Chapel

An overview of Chapel seems to shape up like this:

Monday through Thursday = chapel with the staff from 9-10. Each day is a bit different. Mondays during lent Rachel (staff member) is focusing on the topic of Lent. Tuesdays are a time for reading a passage of scripture three times and meditating and praying (Leccio Divina -- sp?). Wednesdays are set aside for one of the staff members to speak about one of the lifestyle celebrations of Word Made Flesh. Thursdays we sing and are reading through the Psalms. Tuesdays we usually have book study, and I am helping with Heart of the Child on Thursdays, so unless plans are rearranged, I only can attend on Mondays and Wednesdays. But I'll take it.

We will usually start with prayer and singing--Rachel or Magda plays guitar and leads singing in Romanian. I was actually pretty excited this week as I've been able to understand the page numbers in Romanian. It's the small things, people. The staff is gracious enough to read the Scripture in both Romanian and English, and then translate the talks. Thankfully!!

This month the lifestyle celebration has been simplicity. I've come away from those talks on simplicity with the understanding that it is more than just not buying a lot of clothes or having a lot of things. It is also about having a still and quiet heart--about being able to just be and be present with others. Simplicity can be about letting go of things we want to control but can't, at least in our mind and heart, and then giving God the space instead. My mind is always going--thoughts may not be formed in complete paragraphs-or even sentences, but it is whirring usually. Simplicity is also in stopping that whirring activity.

I get the picture that I am pulling this sled behind me--full of things I think I might need. It's like I'm trying to anticipate all the time what I think everyone else may need, and so I lug around this sled with a bunch of different hats (or whatever) that will enable me to fill a need or help somehow. And the simplicity that I'm learning about is this: it's like God says softly "Drop it, girl." And as I let go of the rope attached to this huge sled of stuff, my arms drop to my sides. Empty. I don't have to think about how I can fill a hole, but can just stop. And really see the other person (staff, child, servant team member). And listen well. And love well. And the secret worry that I have regarding being enough? Well, part of this learning to trust God will be that even though I feel a little naked without the sled o'tricks, that maybe I'll be able to be in the moment more and see individuals for who they are a little better. And this is scary because I feel more vulnerable, but it will enable me to be more open.

Okay, so how does this play out in reality? Not sure. But even the weak attempt to describe it, I think, gives me peace. Or a stillness, at least.