This weekend we celebrated Valentine’s Day. It is the day each year when we praise all things love. We give cards and presents like chocolate and flowers and do special things for those that we love. In my house, we don’t really observe this holiday as it is one of my least favorite days. It’s not that I don’t love my spouse or my children, but rather I think love is something we should be striving for and communicating all year long.

I am well aware that not everyone agrees with me.

In our conversations about homelessness over the past few weeks, I’ve thought back to some of my internship experiences at Tacoma First United Methodist Church. As I mentioned in my sermon a few weeks ago, people experiencing homelessness would sleep in the doorway to Tacoma First and along the street outside the church. One of my internship projects involved engaging with this community on a basic level of learning their names and helping them pack up their stuff on Sunday morning. Before this internship, I’d never talked to anyone who was experiencing homelessness, so this was a learning experience for me.

One of the first classes I took in seminary was Pastoral Care. Much to my surprise, the entire point of this class was to teach us to listen. For ten weeks, we worked on not offering advice, trying to fix another person’s problems, or turning the conversation around to similar situations we had been through. Since these were the techniques we’d often used in the past when talking to someone grieving or struggling, we spent most of the time unlearning our old habits! Many of us did not come into seminary with the skill of listening, but by the end of the class, we had a better idea of what listening really involves.

Over the last year, my youngest girls and I have started a practice of watching a television show in the evenings. We change into our jammies, cuddle up under a blanket together, and watch some good wholesome television. We have watched Anne with an E (based on the Anne of Green Gables), When Calls the Heart, and we have just started Little House on the Prairie. I’ve been surprised how much vocabulary and life lessons have been taught through these shows and the conversations that follow. I have found renewal and joy in our giggling together and our collective screams as characters miss something important.

Today, we will inaugurate a new President, in the midst of a raging pandemic and in a country that remains bitterly divided. According to a Pew research study conducted in November of 2020, eight out of ten registered voters in both parties said that their political differences were about core American values, and nine out of ten registered voters worried that a victory by the other political party would lead to “lasting harm” to the United States. Where do we go from here? And what does the church have to say to this deep division?

I’ve tried several spiritual practices in my life, but only one practice has stuck with me year after year. It’s the simple practice of keeping a gratitude journal. I often recommend this practice because there are no special tools or training necessary, and it only takes a few minutes a day. All it requires is to write down three things each day for which you are grateful. The real challenge of the practice is not the technique, it’s simply committing to do it. On days when all the news is bad. On days you struggle to feel grateful for anything. On days when this simple practice feels like real work.

This past Monday marked the winter solstice for 2020, our longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere. From this point on, we move slowly, a few minutes at a time, in the direction of more daylight and more sunshine. While sunset on Monday was at 4:22 pm, by the end of January, the sun won’t set until 5:11 pm. If we just hold on, longer days are on their way!

I clearly remember the first winter I lived in Seattle. Week after week, I naively turned to the weather page of the Seattle Times, hoping for sunshine. I hadn’t been prepared for so many weeks (and months) of dreary drizzle. Driving to and from work in the dark and the rain, I questioned why anyone would want to live here! Even veterans of Seattle winters complained that year, as 1998/1999 ended up setting a record for winter rainfall of 22.77 inches (later far surpassed by the memorably rainy winter of 2016/2017).