Tonight is amazing.  I have no meetings to go to.  What this means is that I get to eat dinner with my guy.

It also means that I’m aware that this ability to dine with family is a rare thing.  Given that most folk don’t do church all hours of the day, evening meetings are a must.  But not tonight!

Blended into the joy of supping with kin is a meeting I went to today.  A group of Richfield clergy gather monthly to build relationships, pray for each other, and discern how we can bring the voice of faith into the living our our city’s days.

I’m excited by the energy and heart around the table.  We are blessed with faith heritage that calls us to build communities grounded on the justice and compassion vision of our God.  Learning together how we can be any darn use in our city is powerful and necessary work.  We’re doing it.

So tonight, as I savor time over dinner with my guy, I savor the power of being a part of the movement of salt and light that is Christian discipleship.  As Eugene Peterson paraphrases the salt and light portion of the Sermon on the Mount, we are called to live in such a way that we bring out the God flavors of the world.

Delicious, this discipleship.

This morning came early.

My daughter Rachel has been diagnosed with a snarky kind of thing:  autoimmune pancreatitis.  She is being doctored by the best.  Part of her care involves doing an endoscopic biopsy and so here we are, at 6:30 AM, feeling the mystery of being flesh.

I’m sitting in a waiting room, knowing that there is nothing I can do to make this time any easier for her.  Time was when I could hold her on my lap and sing out the scare.  Now, we joke and breathe and motor though the morning knowing that on the other side there will be rest and relief.

Our world has been rocked by this realization that every single working part in our bodies is under-appreciated gift.  Autoimmune diseases are wily and they defy assumptions, since the body decides to turn against its own good sense.

In reading about autoimmune diseases, I am learning that they are 30% genetic, that if there is one occurrence in a body there are apt to be others, and that stress and environmental toxins are often the catalyst for flare ups.

And I think dear God, how is it we are spewing chemicals into creation so mindlessly that more and more are finding themselves piloting bodies that act out against themselves?  When will it be decided that pesticides and hormonal enhancements and all manner of tinkering with delicate balances ought be seen as outrageous and arrogant dabblings in the delicate good that is?

The questions provoked by Rachel’s (and our whole family’s) awareness of vulnerability are many:  Was she exposed to toxins?  Did I eat or drink something while carrying her?  Will her pancreas flare again?  How can I keep her safe?  What did it feel like to NOT worry about her?  All these questions are part of the living of these days and they prompt the most powerful questions of them all:

How will we each live the wonder of our being?  How to savor the intricate workings of our bodies?  How to care for flesh and thank God for (as poet Marge Piercy puts it) “that which does not hurt”?

How to live health in an increasingly toxic soup?

So many questions while waiting.