacrament with him.  I knew I couldn’t put on my ‘pastor face’ for him and be any sort of calm and comforting presence because I would just keep thinking about how sad I was for me and for Chad and for our boys and just everyone that we wouldn’t have him around anymore.  It would be too real, too close, too deep, too much.  I called the hospice chaplain at the facility where he was hospitalized and asked her to bring him the sacrament.  I told Dottie that I was worried we wouldn’t get there in time.  She said she understood.

My pattern of wanting someone else to be the pastor when it comes to my family continued.  Right before my mother had her final heart surgery just weeks before her death, I spotted a hospital chaplain in the hallway and dragged him into her room in ICU.  There was a good chance mom might not survive the surgery. I demanded he pray for her right then.  I bowed my head while hot tears flowed down my face and onto her bedspread.

All the prayers I have said by hundreds of hospital beds but I could not pray aloud for her.  I knew the silent prayers I kept lobbing toward heaven were incessant, but to speak those words aloud, if she were to hear them – I would have been undone.  Not that I was very composed as it was – but I knew I was only capable of being her daughter, not her pastor.

When my children were baptized I put the water on their heads but had pastor friends do the rest of the service.  I only said the words, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit” and it was all I could do to squeak those words out.

I can’t even think about what their confirmation day will be like.

Their weddings?  Oh dear God.

It’s not that I think pastors shouldn’t cry.  Ask anyone in any of the congregations I have served and they’ll tell you I am a crier.  I’ve cried with widows on the anniversaries of their husbands’ deaths.  Tears usually slip out at every baptism and it isn’t strange for my voice to be choked when I’m blessing the confirmation students at the altar rail along with their parents on confirmation day.  In fourteen years as a pastor I have openly wept three times during sermons – during my final sermon at both my first two calls and when I preached at the nursing home on what would have been my mother’s 80th birthday.

I’m not ashamed of any of those tears.  I’m grateful to have work that moves me deeply.  But even so – there are parts of my life when I cannot be the pastor because I need a pastor.  There are times I need someone else to be saying the prayers and administering the sacraments.  There are times I just need to hear someone else speaking the holy and precious words of God to my grief, my joy, my life.

I remember in seminary when I worked at a hospital in the Twin Cities and a priest who worked there as well was recalling his mother’s funeral.  He had done the entire thing himself.  Back then I thought to myself how brave and wonderful it was to be able to do such a thing.  How great that he could do that final thing for his mother.  However, now I see a different perspective.  I feel sad for him that he couldn’t just be a son grieving his mother.  I feel angry for him that probably every significant moment in his family’s life together he couldn’t just be there to enjoy it but rather he probably was expected to say the prayer, do the wedding, speak at the wake, give the last rites.

It’s a blessing to be with people during the most significant moments of their lives – it’s one of the best parts about being a pastor – but we can’t do that for ourselves or for the people we love the most.  We cheat ourselves out of feeling everything that must be felt and being fully the many roles God gives us to fulfill.  I’m so thankful at my parents’ funerals I simply sat down and listened to the preacher speak.  And when my children get married, I want to just be the mother of the groom, slipping the pastor a nice honorarium.

Finish Line

by Train

I thought I knew it all
I’ve been through the highs, said all my goodbyes
Learned to run before I learned to crawl
It’s not worth fighting for if one of us is sure
And one of us is dying, trying to find loves cure

I have waited all my life to paint these cities red
Thoughts I’ve always had here are stuck inside my head
It’s not worth waiting for if one of us wants more
And one of us is dying, trying to find love’s door

When we learn how to fly
We forget to how walk
When we learn how to sing
We don’t wanna hear each other talk

Here we are at the finish line, ah
Here we are at the finish line

And you, you really thought you knew
Everything to do
With holding onto me and holding on
This time is making me slip right through your hands
And now you don’t understand
Trying to find love all yourself

When we learn how to fly,
We forget to how walk
When we learn how to sing
We don’t wanna hear each other talk
When we know what we want
We forget what we need
When you find who you are
You forget about me

Here we are at the finish line, ah
Here we are at the finish line, ah
Here we are at the finish line

Ah, ah, ah

Nothin’ on Me

Reflections on Shuffle-Play (the thing where I write a reflection inspired by a song from that morning’s run)

I do not have high standards when it comes to movies. Basically, I’m content if there is a happy ending. However, I was watching a made-for-TV movie the other day that was so unremarkable I simply couldn’t finish it. There was one scene that has stuck with me, though: the sister of the main character was discontent with many things in her life and tended to blame the people around her for her dissatisfaction. She repeatedly grew angry at her husband for the big brown patches on their lawn, “Why can’t you ever water the grass?!” She kept yelling at him for not taking care of the lawn until one day she decided to go out and water the grass herself. She smiled as she did it – a smile of great satisfaction – as she realized that she didn’t have to wait for anyone to make her life better. She could do it herself. Her whole demeanor changed as she stood there with the hose in her hand, watching the water cascade over the grass. The viewer could see her embracing her power right then and there – and sure enough, before I changed the channel she had already begun to make other changes in her life. All it took was a shift in her perspective. Instead of putting her energy into blaming others or her circumstances, she put her energy into making it better.

I’ve thought of that so often in the last few days. How can I water my own grass, concern myself with the solution rather than the problem? That shift in perspective might seem slight but in reality, it makes all the difference in the world. I can see everything as a problem I have, or I can see everything as a solution I am finding – and I am never alone as I look for that solution. I think this may be one of the greatest lessons life teaches us. A long time ago, I used to feel like so many problems were insurmountable. If I didn’t know what to do immediately in any given situation, all was lost, and I was surely a failure. Despair set in easily back then. It took me a very long time to realize that it was okay to not know the answers, and it was great to ask for help.

Are you upset with a situation and finding yourself blaming others or outside forces? Is there something you could do today to address the problem directly? Can you water your own grass?

Nothin’ on Me

by Shawn Colvin

Well I don’t tell jokes
And I don’t take notes
You been sayin’
There ain’t much hope
You got nothin’ on me
I got friends uptown
And they don’t talk down
They be keepin’ me safe and sound
We got somethin’ to be
So in case you hadn’t noticed
I’m alright
Not like it was before
Things used to be so hopeless
But not tonight
Tonight I’m walkin’ out that door
I’m not gonna cry
When wavin’ goodbye
And I know this time
You got nothin’ on me
Well it ain’t that tough
Just more of the usual stuff
One heartache is more than enough
There ain’t nothing to see
I got friends uptown
And they still come ’round
They be keepin’ me safe and sound
We got somethin’ to be
So don’t you try to save me
With your advice
Or turn me into something else
Cause I’m not crazy
And you’re not nice
Baby if you do
Keep it to yourself
I’m not gonna cry
And I’m wavin’ goodbye
And I know this time
You got nothin’ on me.
(No nothin’ on me)


Sunday Morning

Reflections on Shuffle-Play (the thing where I write a reflection based on a song from that morning’s run)

I didn’t lead worship today. I get a few Sundays off each year and while it is nice to have a Sunday now and then to not extend the mental energy toward preparing a sermon and not be “on” for a Sunday morning, it is equally nice to have the opportunity to worship somewhere else. This morning, I chose to worship at a larger church in a town nearby. I chose this particular church because I like the pastors and because I knew I would be relatively anonymous there. It isn’t a church that typically does a lot with my own so I can slip and out without being noticed by many of the parishioners.

It is important to worship other places because it helps wake up my mind to what other churches are doing. When I spend each Sunday in my own church and focusing on the way we do things, I forget that there is a whole other world outside full of different ways of thinking and doing. I usually come away from other worship services feeling both inspired to try some new things, yet also finding that there are also things I prefer about my own church. Today was no different.

I liked the bright and airy sanctuary, the touches of tradition along with the touches of modern. They recently went through a renovation, so while the outside looks very traditional and a bit cold, the inside is warm and welcoming. The pastors are great – whip-smart, with easy smiles and demeanor. They are both younger than me and have young children, so while I was there I found myself remembering the unique challenges that come with trying to balance all the demands of being a full-time pastor along with all the demands of being a full-time parent to little ones who need you so much. It’s beautiful and hard and precious.

Before we had our boys, I remember thinking parenthood would be a lot like regular life, just with these extra little people around. It was my job to feed them and clothe them and raise them, but it was their job to fit into my world, not me fit into their world. I didn’t realize, because there is no way you can realize until you go through it, how much children alter the world as you once knew it. Nothing was the same anymore. Going out to eat was no longer the same leisurely experience because it became a race to see if we could even get a few bites of our food eaten before one child or the other was in a meltdown. Going to movies was different because for a very long time the kiddos only want to see cartoons or superhero movies – gone were the romantic comedies, dramas, and suspense films. Having a conversation with one’s spouse was immensely different – rather than being able to talk to each other in peace and quiet at any hour of the day, instead we had to cram important conversations into the crevices of our days. There was hardly any room for each other because the children took up so much space and energy. During the worship service I found myself thinking about how quickly the years have passed and so much of early parenthood just felt like trying to keep my head above water. Did we do the best we could? Did we make the most of the time yet savor it as well? What will our boys remember from their childhood?

It was a welcome surprise that part of the worship today was a service for healing. Anyone could come up if they wanted and receive prayers for healing. I wondered if anyone would go forward as sometimes Lutherans can be terribly tentative about things like this – but most everyone in the congregation went forward to receive prayers and anointing. Before they began, one of the pastors said simply that all of us need healing in one way or another. He talked about how it is a flaw in our culture, and particularly in Christianity, that we feel like we need to put on a perfect front. It’s okay to need healing, it’s okay to admit that we hurt and would like someone to pray for us. He spoke those few simple words and a whole church full of people came forward one by one to receive prayers. It was healing for me, too. I’ve done healing services before but usually as something apart from Sunday morning. I’ve never before seen it done like it was done at this church today – and I loved it. I look forward to stealing that idea as soon as possible.

My youngest came with me to church this morning. He sang along loudly with the worship band. Then, we went out for lunch at a Chinese restaurant. On the way home, we saw the fish houses and ice skaters out on the lake. We sang along to classic rock and talked about making cookies this afternoon. It is an unusual Sunday, but a good one. A chance to see the world, worship, and my own life from a new perspective. Thanks be to God.

Sunday Morning

By No Doubt

Sappy pathetic little me
That was the girl I used to be
You had me on my knees

I’d trade you places any day
I’d never thought you could be that way
But you looked like me on Sunday

You came in with the breeze
On Sunday morning
You sure have changed since yesterday
Without any warning
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you well, so well

You’re trying my shoes on for a change
They look so good but fit so strange
Out of fashion, so I can complain

You came in with the breeze
On Sunday morning
You sure have changed since yesterday
Without any warning
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you well, so well

I know who I am, but who are you?
You’re not looking like you used to
You’re on the other side of the mirror
So nothing’s looking quite as clear
Thank you for turning on the lights
Thank you, now you’re the parasite
I didn’t think you had it in you
And now you’re looking like I used to!

You came in with the breeze
On Sunday morning
You sure have changed since yesterday
Without any warning
And you want me badly
Because you cannot have me
I thought I knew you
But I’ve got a new view
I thought I knew you well, oh well

On Sunday morning
And I don’t want it
Sunday morning
I thought I knew you
Sunday morning
Oh you want me badly
Can have it
Sunday morning
Sunday morning
Sunday morning


Tripping Billies

Reflections on Shuffle Play (an exercise in which I write a reflection based on that morning’s run)

I wish I kept count of all the times that people talked about calories, points, diet, or weight over the course of our Thanksgiving festivities.

It was the first Thanksgiving of my life I was feeling comfortable in my skin and content. I had neither starved beforehand to prepare for the onslaught of calories nor was I intending to exercise more than usual the next day. I wasn’t afraid of the challenge of all the enticing food, just happy to be sharing a good meal with people I loved. For the first time, I could really focus on all I am thankful for: my children, my husband, the beautiful weather, living near enough to family to see them on the holidays, good health, the list goes on and on.

And because my vision was clearer this year and I wasn’t so distracted by my war with my weight and the scale, I was able to observe what a toll the weight-loss war takes on people. I observed how easily people talk about diet and weight, how often people called themselves “bad” for this indulgence or that. I observed it with compassion, because this is a journey all of us are on and it wasn’t long ago at all I was joining in on the poisonous self-talk. Furthermore, the ghosts of my life-long battle with food still loom large – even though I was feeling comfortable with the food in the room and my ability to trust how much my body wanted to eat, I still scanned each picture that was taken yesterday to see if I looked, “fat”. I may not be able to help doing that as long as I live. All of these habits are hard to break.

I think dieting is fine if it really makes a person feel better, however, I found after enough time and energy devoted to it that the benefits did not outnumber the costs. There were still small joys in it: being told I looked good, fitting into smaller sizes, etc., but I found it made my world feel very small. I began to resent the mental energy it took, the time it took. It made me feel boring.

When I was stuck in diet mode, there was always this sense of “just you wait and see.” If I felt bad about myself or incomplete, I thought, “just wait until they all see me after this next diet. I’ll look so good and everything will be so great.” When I stripped that away, I had to be okay with offering myself just as I am to the world. I had to be ready to be happy now, to be content now, to exist in present tense rather than future tense.

I found I like present tense.

However, there are still so many triggers that exist and I have to be careful when they appear. When I hear someone talk about so and so who just lost forty pounds, when I overhear someone mention a new diet they are starting, when I see a “before and after” picture, when I am having a day when I am not feeling so beautiful – any of these things can trigger the feelings that it’s time to change myself. I’m obviously not good enough as I am, time to shift, morph, become, alter.

But instead of giving any energy to those triggering feelings, these days I remind myself to counter all those feelings with the thought of, “maybe you are just fine the way you are.” It’s a small but oh-so significant shift in thought. When I focus all my attention on who I am rather than who I might become if I just change this or that, then I realize that the time is NOW to do all the things I love and care about. Do the writing NOW. Share the writing NOW. Take your kids out for a fun day NOW. Go out with a friend for coffee NOW. Live your life NOW.

So today, I had pecan pie for breakfast because it is delicious. Then, I ran for 30 minutes because it makes me feel amazing and accomplished as I start my day. These days I only use my fitbit as a timer for my runs, otherwise it sits on the little shelf of my treadmill. This Black Friday there is no trace of regret for the cheesecake I ate yesterday, no plan for starting over with a new healthy eating plan on Monday, there’s just me, happy. Now that is something to be thankful for.


Tripping Billies

By The Dave Matthews Band

we were above
you standing underneath us
we were not yet lovers
dragons were smoked
bumblebees were stinging us
I was soon to be crazy

eat, drink and be merry
for tomorrow we die
’cause we’re tripping Billies

we’re wearing nothing
nothing but out shadows
shadows falling down on the beach sand
remembering once,
out on the beaches we wore
pineapple grass bracelets

so why would you care
to get out of this place
you and me and all our friends
such a happy human race
’cause we’re tripping Billies

we are all sitting
legs crossed round a fire
my yellow flame she dances
tequila drinking oh our
minds will wonder
to wondrous places

so why would you care
to get out of this place
you and me and all our friends
such a happy human race

eat, drink and be merry
for tomorrow we die


Losing My Religion

Reflections on Shuffle-Play (the thing where I write a reflection inspired by a song from that day’s run)

Dieting is so much like a religion. Think about it:

It’s common in religions to have lists of actions that are permissible to do and not permissible to do. Diets are entirely made up of those kinds of rules.

Religion often uses the language of “clean” or “unclean” – dieting has begun to take on this language as well with the rage of “clean eating.”

Religion speaks of sinners and saints. We often refer to a decadent dessert as being “sinful” or call ourselves “bad” or “good” depending on how well we have followed our dietary rules on any particular day.

In fact, dieting has become a religion, at least in American culture. A religion that many people strive after and fill countless hours pursuing and perfecting.

I freely admit that long before I ever memorized the Small Catechism I knew the calorie values of most foods.  I pored over exercises in magazines that might give me the legs I wanted. I devoured book after book that filled my head full of information about this eating plan or that one.

And I found community within the dieting culture, too. It’s like a language that most women have all learned how to speak: “Oh, I shouldn’t be eating this.” “No, I’ll have a diet coke.” “I lost five pounds!” “Can you believe how she let herself go?” “Ugh, I feel fat today.” On and on we speak the dieting language – adding some new terms now and then: Whole 30, Cauliflower Rice, Pilates, FitBit, etc. – but it really is all some new lingo for the same old thing: monitor, restrict, try to shrink, rebound, binge, repeat.

I’ll admit as well that I’ve let the lines between dieting and religion get blurry – especially during the season of Lent. So many years I have decided to fast during Lent and have told myself it was for spiritual purposes, yet knowing that I was very excited about the idea of what the Lenten fast might do for my figure.

Some people find comfort in strict religion, just as some find comfort in a strict diet. In fact, when you consider some of the most popular religions, the ones which teach a prosperity gospel (just do this and this and this and God is going to bless you so hard!), they bear a striking resemblance to the most popular diet plans (just eat this and do this and you will look so good!). People like the prosperity gospel preachers because they give an easy recipe for how to live your “best life now!” But eventually reality sets in and people realize that life is full of ups and downs and no amount of faith or good works or good attitude is going to save you from the hard times. Rather, what is life-giving is faith in the One who is with us when times are good or bad, the One who loves us when we are good and when we are not so good.

I guess in the same way, I’ve realized that every diet plan is just another version of the prosperity gospel – full of empty promises, oftentimes repackaged or re-worded, but all just the same. I’ve put my faith in countless diet gurus and exercise moguls: Denise Austin, Bob Harper and everyone from the Biggest Loser, the P90X guy, the group leader at Weight Watchers – I wanted to trust in them and their advice. I built big dreams on their promises, but at the end of years and years of my efforts to fit myself into their tiny molds, I realized my salvation was not in trying so hard to follow someone else’s path. My salvation when it comes to me and my body is just to accept myself the way I am and listen to my body.  It is saying “no more” to dieting.

People get very nervous about the idea of getting off the diet treadmill, because as with any deeply ingrained belief system, it is painful to realize that something you once put a lot of faith in is smoke and mirrors. By the time I was ready to let go of dieting, it just felt like sweet relief, but I can tell that there are many others who aren’t yet ready to call it quits. “It’s all about health,” they say. “I want to live as long as I can so I have to lose weight and be healthy.” That’s all well and good, but I question how much life is really in the life of a dieting person. When I was in the thick of a diet, I was constantly thinking about food, anticipating the next meal or regretting the last meal. I couldn’t really enjoy going out on a date with my husband because the food was full of a land-mine of calories. I couldn’t eat with my children because they would never eat the bland, awful things I allowed myself to eat. My days were marked with checks and numbers on my calendar, calculating my efforts for the day. I was either rigidly eating just a few different “safe” foods each day, or I was in the depths of an all-out binge and absolutely hating myself, planning to get back “on track” the next day.

I grew so sick of tomorrow.

I grew so sick of tomorrow that I realized the only way out of it was to dedicate myself to today.

To be happy today.

To be good enough today.

To allow myself to eat today.

To believe that just as I am, I get to savor everything life has to offer – and I don’t have to wait until I lose those twenty pounds or until my pants are looser. I can have it all today: happiness, joy, movement, love, freedom, food, peace – all of it. NOW!

See, God gave us our appetites and our bodies. I’ve never been rigid when it comes to religion – because I know God is all about grace. So no wonder it has felt so alien all these years to be so rigid about my body. I was supposed to be loving it and treating it gently, not constantly trying to bend it to my will and shape it into something else.

If you are still on the dieting treadmill, it’s okay. I just want to tell you how good it feels to be off of it. I weigh no more now than I did when I was dieting, I just like myself a lot more now. Once I stopped dieting, the binging stopped and that has been life-saving. That isn’t to say that there aren’t still days when I want to eat my feelings, and sometimes I do, but I work especially hard then to be kind to myself. I don’t punish myself with exercise for hours, I don’t starve myself the next day to try to make up for any excess the day before. Instead, I eat and I move and I do things that make me happy. I treat myself grace-fully.

I feel healthier than I have in a long time and I eat better. I eat real food. I eat all kinds of food! I love my appetite and I love eating with my husband, my kids, my friends. I look forward to holidays finally after dreading them most of my adult life.

The religion of weight-loss proved to be a false god for me. The times I was thinnest I was so unhealthy – starving and smoking my way into smaller and smaller sizes. My life had no life. I was too hungry and self-absorbed to think about much else. If there is anything I have done that has been detrimental to my health, it has been the constant cycle of going up and down the diet rollercoaster. It’s been detrimental to my physical health and my mental health. So much anguish and energy and time I frittered away at the altar of diet culture.

I have a Facebook friend who is currently on some weight-loss regime and every few days she is going to her weigh-in place and then she posts online how much weight she has lost. She is so excited to see the scale go down. I have such compassion for her because I have been there so many times. I’ve felt that exhilaration, I’ve felt the envy of the people around me as I shrank, and I’ve been drunk on the feeling of power it brought. And who knows, maybe she will be one of the 5% who is able to keep off the weight with militant attention and self-control, measured portions and a couple meal-replacement shakes a day for the rest of her life. God bless her. It’s not for me. I took that road a thousand times and it never led anywhere good. This road, though? This road of being comfortable in my current skin, content in my current life, joyful in eating what sounds good to me, and the scale stashed securely in a back closet? It’s a journey I hope to continue for a long-ass time.

Losing My Religion

by REM

Life is bigger
It’s bigger
And you, you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I’m choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up

Consider this
The hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me
To my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
Now I’ve said too much

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
That was just a dream

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream, try, cry, why, try
That was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream



You’re My Best Friend

Reflections on Shuffle-Play (where I write each day inspired by a song from that morning’s run)

I’m not at my



Most excellent

Very Best

State of Being


Not even close.

Pretty sure if I were to step

On the scale today

It would say

I weigh

One thousand pounds.

I don’t want to care about that

Yet, I do.

I care that I feel cumbersome


Taking up too much space


Last week I felt great

And I did nothing differently

Than I have been doing this week

Yet I blame myself today

I must be living wrong

Eating wrong

Doing wrong

To feel so crummy right now.

Because why else would I feel so icky?

It must be my fault for feeling


Icky is the word for it.





A massive zit

A zit the size of a newborn

adorns my chin

It greets everyone before I do

When I walk in the room

At the age of forty-seven

My zit the size of a small village

is nestled in the midst of my wrinkles

Looking out of place

But determined.

I ran this morning – even faster than usual

But felt heavy with every step.

I have a cut on my thumb.

The small red pepper I was cutting up

To go in my eggs

Was tricky to cut.

My thumb was not.

It sliced and bled so easily.

And hurts like hell.

The band-aid is obtrusive and

Wants to type its’ own words.

Dear sweet baby Jesus

I hate all my clothes –

They are unflattering and

I blame them for

Being so…







And my hair!

My hair is weird, dry, and flat.

And decidedly gray.

Not a shimmering silver.

Not arctic blond or nearly snow-white.

Just gray.

Cloudy, rainy day-gray.

When will I ever

Get it all together?

I’m drinking my water

I’m eating my vegetables

Getting plenty of sleep

Nary a drop of alcohol
But still.

This day, I feel

Hit by the ugly truck

That hit me once

Backed over me

And hit me again

And then parked on top of me.


Why oh why

Oh why oh


Are some days

This way?

The only thing to do

Is take good care of me

And gently, softly say

“Tomorrow will be better.”

I remind myself that

looking good

And feeling good

Every day

Is not the rent I have to pay

For being a woman in this world.

Some days you will feel like a rock star

Some days you will feel like crap

But every day, you are valuable.

Every day, you are worthy

Of love

Of nourishment

Of joy

Of being treated well.

On the days you feel less

Than your most excellent, perfect,

Shiny, shimmering self

Remember to be extra kind

To yourself.

Some days

Are just this way.

Be kind to you.

Maybe ask yourself what you need

Right now.

A nap?

To be quiet with a good book?

To go for a walk?

A movie?

Whatever it is –

Be sure you are looking for ways

To bless yourself

And not punish yourself.

Punishment is never the way

To treat someone when they are feeling down.



Sweet words

Gentleness –

Give yourself these things

You deserve them.

Especially on days like this.

Be your own best friend.


You’re My Best Friend

By Queen

Ooh, you make me live
Whatever this world can give to me
It’s you, you’re all I see
Ooh, you make me live now honey
Ooh, you make me live

You’re the best friend
That I ever had
I’ve been with you such a long time
You’re my sunshine
And I want you to know
That my feelings are true
I really love you
You’re my best friend

Ooh, you make me live

I’ve been wandering round
But I still come back to you
In rain or shine
You’ve stood by me girl
I’m happy at home (happy at home)
You’re my best friend.

Ooh, you make me live
Whenever this world is cruel to me
I got you to help me forgive
Ooh, you make me live now honey
Ooh, you make me live

You’re the first one
When things turn out bad
You know I’ll never be lonely
You’re my only one
And I love the things
I really love the things that you do
You’re my best friend

Ooh, you make me live.

I’m happy, happy at home
You’re my best friend
You’re my best friend
Ooh, you make me live
You, you’re my best friend