Liturgical Dance—NOT for me!

There are many things in life I am willing to try spontaneously and without much hesitation. But if you had asked me to make a list of activities I would never participate in, creative movement or liturgical dance would have been near the top.

Never.

So when the Gathering small-group descriptions came out, I read the following invitation, and I was surprised that I paused.

Praise in Motion
Leader: Carin
Kids welcome!

What if, within our church, we viewed dance as another form of communicating praise and worship to God? If you have an interest in joining a group of diverse members in giving this a try at Eastern, this is the group for you. Young and not-so-young are invited to gather together to create a unique non-spoken expression of worship. The song we will be using is “Where Can I Go?” by Ellie Holcomb — the lyrics lend themselves to beautiful and gentle movements.

Why did I pause when I already “knew” I would never do something like this?

Perhaps it is because I so deeply admire how Carin moves through the world with gentleness, authenticity, and courage.

Perhaps it is because Molly, Pearl, and Sam have become some of my heroes in living authentically, and the invitation to experience something alongside them felt safe and kind.

Perhaps it is because Eastern has become a space where trying something new does not feel performative or pressured, but simply welcomed.

Or perhaps it is because somewhere along the way, I have begun to believe that worship involves more than words alone.

Carin chose a song connected to Psalm 139 because movement helps her children engage more deeply with the passage. Memorization can be difficult for them, but pairing motion with the words opened a pathway for learning, connection, and expression.

And honestly, there is something profoundly beautiful about that.

Psalm 139 is not simply something to be understood intellectually. It is something to be experienced in the body and soul:

Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?

Perhaps movement helps us remember what our minds sometimes struggle to hold — that we are fully known, fully seen, and never abandoned by God.

And perhaps worship is not about getting the motions “right,” but about being willing to respond to the invitation and enter in!

Where can I go?

It takes a village—to live a life

The phrase “it takes a village to raise a child” has always felt true to me. Children flourish when surrounded by people who nurture, guide, protect, encourage, and simply remain present.

But the older I get, the more convinced I become that the saying is incomplete.

It does not only take a village to raise a child.
It takes a village to live a life.

And perhaps what I really mean by village is community.

One of the more difficult questions I find myself wrestling with at this stage of life is surprisingly simple:
Who is my village/community?

Not who do I know.
Not who knows me casually.
But who walks with me closely enough to help carry life when it becomes difficult? And whose burdens am I willing to help carry in return?

I think our culture often measures community in numbers. How many friends. How many followers. How many invitations. How many people fill the room.

But I am learning that the health and depth of a village is rarely about quantity.

It is about how we show up for one another.

And honestly, I think I learned that first from my Dad.

This was written by my sister and shared at his funeral

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He taught us:
Show up.

Show up to church when your community gathers to worship.
Show up for your friends when hard things happen.
Show up for your family when they perform in a concert, play in a game, celebrate a milestone, or lock their keys in their car again.

He loved solving problems.

And if someone he cared about was stirring the pot for a just cause, he would grab a spoon, show up, and stir that pot right alongside them.

He was with us—and I dare say with many of you too—in real and tangible ways when we needed someone exactly like him to show up.

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The older I get, the more I realize community is often less about grand gestures and more about faithful presence.


The people who text when they know something heavy is sitting on your heart.
The people who stay through grief instead of disappearing in discomfort.
The people who celebrate goodness without envy and sit beside pain without needing to fix it.

And perhaps community is not simply about finding people who will show up for us.

Perhaps it is equally about becoming the kind of people who show up for others.

Because true community asks something of us.
It asks for vulnerability.
Consistency.
Time.
Patience.
Forgiveness.

Yet when we experience it—even imperfectly—it becomes one of the clearest expressions of grace we encounter in ordinary life.

Maybe that is because we were never meant to carry life alone.

Not as children.
Not as parents.
Not as aging adults.
Not in seasons of joy.
Not in grief.
Not in uncertainty.

It takes a village to raise a child.

But even more than that—

It takes a village to live a life.

For Such a Time as This

There is a mystery to living life—both on the best of days and on the days that feel deeply difficult. That mystery draws me into curiosity, asking why I have been the recipient of such deep love, abundant grace, unwavering support, and unexpected peace.

These questions rarely come with answers. Instead, they linger quietly, inviting my heart to reflect and wonder.

And often, I land on a recurring thought—one that begins in my mind and settles deeply into my heart:

For such a time as this.

The questions on harder days are not filled with the same goodness. They are often more complicated, shaped by thoughts that do not feel nearly as hopeful:

Why is life so complicated?
Where am I supposed to find peace in these spaces?
Why can’t I stay on track with the goals I long to accomplish?
How do I dismantle the thoughts that stand in the way of goodness?

And yet, when I begin to unpack even these difficult questions, the answer somehow remains the same:

For such a time as this.

Sometimes this phrase becomes a statement of trust—a reminder that I am deeply loved and held by a radical Savior who knows and understands these moments far better than I ever will. And so, for such a time as this, I am held, loved, and cared for.

Sometimes “for such a time as this” becomes a statement of assurance—that the goodness I am experiencing is real, trustworthy, and full of promise.

But always, “for such a time as this” becomes a statement of comfort. It reminds me that this very moment is not accidental. It reminds me that I am called to a life of continual growing and changing, and that if I simply keep taking one step at a time, all will be well.

Not easy.
Not always clear.
And likely not what I anticipated.

But still, for such a time as this, all will be well.

Mother’s Day as a single woman

I am a single 56-year-old woman who has never birthed children. Mother’s Day could feel like a sad day for me.

But it doesn’t.

Somewhere along the journey of my heart, I learned that caring for, nurturing, and loving children is not only the privilege of those who gave birth to them.

I am grateful for a family and community that have supported my life as a single woman. I am surrounded by people who love me well. I have siblings who love and support me, and I have had the great joy of loving and supporting their children — and now their children’s children.

But really, it began before that.

I grew up in a family where marriage was celebrated, but not expected. I am deeply grateful that my family embraced single living as well as marriage. I never felt that marriage brought more worth or value to my life.

That does not mean I did not long to be married or have a family of my own. But it does mean I have been able to live with peace in the life that is mine.

So many life events seem to take shape around marriage and children — wedding showers, weddings, anniversaries, school events, graduations, births, birthdays.

And then, of course, there is Mother’s Day.

In my family, I have been celebrated right alongside my mom and my sisters who are mothers. I have learned that nurturing and loving children — whether biological, chosen, borrowed, or beloved — is a celebration of the way lives are shaped by the tender heart of a woman.

As a child, I remember reading the book Are You My Mother?

Although the story is about a little hatchling searching for its mother, the question has stayed with me in a different way. Perhaps we are invited to offer one another glimpses of that kind of love — love that protects, nurtures, notices, teaches, and stays.

I am who I am because of my mother’s love. And I am also who I am because of the many women who have poured into my life.

I may not have biological children, but I have chosen to pour myself into others. I have nurtured and loved with my whole being. As Mother’s Day approaches, I can see so many faces of children I have loved. Here are a few, but there are so many more I hold close to my heart and in my prayers!

The question, Are you my mother?, has become part of my story. Not because I need the title, but because I know the call: to love those around me with purpose, passion, and commitment.

This Mother’s Day, I hope you are able to love and be loved.

If you have children, may you be at peace and be blessed by those around you.

If you do not have children, may you be embraced and blessed.

If you have lost children, may you experience comfort and be blessed.

And if you long for children, but do not know if the desires of your heart will be honored, may you hold hope and be blessed.

Listening to Hesitation…

On Sunday, I felt the Spirit speak through music. As I sat with it later, I knew it was something I didn’t want to rush past. It felt like a message meant to stay with me.

This morning, I woke up wondering: Where will I hear the Spirit today?

Today, I heard it in my hesitation.

I was at the car wash, taking advantage of what felt like an early spring day. I decided to vacuum out my car, taking a little extra time. As I worked, a car pulled up next to me. I glanced over—and then looked again.

The driver, an older woman, was carefully navigating a walker.

I felt the immediate nudge to step in and help. But just as quickly, hesitation followed. I wondered if I was misreading the situation. Maybe the walker belonged to someone else. Maybe I would be interrupting. Maybe I would get it wrong.

So I stayed where I was.

I went back to focusing on the crumbs under the car seat, but I couldn’t quite shake what I had seen. When I looked again, she was clearly making her way toward the vacuum which seemed positioned just slightly higher than seemed comfortable to reach.

We made eye contact.

She smiled and nodded, as if to say, “I’m okay.”

I smiled back and gave a small wave. I put my vacuum away, still feeling the quiet tension within me—the desire to help, and the equal desire to respect her independence.

As I pulled forward toward the wash line, I noticed she was pulling hard against the suction of the vacuum hose.

I paused and watched as she worked through it. When the hose finally released, there was a small but real sense of victory.

She turned toward me. Our eyes met again.

I rolled down my window and said, “Way to go—that is some serious suction.”

She laughed. “I won.”

“You sure did,” I said.

“God bless you,” she replied.

“And may He bless you with abundance,” I answered.

And that was it—a moment, a smile, a blessing exchanged between two people who would likely never meet again.

As I drove through the car wash, I found myself wondering why I had hesitated. Why I hadn’t stepped in more directly. Why I didn’t offer help in a clearer way.

But then I realized something.

The Spirit wasn’t only in the action I considered—it was in the hesitation itself.

In the pause.

In the noticing.

In the shared humanity that didn’t require fixing, only presence.

There was hesitation in me to offer, and perhaps hesitation in her to receive. And yet, in that space, something still happened. Something good. Something meaningful.

I was reminded of the goodness of others. The quiet strength people carry. The importance of slowing down long enough to truly see one another.

I can imagine how I might respond differently next time. But I also carry this with me:

Sometimes the Spirit speaks not in what we do, but in how we pause long enough to listen.

And for that, I am grateful.

Where have you felt hesitation—and what might it be trying to teach you?

When music speaks

I’ve often wondered what would draw me back to writing.
I miss the rhythm of it—and yet I haven’t returned.

This morning in church, I sensed it clearly:
it’s time.

May has become a month of remembering for me.

May 8, 2015
My Aunt Anita died.

We spent a lot of time together. She was matter-of-fact yet kind—stoic, loyal, and deeply devoted to family.

May 18, 2017
My Aunt Follie died.

We made regular trips to Canada to visit her. She kept her strength in spirit, even as Parkinson’s took it from her body.

Aunt Dot, Aunt Follie and my Mom and I

May 21, 2018
My dad died after a seven-week illness.

His death changed my life. And yet, who I am today has been deeply shaped by him—and by my mom.
I will always carry him in my heart.

Nick, Ryan and my Mom and Dad

May 10, 2023
My Uncle Bob died.

He was married to Aunt Anita. They didn’t have children together, but he became someone I spoke with daily—just to make sure he was okay.
Aunt Anita had asked me to look out for him—and I did.
That relationship changed me for good.

Uncle Bob, my Mom, Aunt Wilma, Aunt Dot and Uncle Adrian

May 25, 2025
My Aunt Dot died.

We did so much of life together. She was not only my aunt, but also my neighbor and dear friend.
We traveled. We shared meals, stories, laughter, and heartache.
But most of all, we shared family.

Jonna, Andy, Trish, Mom, Aunt Dot, Arlene, Suzi, Nick and Dan

May is also the month we always celebrated Hermie—our dear, dear friend who became family.

We celebrated her life through her 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, and all the way to 98.
Last year, on her birthday (May 30), she moved to Trillium Woods and began the final stage of releasing her grip on this world.

Johanna, Aunt Dot and Hermie (Grandma B)

This morning in Church we sang Softly and Tenderly

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling
Calling for you and for me
See on the portals He’s waiting and watching
Watching for you and for me

Come home, come home
All who are weary come home
Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling
Calling, “O sinner come home”

O for the wonderful love He has promised
Promised for you and for me
Though we have sinned He has mercy and pardon
Pardon for you and for me

This song brought every face back to my heart this morning. The following video is why…it was a beautiful moment as Hermie was transitioning from this world to the one we all long for. We will all be called someday to come home…Jesus will call your name—“Come home.”

Grace and peace, ❤️ Trish

An unexpected Monday…

Today, I was aware of the unexpected goodness in my day. None of it was formulated or expected, but somehow, as I realized where I was, my heart felt full…

My hands and arms were full when I went out the door this morning. Almost five months ago, my heart was again enlarged as I embraced my great niece, Umi Anaïca Borgdorff. I had what I needed for my busy Monday. I had Willa’s leash in hand, pulling me towards the car, as she loves to go to the office. Add in a few items Willa wanted to bring for the day, and Umi was hooked on my arm in her car seat. I also carried her sleeping cloud pillow, diaper bag, and bumbo seat. I smiled and thought how good it is to start a Monday with so much goodness!

I delved into my work, Umi chattered in an exceptionally cheerful voice. My dear friend and long-time co-worker had brought such a good breakfast to my desk. I thought a boiled egg and breakfast sausage had never tasted so good, but in the end, I realized that the kindness with which Heather prepares, shares, and engages is so heartwarming. Heather leaves for Mexico in the morning, and I will miss her, but she will return the day before her 50th birthday, and it will be so fun to celebrate her and hear how she spent the time renewing her mind, body, and soul. Another moment of appreciating a Monday filled with so much goodness!

No photo description available. I woke up at 4 a.m. and checked my phone to see how one of our clients was doing. Surprisingly, I learned that one of my nieces got engaged last evening! At that moment, Salida, CO, seemed so far away, but I knew that this would bring even more profound joy to Ellie’s heart. What fun news on an EARLY Monday morning! Welcome to the family Sev!

I ended my Monday in my small group. This group comprises women in recovery and women from my Church committed to journeying with our neighbors. It fills me with an invitation to grow, experience peace, and trust that God has met me today, right where I am. In today’s Monday Goodness, God met me and highlighted all the surprises of goodness when I opened my eyes to notice! I hope you can see the goodness in your life today!

Grace and Peace,

♥️ Trish

 

 

 

CS Lewis and grief

I saw Shadowlands last week. Master Arts put on an excellent play. It reminded me again why I admire CS Lewis. In High School, we had to read Mere Christianity. I did not appreciate his writings then, but since then, some 38 years later, I often find myself reflecting on quotes from CS Lewis.

The other day, I wrote about joy. Today, I have grief in my heart. As my niece is only two weeks away from her wedding day, I feel the absence of my brother, her father, who died in 2012. We have all adjusted in the day-to-day, but then I think of this..“Her/his absence is like the sky, spread over everything.”― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed . It is true, we have adjusted, but his absence is always present. Grief changes us. It does not destroy us, but yes, it changes us!

I am aware that in these two weeks before the wedding, I will do my grief work so the day of the wedding, my heart will not be conflicted with the ache of loss. I will miss Len and his absence will be felt in so many spaces. AND, I want to be fully present in the Joy of Olivia and Sam. If there are moments of grief for them, I want to be with them in their grief, but it feels important for me to give my grief care before the big day!

Being honest about the absence of Len and the grief provoked AND celebrating with my whole heart the joy of the marriage established is something that my heart can hold, and for that, I am grateful!

Grief also presents itself in how I watch our daily events unfold. How we engage one another and how Christians are perceived (some for very good reason) in our world today grieves my soul. This grief feels heavy, and I am tempted to check out, but I must remind myself to keep engaged.  I believe many of us are being challenged to the degree of what we stand for and why. CS Lewis says: It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you merely use it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it? 

Perhaps in this season of life I am being challenged to discover at a deeper level what and who I really trust. It can feel heavy and at times it is. Reality is hard, division is real and having to face the question of how to have a healthy and honest relationship with friends and family, knowing not everything needs to be said but more importantly, being wise about what is and isn’t shared. I pray that in the spaces we share, we will be thoughtful people about how we share our heartfelt convictions.

And in these spaces of question and uncertainty, I miss my Dad, who died in May of 2018. I would like one more conversation, but who am I fooling? I want more of them about all that is unfolding in our world, our community, and my heart. He was a fierce advocate for the Belhar confession, and this confession resonates with me as I know how we are called to face injustice. I miss him for many more reasons, but I miss his voice, wisdom, leadership, and confidence in moving into these spaces that surround us, especially in those spaces right now.

Borgdorff and Belhar

As I go to worship today, I am reminded that God is with us and among us and is still on His throne. He invites my joy and holds my grief. As C.S. Lewis so rightly says, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

Be tender with your grief today,

❤️ Trish

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Living with Joy in difficult spaces….

I came across this recently and paused. I have learned to pay attention to the pause. What resonated for me? The color is muted but still   vivid,  the person appears aging but youthful, peaceful but full of energy, alone but so content! The picture invited me to pause and breathe deeply.

And then the words. The words invited me to pause and breathe deeply as well. To take them in and absorb them. I am practicing living fully present in the moment. I must set aside my focus on performance, duties, and task completion! Isn’t it good to know and embrace that our lives are about o much more than production?

This is a reminder that you are not here just to do things, perform duties, and complete tasks.

You are here also to feel happy, content, inspired, and well within yourself.

You are here to have some fun, create meaningful moments and find the sparkle in your eyes again.

You are here to unravel the magic of being alive, the magic of being you. To heal, to feel whole again.

Do something today that lights you up. That activates your joy. That brings about a genuine smile from your heart.

I hope you will join me in committing to living this out daily. Some days, I feel myself come to life so beautifully; others, I can hardly find the spark to ignite my soul. Still, no matter what, if I am intentionally committed to living alive in my spirit, I am confident I can choose to activate joy and share genuinely from the depths of my heart!

We live in a complicated, intense, broken world. If you can live present to the moment and sprinkle some joy in the world through your actions or even with a bright, beautiful smile, you might invite someone else to live present, heal, or feel whole again! Even when times are hard, may we never lose our joy!

With gratitude for all that is good,

❤️ Trish

 

The messy and holy of every day living…

It has been a while, but I’m back again. I could provide many reasons for my absence from writing, but the persistent urge to blog never fades. Whenever I write, I feel like I’m engaging in something I love.

I want to thank my dear friend Betty Lee, who never pressures me to blog but always reminds me that she misses my posts. So, Betty, because of your gentle encouragement, I’m returning to writing tonight.

It doesn’t surprise any of you if you know me or maybe know me through reading my blog that I am a person of faith. I have attended my current Church since 2003. My Church is a place where I feel known and loved. I can walk in and celebrate the intergenerational relationships, some 20+ years old and others new, and it feels as if we are starting to learn about one another.

I appreciate many aspects of my faith community, but one element resonates deeply and brings peace to my soul. Our mission statement emphasizes “messy and holy work.” This phrase captures the essence of the challenging yet sacred journey of living out our faith and fulfilling the life that God calls us to!

As I return to writing, I want to express that this season of my life feels more messy than holy. However, I believe that God works amid the mess. Through our daily lives, the Spirit will bless our relationships, conversations, the work of our hands, our thoughts and prayers, our last-ditch efforts, pleas, and the cries of our hearts. He will transform our mess into something holy.

In this complicated and broken world, where division is rampant and tragedy often confronts us—where guns, violence, and war take innocent lives, and those who are hungry, homeless, and unemployed struggle to find hope—let us, who live both messy and holy lives, spread goodness wherever we go. We can share a smile, a hug, a greeting, an honest story, tears, or simply a moment of sacred silence.

So, go and live attentively in this moment, both in your own life story and in the stories of others!

Grace and Peace to you,

❤️ Trish

 our vision (eastern ave, grand rapids)

God is making all things new; therefore, we are moving with the Spirit in the messy and holy work of

renewing worship,

nurturing faith,

doing justice,

caring for creation and

building community,

with our neighbors.