happy birthday, Lilly!

Lilly turns 12 today.  Twelve.

"It's my last year of being a 'tweener," she informed me the other day. 

I had to think about that.  It seems hard to believe that anyone might mistake Lilly for anything other than a teenager.  For one thing, she is tall; tall for her age and especially tall for a girl in our family.

And Lilly is strong.  She can punt a soccer ball farther than I could carry it even on my best day.

And she is fearless.  Lilly insists on watching scary movies in the dark.  "It's scarier that way," she says.  Then, when the movie is over, she's not afraid to go down in the basement or out in the yard.  And when Lilly is in goal, she will fall on a soccer ball as though it is a live landmine and it is up to her to save an entire village of orphans (makes me cringe just to think about it!).

Recently, one of Lilly's teachers told me that some of her classmates had singled Lilly out as the "kind of kid who could do anything." And I believe it.

Still, there is something very child-like about Lilly.  And I mean that in the best possible way.

She still goes trick-or-treating on Halloween, and begins planning her costume weeks in advance.

And Lilly still gets excited about her birthday--and isn't ashamed to say so. "Its my birthday in two days, six hours and 42 minutes," she will declare, out of the blue.

And, best of all, Lilly still lets me read with her before bed, a practice her sisters had long since given up by the time they were twelve.

"You know," I said at last.  "There's no rush.  You can be a 'tweener for as long as you want.  Longer, even. Because I like you just the way you are."

Happy Birthday, Lil!

communion

I like to serve communion.  There is something so basic, so real about it.  If you have ever fed somebody who was truly hungry then you will know what I mean.

Everybody comes to the table differently.  Some come full of enthusiasm and excitement, while others come slowly, reluctantly, if at all.

Some who come know exactly what to do; where to stand, when to take the bread and the cup, and. most importantly,  when to sit down, Others have no idea what they are doing or what comes next. They look like deer caught in the headlights, waiting for me to do something.

Some people become very social around the communion table.  "How have you been?" they whisper as they reach for the bread.  Others are quite solemn, looking at nothing and no one as they contemplate the body and the blood.

Some who come to the communion table wear their hunger on their sleeve, while others keep theirs tucked away in a pocket or a purse where no one can see it. But it is still there.


Sometimes, when I am at the communion table, I am reminded of the time I was asked to help out in a food pantry in Mexico.  The pantry was held in a little church in one of the most desolate areas of one of the most dangerous cities in Mexico.  When we arrived, people, perhaps in the hundreds, were already lined up outside, waiting.  Men, women, old people, young people, infants stood in the sweltering sun, hungry, longing to be fed.

When we had finished laying out the food on tables in front of the altar as well as along the walls of the sanctuary, -the doors to the church were thrown open and the people were invited to enter.  Some made their way around the room as though they knew exactly what they were doing; others entered slowly, reluctantly as though they had no idea how they got there or what they were to do next. Some of the people chatted noisily in a language I could scarcely understand while others simply smiled their thanks.  Some cried; while others laughed.

I am convinced that what happened that day in that little church was no less communion than the service we hold in our church every other Sunday.  And it is not because we gave out food or even because we were standing around the altar. It was communion becuase all of us, servers and served alike, came hungry with our hands and hearts open, longing to be fed.

"Do this," Jesus said, "as often as you will in remembrance of me."