Let's face it; sometimes living in the ministry exposes you to situations that would be considered odd anywhere else, and yet, they're just a normal part of this life. I thought it would be fun to call out our odd normalities...
This week's odd normal happened at Walmart. I was doing my weekly shopping for groceries, household supplies and miscellaneous junk when my husband called asking if I would like to join him for a quick lunch. Between finishing up a massive building project, beginning a renovation of the former space, all the celebratory holidays/moments in May and a late Easter, moments together are a rare commodity, so I told him I would finish up quickly and meet him. That's when it happened...I spotted a sweet older lady in the church...not one of the frustrating ones...one of the dear saints of the church, supportive, precious, deserving of a full conversation. But, sigh, I just wanted to shop quickly and make it to lunch. After successfully bobbing and weaving around her, the unthinkable happened...another woman I didn't know from Adam looks up, a huge smile of recognition spreading across her face...
"Hey there, I LOVED what you had to say in the Mother's Day sermon yesterday! I love New Hope. We moved here from Georgia six months ago. I've really felt that...blah, blah, blah..."
Insert my smiling face hiding the internal dialogue that goes something like this... "Crud, who is she? Should I know her? Did she come to Newcomer's night, cause I got nothing... I'm trying to get shopping done. Shoot, she's lonely and is so happy to talk...guilt, guilt, guilt. But I really need to wrap this up. How do I let her know she's important and valued, but I need to keep moving?"
I seriously doubt this happens in most people's lives. At least not getting trapped by complete strangers who know every detail of your life...how many kids you have, their names, ages, interests, etc... I love this life, but you gotta admit, sometimes it's a weird one.
Next aisle over, guess who I bump into? I resigned myself to another long conversation when she smiles, warmly greets me then says, "I'll see you later, dear. I really need to finish my shopping." Have I mentioned how much I love this precious saint of our church?
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
When positivity is a bad thing
I would venture that all of us have experienced the fallout of dealing with negativity...someone in your church just doesn't like you and doesn't feel the need to hide that fact. Maybe they don't like what you're doing; maybe you remind them of someone they couldn't trust...someone who hurt them deeply at some point in their life. Sometimes, I really think it can be as simple as a personality mismatch. Whatever the reason, we probably all have stories of someone who seemed to step on every nerve we have. However, sometimes I think the overly positive people in our churches can be an even greater hurdle for us.
Whoa; hold up a bit. Hear me out before you scroll on to the next thing.
I'm not talking about those God sent battle ready mature Christians we would make parishioner of the week every week if we could. This is a whole different situation... This is that woman who catches you at the door and says, "pastor, we came from x church or x community. They were so cold and just didn't care about people at all. We LOVE it here! The people are so friendly and your sermons are the best I've ever heard in my whole life. The worship should be on the radio it's so good! Where we came from people didn't even notice when we were gone/had surgery/moved. The worship just wasn't real; they were all fake and the preaching didn't feed me..." Cue the music for when you're x church they're talking about at their new church.
Or the new staff member who gushes about how it's the best job they've ever, ever had and sometimes even gives expensive thank you gifts in the first six months they're on staff. These things are extremely flattering to hear and stroke the ego well, but I've learned to groan inwardly when someone gets overly expressive about how amazing the church/their job/I am within the first weeks/months of joining us. I can't remember even one positive staff experience that started this way.
Why is this? I haven't a clue...maybe those who wait to settle in before thoroughly attaching base their attachments less on emotion and more on reality? Maybe those who understand real loyalty and commitment are more careful about where they give it because they know the true, long term cost and are willing to go there? It's just an observation I've made. Thoughts?
Whoa; hold up a bit. Hear me out before you scroll on to the next thing.
I'm not talking about those God sent battle ready mature Christians we would make parishioner of the week every week if we could. This is a whole different situation... This is that woman who catches you at the door and says, "pastor, we came from x church or x community. They were so cold and just didn't care about people at all. We LOVE it here! The people are so friendly and your sermons are the best I've ever heard in my whole life. The worship should be on the radio it's so good! Where we came from people didn't even notice when we were gone/had surgery/moved. The worship just wasn't real; they were all fake and the preaching didn't feed me..." Cue the music for when you're x church they're talking about at their new church.
Or the new staff member who gushes about how it's the best job they've ever, ever had and sometimes even gives expensive thank you gifts in the first six months they're on staff. These things are extremely flattering to hear and stroke the ego well, but I've learned to groan inwardly when someone gets overly expressive about how amazing the church/their job/I am within the first weeks/months of joining us. I can't remember even one positive staff experience that started this way.
Why is this? I haven't a clue...maybe those who wait to settle in before thoroughly attaching base their attachments less on emotion and more on reality? Maybe those who understand real loyalty and commitment are more careful about where they give it because they know the true, long term cost and are willing to go there? It's just an observation I've made. Thoughts?
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Revelations...
Writing has always been therapeutic for me and I've not pursued this outlet for far too long. I'm finding it easier to sort through my thoughts, feelings and issues this way, and the beauty of letting this blog sit idle for so long is that it's a semi private venue :).
I had a kind of revelation this morning...one I can't believe it took nineteen years to have...well, yeah, I guess I can. I'm generally pretty quick to pick up on things, but when I miss them, boy howdy, do I! Working with the worship team in church when you're a Pastor's wife is tricky business at best. People feel very strongly where the arts are concerned, so it tends to be a lightning rod sort of place. Add to the mix that I don't like conflict and am pretty thin skinned where criticism is concerned and, well, sometimes it's just not pretty. Of course, it's usually fine in public, but at home I have times when I struggle in huge ways. The past two and half years I've faced some strong struggles and frankly have battled bouts of depression. I'm a verbal processor, which is just great when you're married to an introvert who spends all his words at his highly public/people oriented job. I've had several melt downs and times I've needed to process what is happening in worship arts...times of frustration with leadership (creatives are horrible at communication, which kills someone like me); I'm always questioning my abilities, questioning my value to the team, etc. It never goes well trying to process these things with Michael and I've always struggled with why that is, when I think it finally hit me this morning. He's a team player...that man is loyal to the death. If you're wrong, he doesn't shy away from confronting that within the team, but if you're part of his team, he's a pastoral marine..."never leave a man behind." He will bleed for you, take the hit for you, take the blame for your failures (both publicly and personally) and on and on. When I air my struggles and bring even legitimate wrongs to light about a team member, in a sense I become the enemy. He is always the pastor in those conversations and can't make the shift to husband, which explains why those conversations always have an odd timbre to them. I'm not entirely sure what to do with this newly discovered information, but oddly, it does bring a sense of relief and understanding...probably also a sense of responsibility to find someone safe for sorting through these things, though that's a tricky business in a parsonage...and will probably mean a Pastor's wife who doesn't live here :). Living in the fishbowl is sometimes really fun and easy, and then there are these moments...
I had a kind of revelation this morning...one I can't believe it took nineteen years to have...well, yeah, I guess I can. I'm generally pretty quick to pick up on things, but when I miss them, boy howdy, do I! Working with the worship team in church when you're a Pastor's wife is tricky business at best. People feel very strongly where the arts are concerned, so it tends to be a lightning rod sort of place. Add to the mix that I don't like conflict and am pretty thin skinned where criticism is concerned and, well, sometimes it's just not pretty. Of course, it's usually fine in public, but at home I have times when I struggle in huge ways. The past two and half years I've faced some strong struggles and frankly have battled bouts of depression. I'm a verbal processor, which is just great when you're married to an introvert who spends all his words at his highly public/people oriented job. I've had several melt downs and times I've needed to process what is happening in worship arts...times of frustration with leadership (creatives are horrible at communication, which kills someone like me); I'm always questioning my abilities, questioning my value to the team, etc. It never goes well trying to process these things with Michael and I've always struggled with why that is, when I think it finally hit me this morning. He's a team player...that man is loyal to the death. If you're wrong, he doesn't shy away from confronting that within the team, but if you're part of his team, he's a pastoral marine..."never leave a man behind." He will bleed for you, take the hit for you, take the blame for your failures (both publicly and personally) and on and on. When I air my struggles and bring even legitimate wrongs to light about a team member, in a sense I become the enemy. He is always the pastor in those conversations and can't make the shift to husband, which explains why those conversations always have an odd timbre to them. I'm not entirely sure what to do with this newly discovered information, but oddly, it does bring a sense of relief and understanding...probably also a sense of responsibility to find someone safe for sorting through these things, though that's a tricky business in a parsonage...and will probably mean a Pastor's wife who doesn't live here :). Living in the fishbowl is sometimes really fun and easy, and then there are these moments...
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Being okay with less than
This is where you're thinking, "Here comes the 'I know how to live in plenty and live in want....I've learned contentment wherever I am' speech." Actually, it isn't...or maybe it is, just not in the way you think. This does actually relate to our move to North Dakota, hang with me for a bit...
When we moved from rural Southwestern Kansas to suburban Michigan a very long time ago it was exciting. And while Grand Rapids, Michigan doesn't show up in movies or top 10 up and coming places to live, we had shopping and lighthouses and coastline (of sorts) close by. We were moving up in the world. Our church was edgy and artsy and we were the "cool" people.
Our move to Sacramento, CA was dramatic, to say the least. We were leaving a church of a 1,000+ people for a new plant of 100+. It was hard to leave friends behind. It was hard to leave a salary behind. It was hard to leave an exciting, fully staffed church behind. BUT...it was California. We rolled our eyes with people and talked about moving to the land of fruits and nuts. Funny thing though, even the people who swore up and down they were glad it was us and not them had an interesting undertone. Reality was, we were moving from nine months of winter and snow falls they measured in feet, not inches, to never seeing snow (unless we chose to drive an hour up to Donner summit to play in tons of snow for the afternoon before driving back to the valley where we would swap snow boots for cute shoes and flip flops once again). We would be an hour from the ocean and an iconic American city. School field trips would often involve crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. Our local news morning show was famous with one of the anchors regularly interviewing big, big stars just because he could and they liked him. Our son was on a t-ball team with the son of a famous rock drummer who was once married to Mia Tyler (as in Steve Tyler's daughter and Liv Tyler's half sister). Famous basketball players (such as Mike Bibby and Chris Webber) shopped at my local grocery store and stood in line next me relatively often. I don't care who you are or how much you gripe about California, you can't help but be at least a little impressed by such realities. It was stretching, yes, but
it was also cool.
And then we moved to North Dakota... And, well, North Dakota isn't sexy. Corporations don't want to put stores here, even though we have people now. And the stores we do have,well, we will shop there no matter what and they know that, so they're plain and very simple. The interesting thing is that, in reality, our sons have way more viable and affordable options for pursuing music and really positive school clubs and groups. We have so many people to reach and have to come up with new and innovative ways of doing everything since books aren't written for the phenomenon we have to keep up with here. Frankly, what's happening here....the people, the innovation, the opportunities, the needs...is amazing. If it were happening somewhere people are interested in, it would go even more viral than it already has. Thing is, North Dakota simply isn't sexy.
Therein lies the interesting thing I learn about myself. I'm blessed beyond measure. My children are flourishing (once Ian got adjusted to school). We're where we are supposed to be. God is reaching
people and we get to be involved in the process. And yet, it's not cool. When you tell people you live
in North Dakota you are suddenly uninteresting. And I find I've cared a little too much about what people think. I've cared too much about being comfortable. I've cared more about whether a ministry or outreach we do is"cutting edge/missional" and not enough about whether it's what is needed and will meet real needs. I know that missional is supposed to be about actually meeting real community needs and leaving our four walls, but sometimes I think it's become more about looking like we're leaving the walls and meeting real needs. And often it's just a big talk excuse for not doing anything, because what is being done isn't happening the way we'd like. Now I'm meddling...but maybe it isn't quite so harsh when you realize I'm talking to myself.
... No, North Dakota isn't sexy. No one will ask to be my Facebook friend simply because I live in North Dakota and they've always wanted to know someone who lives there. People don't come visit us, and certainly not during winter, which is most of the year, but that's okay. God's working on me. I'm learning yet more about my own insecurities and slowly learning about letting me define my surroundings rather than the other way around. Aside from the growth that thankfully comes with
age, I am still the same person, whether my address reads Kansas, Michigan, California or North Dakota.
"Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned to be content with whatever I have." Philippians 4:11 NLT
When we moved from rural Southwestern Kansas to suburban Michigan a very long time ago it was exciting. And while Grand Rapids, Michigan doesn't show up in movies or top 10 up and coming places to live, we had shopping and lighthouses and coastline (of sorts) close by. We were moving up in the world. Our church was edgy and artsy and we were the "cool" people.
Our move to Sacramento, CA was dramatic, to say the least. We were leaving a church of a 1,000+ people for a new plant of 100+. It was hard to leave friends behind. It was hard to leave a salary behind. It was hard to leave an exciting, fully staffed church behind. BUT...it was California. We rolled our eyes with people and talked about moving to the land of fruits and nuts. Funny thing though, even the people who swore up and down they were glad it was us and not them had an interesting undertone. Reality was, we were moving from nine months of winter and snow falls they measured in feet, not inches, to never seeing snow (unless we chose to drive an hour up to Donner summit to play in tons of snow for the afternoon before driving back to the valley where we would swap snow boots for cute shoes and flip flops once again). We would be an hour from the ocean and an iconic American city. School field trips would often involve crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. Our local news morning show was famous with one of the anchors regularly interviewing big, big stars just because he could and they liked him. Our son was on a t-ball team with the son of a famous rock drummer who was once married to Mia Tyler (as in Steve Tyler's daughter and Liv Tyler's half sister). Famous basketball players (such as Mike Bibby and Chris Webber) shopped at my local grocery store and stood in line next me relatively often. I don't care who you are or how much you gripe about California, you can't help but be at least a little impressed by such realities. It was stretching, yes, but
it was also cool.
And then we moved to North Dakota... And, well, North Dakota isn't sexy. Corporations don't want to put stores here, even though we have people now. And the stores we do have,well, we will shop there no matter what and they know that, so they're plain and very simple. The interesting thing is that, in reality, our sons have way more viable and affordable options for pursuing music and really positive school clubs and groups. We have so many people to reach and have to come up with new and innovative ways of doing everything since books aren't written for the phenomenon we have to keep up with here. Frankly, what's happening here....the people, the innovation, the opportunities, the needs...is amazing. If it were happening somewhere people are interested in, it would go even more viral than it already has. Thing is, North Dakota simply isn't sexy.
Therein lies the interesting thing I learn about myself. I'm blessed beyond measure. My children are flourishing (once Ian got adjusted to school). We're where we are supposed to be. God is reaching
people and we get to be involved in the process. And yet, it's not cool. When you tell people you live
in North Dakota you are suddenly uninteresting. And I find I've cared a little too much about what people think. I've cared too much about being comfortable. I've cared more about whether a ministry or outreach we do is"cutting edge/missional" and not enough about whether it's what is needed and will meet real needs. I know that missional is supposed to be about actually meeting real community needs and leaving our four walls, but sometimes I think it's become more about looking like we're leaving the walls and meeting real needs. And often it's just a big talk excuse for not doing anything, because what is being done isn't happening the way we'd like. Now I'm meddling...but maybe it isn't quite so harsh when you realize I'm talking to myself.
... No, North Dakota isn't sexy. No one will ask to be my Facebook friend simply because I live in North Dakota and they've always wanted to know someone who lives there. People don't come visit us, and certainly not during winter, which is most of the year, but that's okay. God's working on me. I'm learning yet more about my own insecurities and slowly learning about letting me define my surroundings rather than the other way around. Aside from the growth that thankfully comes with
age, I am still the same person, whether my address reads Kansas, Michigan, California or North Dakota.
"Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned to be content with whatever I have." Philippians 4:11 NLT
Friday, November 1, 2013
Trail of tears
The past five years have been interesting ones, though if I had my choice, I probably would have gone a different direction in keeping it fresh. We spent the last two to three years in Sacramento really going through a grief cycle as we watched the place of life and deep friendships struggle and slowly sink to a place where paying us for full time work no longer made sense. We experienced anger, grief, denial and hopes that things would get better and eventually realized the cold, hard truth that while we had envisioned retiring in Sacramento, we needed to leave our dream home, friendships and once ideal life behind. The bad news? A terrible economy meant short selling our beloved home (it felt like paying someone to take our memories and a place that had felt like a true home for eight years). It meant leaving family behind. It meant leaving friends and history....people who really knew us...behind. The good news? We were able to short sell our house. We received 10 job offers at a time when churches were letting people go left and right and jobs simply weren't available. The place we agreed to pastor had enough money sitting in the bank that they self-financed a home for us, so we could still own our home. Ironically, while it's not our "dream home" and certainly not new, this home has more space than we've ever had and fits our stage of life with the boys much better than the old one did. The church is growing, we're more than doubling the size of our facilities and the boys are thriving in school here. Both boys have several friends and many musical opportunities we didn't have the resources to make happen in Sacramento. I'm glad there's good news, because a move like that makes you feel like someone ripped your heart out...
Sunday, October 27, 2013
She's alive!
Yes, yes, I live...three plus years following the last post. A lot has happened in the past three years. A lot of God caring for us, a lot of things that should have gone horribly wrong, but didn't, a lot of dreams gone and heartache...
I stared this blog for Pastor's wives but this weekend I've come to wonder if it should be a place of openness and healing for me. Writing helps me straighten out my thoughts and gain clarity. It's also a good way for me to bring closure to feelings I have. It's late...too late for the hectic days that are the life of a senior Pastor's wife and a high schooler's mother. My days are spent either running someone to a practice or getting ready for/entertaining a group in my home, so I will join the snoring man next to me in trying to gain rest for another long day, but maybe I'll sort through the paradox that has been life in recent years a snippet at a time through precious minutes stolen here and there...
I stared this blog for Pastor's wives but this weekend I've come to wonder if it should be a place of openness and healing for me. Writing helps me straighten out my thoughts and gain clarity. It's also a good way for me to bring closure to feelings I have. It's late...too late for the hectic days that are the life of a senior Pastor's wife and a high schooler's mother. My days are spent either running someone to a practice or getting ready for/entertaining a group in my home, so I will join the snoring man next to me in trying to gain rest for another long day, but maybe I'll sort through the paradox that has been life in recent years a snippet at a time through precious minutes stolen here and there...
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Cries
I realize I'm not very good at keeping up here. Honestly, it's been a rough year and I don't have much energy left over after I do what I need to do these days. Have you ever seen a cat swim? There's a reason cats don't like water. When they swim, they look half drowned, barely visible above the water, fighting to make it to shore. That's what I feel like...
The good side of things is that I'm doing my best to learn how to help other people right now. Many of my friends are in a similar boat. It's not hard to miss that struggling, drowning vibe when you're paying attention. This morning I had another really hard pill to swallow, but it brought an epiphany. I'm fairly discerning. I sense things easily and usually know when something is going on whether I'm "in the know" or not. However, much of the time, I keep my mouth shut believing that if the person hasn't told me what they're going through, they don't want me to know. I pray quietly and look for an opportunity to probe further. I'm beginning to realize maybe they want me to ask. Granted, there's a way, place and time, but nothing says love like having someone close to you send a quick message asking, "Are you okay? I sense something's up and just wanted you to know I care." In future days, I'm going to be more bold. I'm going to ask the questions.
Sadly, most pastors/leaders invest in people because they like them (or sometimes not) and need them. I long to invest in people because I love them, whether they help me out or not. When you pour into people because you love them, I believe you're going to care more about what they're struggling with whether it impacts your personal ministry/world or not. It stands to reason unconditional love like that will eventually impact your personal world in huge ways. Caring for people most when it's convenient for you or when that person can affect your own personal ministry/agenda will eventually take it's toll.
The good side of things is that I'm doing my best to learn how to help other people right now. Many of my friends are in a similar boat. It's not hard to miss that struggling, drowning vibe when you're paying attention. This morning I had another really hard pill to swallow, but it brought an epiphany. I'm fairly discerning. I sense things easily and usually know when something is going on whether I'm "in the know" or not. However, much of the time, I keep my mouth shut believing that if the person hasn't told me what they're going through, they don't want me to know. I pray quietly and look for an opportunity to probe further. I'm beginning to realize maybe they want me to ask. Granted, there's a way, place and time, but nothing says love like having someone close to you send a quick message asking, "Are you okay? I sense something's up and just wanted you to know I care." In future days, I'm going to be more bold. I'm going to ask the questions.
Sadly, most pastors/leaders invest in people because they like them (or sometimes not) and need them. I long to invest in people because I love them, whether they help me out or not. When you pour into people because you love them, I believe you're going to care more about what they're struggling with whether it impacts your personal ministry/world or not. It stands to reason unconditional love like that will eventually impact your personal world in huge ways. Caring for people most when it's convenient for you or when that person can affect your own personal ministry/agenda will eventually take it's toll.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Life
I spent last weekend scanning a bunch of pictures of my eldest when he was a baby. Oh my word, he was cute! I'm not talking, "He's my son, so of course he's cute." I'm talking, "Get that adorable baby to a talent scout" cute. Granted, I AM still his mother.
All that scanning pressed upon me how terribly quickly life passes us by. My wonderful sweetheart and I were much younger, thinner people, and while it didn't feel so at the time, in some ways life was simpler. For one thing, you didn't blink and miss January like I did this year.
My sister-in-law has the audacity to get married this month, further complicating life and making me wax even more sentimental. It seems like yesterday I lived that other life and was a bride myself. Today finds me a mother of two, dyeing greys away, moisturizing wrinkly places on my face (while still battling acne...how does that work?) and boldly marching toward middle age. When the heck did THAT happen!?!
Lately, I've found myself grateful that God has made us for eternity. I forget that. I need to make the most of every opportunity. I need to reach as many as possible with the glorious good news of Christ. I also need to remember that God did not make me for a season or even a lifetime as we understand lifetimes. He has set eternity in the hearts of men. He calls us to let tomorrow worry about itself. Yes, He is the God of yesterday and tomorrow, but He is very much the God of today. Instead of worrying about what tomorrow holds (which is tempting) or musing over times I loved and sometimes miss (also tempting), I need to seek what God wants for me while it is still today. I have so many things I would love to do, books to read, things to learn and yet, why must they all happen in the 70 or so years we're given on this earth? He is the God of eternity. Provided I spend today doing what He asks me to do, there will be plenty of time to enjoy the people I love and do the things I love.
All that scanning pressed upon me how terribly quickly life passes us by. My wonderful sweetheart and I were much younger, thinner people, and while it didn't feel so at the time, in some ways life was simpler. For one thing, you didn't blink and miss January like I did this year.
My sister-in-law has the audacity to get married this month, further complicating life and making me wax even more sentimental. It seems like yesterday I lived that other life and was a bride myself. Today finds me a mother of two, dyeing greys away, moisturizing wrinkly places on my face (while still battling acne...how does that work?) and boldly marching toward middle age. When the heck did THAT happen!?!
Lately, I've found myself grateful that God has made us for eternity. I forget that. I need to make the most of every opportunity. I need to reach as many as possible with the glorious good news of Christ. I also need to remember that God did not make me for a season or even a lifetime as we understand lifetimes. He has set eternity in the hearts of men. He calls us to let tomorrow worry about itself. Yes, He is the God of yesterday and tomorrow, but He is very much the God of today. Instead of worrying about what tomorrow holds (which is tempting) or musing over times I loved and sometimes miss (also tempting), I need to seek what God wants for me while it is still today. I have so many things I would love to do, books to read, things to learn and yet, why must they all happen in the 70 or so years we're given on this earth? He is the God of eternity. Provided I spend today doing what He asks me to do, there will be plenty of time to enjoy the people I love and do the things I love.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Question for the day...
I need your help. In a little over a month, I will be serving on a panel that will discuss the practical aspects of spending time with God. Yesterday, I had a great conversation with the seminar director about this session. We chatted about daily time with God and the barriers women tend to raise that cause the relationship side of devotions to fall victim to the "shoulda, woulda, coulda side of things. This is where you come in. I would love to hear from you. Specifically, how has your devotional life changed through different life stages? What elements of personal devotion and worship are the most meaningful/life changing for you (for example: time spent in nature, relaxing in a cozy chair while reading, personal musical worship, etc)? What resources (books, devotional guides, etc.) have been the most beneficial to you? Have you ever had an "aha" moment where you realized what you were doing was entirely out of duty? If so, what idea/element opened your eyes to putting the relational aspect back into your time with God? Any other tips, ideas, etc for enhancing and strengthening your personal time with God?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Greatest Sin
I've always been a "good" person. I was a "good" child, a "good" teenager and a "good" adult. My parents spent exactly zero sleepless nights during my teen years and actually often suggested I should stay out with my friends later than I thought was prudent. They spent a good many sleepless nights after I left home, but that was mostly fighting off the worry that someone might do something truly awful to me, like call me names and hurt my feelings or something. I live with an eye for the future. As such, the momentary pleasures of sin typically hold little attraction in light of the life I easily see them leading to. As I already stated, I'm a "good" person.
My better half and I have spent nearly a year now reading through the Bible. The reading program we're enjoying will find us having read through the Old Testament once and the New Testament twice come the beginning of October. I'm loving the perspective and journey that comes with a broader overview and sense of context. It doesn't hurt that this particular program groups readings more or less chronologically, giving and even greater sense of flow. I'm noticing a pattern.
The nations of Judah and Israel--especially Israel--were rampant with sin. They built shrines and altars to pagan gods in the heart of the Temple. They sacrificed their children to the same gods. They cheated anyone they could, especially the poor and needy. They engaged in wanton orgies and committed every kind of detestable sin imaginable. Vegas had nothing on them. The Pharisees of Jesus' day stood in sharp contrast. Not only did they honor God's law, they built a system of laws around the law to ensure they didn't even come close. They had no tolerance for sinful acts and harshly punished anyone caught in such an abomination. They walked little old ladies across the street, they attended synagogue faithfully, they tithed AND donated to the building fund, they were, well, "good" people.
What is shocking, however, is that when the day is over and all comes to account, these two groups shared the same sin. They suffered the same malady that separated them from God and blinded their eyes to His power and beauty. What was it? Pure and simple pride. Both were entirely self-sufficient and darn proud of it. Both loved having others admire and praise them. Ouch! In the end, what impresses God is a heart in overwhelming love with Him. He longs for people who will humble themselves enough to put themselves in His complete care. Can I trust Him and His plans when they lead to obscurity and disdain? Can I trust Him to take care of my family and our future? Can I trust His leading when it doesn't look like the smartest path to take? Will I listen for the praise of Heaven above all other voices? Does anyone else relate?
My better half and I have spent nearly a year now reading through the Bible. The reading program we're enjoying will find us having read through the Old Testament once and the New Testament twice come the beginning of October. I'm loving the perspective and journey that comes with a broader overview and sense of context. It doesn't hurt that this particular program groups readings more or less chronologically, giving and even greater sense of flow. I'm noticing a pattern.
The nations of Judah and Israel--especially Israel--were rampant with sin. They built shrines and altars to pagan gods in the heart of the Temple. They sacrificed their children to the same gods. They cheated anyone they could, especially the poor and needy. They engaged in wanton orgies and committed every kind of detestable sin imaginable. Vegas had nothing on them. The Pharisees of Jesus' day stood in sharp contrast. Not only did they honor God's law, they built a system of laws around the law to ensure they didn't even come close. They had no tolerance for sinful acts and harshly punished anyone caught in such an abomination. They walked little old ladies across the street, they attended synagogue faithfully, they tithed AND donated to the building fund, they were, well, "good" people.
What is shocking, however, is that when the day is over and all comes to account, these two groups shared the same sin. They suffered the same malady that separated them from God and blinded their eyes to His power and beauty. What was it? Pure and simple pride. Both were entirely self-sufficient and darn proud of it. Both loved having others admire and praise them. Ouch! In the end, what impresses God is a heart in overwhelming love with Him. He longs for people who will humble themselves enough to put themselves in His complete care. Can I trust Him and His plans when they lead to obscurity and disdain? Can I trust Him to take care of my family and our future? Can I trust His leading when it doesn't look like the smartest path to take? Will I listen for the praise of Heaven above all other voices? Does anyone else relate?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Perishable
The running journey with my oldest continues. I'm so proud of him. He is very committed to finishing the entire course of this program even though it has gotten harder for him. We're over half-way through the nine weeks, which means we're walking less and running more. Today we hit the first extended run. We were to run for 20 minutes non-stop. In an effort to make it as good an experience as possible, I orchestrated running before it got hot, with just me and him on a nice cushy track. One lap into the run, he reminded me we forgot to stretch and informed me that he really needed to use the bathroom. So much for my careful planning...
Fortunately, there was an open (if dirty) bathroom on the premises. After he got back, we stretched and set out for the 20 minute run...this time for real. He amazed me at how fast he was as I watched his back and ate his dust most of the run. When we finished this first long run together, he kept saying, "Mom, I'm perishable." Of course, he meant he isn't superman and he was feeling the effects of pushing himself physically, but my mind kept mulling through the passage in I Corinthians 15 where Paul uses the same word in describing our earthly bodies.
"50Now I say this, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. 51Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed,52in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.53For this perishable must put on the imperishable, and this mortal must put on immortality.54But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, 'DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP in victory.'"
My body is perishable. I have limits. I fight the earthly desire to do the easy, convenient, pleasant, comfortable, etc thing. Daily, I must CHOOSE the eternal over the temporary. I must CHOOSE to run the race, to push the perishable in honor of the One who gave me the joy of being able to put on the imperishable and immortal.
Fortunately, there was an open (if dirty) bathroom on the premises. After he got back, we stretched and set out for the 20 minute run...this time for real. He amazed me at how fast he was as I watched his back and ate his dust most of the run. When we finished this first long run together, he kept saying, "Mom, I'm perishable." Of course, he meant he isn't superman and he was feeling the effects of pushing himself physically, but my mind kept mulling through the passage in I Corinthians 15 where Paul uses the same word in describing our earthly bodies.
"50Now I say this, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. 51Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed,52in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.53For this perishable must put on the imperishable, and this mortal must put on immortality.54But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, 'DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP in victory.'"
My body is perishable. I have limits. I fight the earthly desire to do the easy, convenient, pleasant, comfortable, etc thing. Daily, I must CHOOSE the eternal over the temporary. I must CHOOSE to run the race, to push the perishable in honor of the One who gave me the joy of being able to put on the imperishable and immortal.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Run the Race
Summertime, and the livin' is easy. Actually, summertime tends to be a little more chaotic around our house in some ways. With summer comes a laid back attitude and more spur of the moment fun activities with the boys (who are out of school for a couple of months). Laid back also means routine pretty well flies out the window. As the years march by and my boys age much more rapidly than I expected, I've learned to relish times of chaos, lack of routine and spur of the moment trips to the park. My oldest decided to take advantage of the summer months by trying to reach a goal. I'm proud of him.
Michael and I started a running program a little over a year ago. In the months since we started, we've both gotten stronger and have had a fun time (especially lately) challenging each other. My oldest has watched us banter back and forth over who has run the most miles in a given week. He's also heard us compare notes as to how the day went and whether it was a "good" or "bad" running day. About five weeks ago, he told me he really wanted to work up to running three miles by the end of the summer. I was thrilled to hear it. I was even more thrilled when he said he wanted to run with me, not his dad. He's always been a daddy's boy, so the opportunity to spend time reaching a goal just the two of us was an exciting prospect. He does tend to bite off more than he can chew and tends to taper off quickly when the going gets hard, but I figured we'd give it a go. We are now in the middle of week four and I'm very proud of his commitment and drive. Though running has been fun, the best part of this joint effort is one I couldn't have predicted. When you get a boy out running and moving, they talk more. My oldest is far from introverted. He's my social butterfly, but even the most talkative of boys like to answer questions about school and their thoughts and feelings with monosyllables like "fine, good, yep, okay, ick," etc. When we're out walking and running, the rules change. I'm connecting with my son in huge ways in the short twenty to twenty-five minutes we're out together. Plus, I think tackling this goal together has forged a greater bond even when we aren't out running.
This week I've been thinking about how often the Bible parallels our spiritual lives to running a race. The comparison is fairly easy to spot. The more we excercise our spiritual muscles, the stronger we become. It's not always easy to do and at times we may hit walls when we feel we're struggling and getting nowhere. Having a goal and the extra push of reaching that goal pushes us toward greater discipline and helps us reach depths and levels we could only dream of at one point. Running with my son is giving me new perspectives about running a spiritual race. It's more fun to run with someone else, even in those times when you're held back because your partner can't run as fast or as long. It's a great discipline for me to have to think about someone else and encourage them as I run, and I run better when I have the accountability of someone else watching me and expecting me to reach the same goals they are. I have also discovered there's greater joy and benefits in the relationships you forge as you work with someone you love, striving for the same end goal.
Summer has definitely been more laid back for me and the boys (sorry, sweetie), but I think with the change in pace and routine come greater opportunities for introspection and observation. Maybe I won't let the boys start school until September...
Michael and I started a running program a little over a year ago. In the months since we started, we've both gotten stronger and have had a fun time (especially lately) challenging each other. My oldest has watched us banter back and forth over who has run the most miles in a given week. He's also heard us compare notes as to how the day went and whether it was a "good" or "bad" running day. About five weeks ago, he told me he really wanted to work up to running three miles by the end of the summer. I was thrilled to hear it. I was even more thrilled when he said he wanted to run with me, not his dad. He's always been a daddy's boy, so the opportunity to spend time reaching a goal just the two of us was an exciting prospect. He does tend to bite off more than he can chew and tends to taper off quickly when the going gets hard, but I figured we'd give it a go. We are now in the middle of week four and I'm very proud of his commitment and drive. Though running has been fun, the best part of this joint effort is one I couldn't have predicted. When you get a boy out running and moving, they talk more. My oldest is far from introverted. He's my social butterfly, but even the most talkative of boys like to answer questions about school and their thoughts and feelings with monosyllables like "fine, good, yep, okay, ick," etc. When we're out walking and running, the rules change. I'm connecting with my son in huge ways in the short twenty to twenty-five minutes we're out together. Plus, I think tackling this goal together has forged a greater bond even when we aren't out running.
This week I've been thinking about how often the Bible parallels our spiritual lives to running a race. The comparison is fairly easy to spot. The more we excercise our spiritual muscles, the stronger we become. It's not always easy to do and at times we may hit walls when we feel we're struggling and getting nowhere. Having a goal and the extra push of reaching that goal pushes us toward greater discipline and helps us reach depths and levels we could only dream of at one point. Running with my son is giving me new perspectives about running a spiritual race. It's more fun to run with someone else, even in those times when you're held back because your partner can't run as fast or as long. It's a great discipline for me to have to think about someone else and encourage them as I run, and I run better when I have the accountability of someone else watching me and expecting me to reach the same goals they are. I have also discovered there's greater joy and benefits in the relationships you forge as you work with someone you love, striving for the same end goal.
Summer has definitely been more laid back for me and the boys (sorry, sweetie), but I think with the change in pace and routine come greater opportunities for introspection and observation. Maybe I won't let the boys start school until September...
Monday, May 25, 2009
Clean House
Okay, so I admit it...I'm a bit neurotic when it comes to my house. It's certainly not spotless most of the time, but I sure wish it were. I also have certain ways of doing things that boggle my poor husband's mind and limit the help I get. It's the "Grandma Margaret" family curse coming through. As in, "the silver container holds the wipes for the dishwasher, microwave and fridge. The white container holds the wipes for the counter and bathroom sink. The yellow spray is for the sink and stove...I know it's mostly the same surface as the microwave and dishwasher-humor me...unless, and this is vitally important, the sink has stains in it, in which case you use the stuff in the gold can." Is it any wonder my poor husband asks if it's safe just to vacuum and dust and then slinks off for the vacuum cleaner muttering to himself? God has been talking to me lately-something about the outside of the cup being clean while the inside is a filthy mess.
I've always loved having people in my home. I really enjoy making them feel comfortable and welcomed. I revel in setting the stage and watching life altering conversation happen...the kind that draws people closer together. In recent days, God's been showing me that by trying to set a perfect stage, I lose sight of the greater picture. If I'm worried about having everything absolutely perfect, I sabotage people feeling at home and comfortable. For instance, a couple of weeks ago my sister-in-law dropped in with a good friend of hers who was in town. Our house had the normal mess that accumulates when I don't expect company. There were toys strewn about the living room, dishes in the sink, crumbs all over the counter and table, etc. However, I noticed the primary discomfort my guests felt was caused by my embarrassment over the "mess." If I had been okay with it, they certainly were. It made me think, and I believe I've wandered into Martha territory. If I'm projecting June Cleaver all over the place, hiding my unmade beds, dusty shelves, nasty looking microwave and such, are other moms going to feel as comfortable sharing the real hurts and dirt in their own lives? Probably not.
God, help me let my life shine clearly...warts and all. Help me focus more on the people you place in my life than in the cobwebs hanging off the chandelier.
I've always loved having people in my home. I really enjoy making them feel comfortable and welcomed. I revel in setting the stage and watching life altering conversation happen...the kind that draws people closer together. In recent days, God's been showing me that by trying to set a perfect stage, I lose sight of the greater picture. If I'm worried about having everything absolutely perfect, I sabotage people feeling at home and comfortable. For instance, a couple of weeks ago my sister-in-law dropped in with a good friend of hers who was in town. Our house had the normal mess that accumulates when I don't expect company. There were toys strewn about the living room, dishes in the sink, crumbs all over the counter and table, etc. However, I noticed the primary discomfort my guests felt was caused by my embarrassment over the "mess." If I had been okay with it, they certainly were. It made me think, and I believe I've wandered into Martha territory. If I'm projecting June Cleaver all over the place, hiding my unmade beds, dusty shelves, nasty looking microwave and such, are other moms going to feel as comfortable sharing the real hurts and dirt in their own lives? Probably not.
God, help me let my life shine clearly...warts and all. Help me focus more on the people you place in my life than in the cobwebs hanging off the chandelier.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Give Me a Heart for People
Today I am a single mother with a single child. No, we had no tragedy--actually, quite the opposite. Brendon is now big enough to enjoy his first "rite of passage" and join his dad on an intensely exciting business trip to exotic Indianapolis. It's amazing how even the Honda Accord they rented is the coolest car EVER!...but I digress...
Given my suddenly light position in life for these two days, I decided my youngest and I would play after I picked him up from school. We motored to Ikea to play in the children's section and finish up with ice cream cones. While he was navigating one of the many tunnels in the room display section (if you've never been to Ikea, this sentence probably makes no sense and by the way, I feel truly sorry for your sad station in life), he ran across a new friend, Braden. Braden came with his grandpa, who was a brilliantly charming Scottish gentleman, brouge and all. I love Scottish accents. We had a wonderful conversation for several minutes while the boys played with each other. It certainly didn't hurt how much I enjoyed the conversation when he commented on how beautiful (in a normal, non-child predator way) my son is and that he obviously "has a very pleasant disposition." Mothers love to hear those things. After we bade "goodbye" to these new-found friends and slowly enjoyed our ice cream, we headed home to get ready for T-ball practice.
My sons are amazingly good car riders. From day one, they've both loved riding in the car so much and are so quiet I sometimes forget they're even with me. This bit of trivia is pertinent to this story--really, it is. Since he is...well...an amazingly good car rider, I found myself reflecting on the conversation I had at Ikea. The Scottish gentleman was quite obviously "un-churched." At one point during our conversation he used some rather colorful language (colorful enough to still be banned from prime time TV, in case you were wondering), thrown out in a quite tasteful way. That's what caught me. I didn't instantly bristle in hidden and controlled condemnation. Five or ten years ago, I probably would have thought, "How sad that such a lovely conversation had to be ruined by a bad choice of language, even though he was careful to be quiet enough that the boys didn't overhear." Today I thought, "How sad this gentleman and his family don't live in Natomas so I could get to know them better. They seem just like the kind of people God's been throwing in my life lately." The shift is subtle, but clear to me. While I still don't condone or participate in "questionable" activities, I'm falling more in love with people who do. I'm seeing people who are far from God, feeling the tragedy of that and begging to help be the bridge to bring them to a point where they make an informed decision about whether they want to believe in Jesus or not. Besides, it just makes me laugh when I hear a friend who won't darken the door of a church tell someone else, "If you're going to go to church, pick my friends' church. They put on one hell of an Easter egg hunt!"
Given my suddenly light position in life for these two days, I decided my youngest and I would play after I picked him up from school. We motored to Ikea to play in the children's section and finish up with ice cream cones. While he was navigating one of the many tunnels in the room display section (if you've never been to Ikea, this sentence probably makes no sense and by the way, I feel truly sorry for your sad station in life), he ran across a new friend, Braden. Braden came with his grandpa, who was a brilliantly charming Scottish gentleman, brouge and all. I love Scottish accents. We had a wonderful conversation for several minutes while the boys played with each other. It certainly didn't hurt how much I enjoyed the conversation when he commented on how beautiful (in a normal, non-child predator way) my son is and that he obviously "has a very pleasant disposition." Mothers love to hear those things. After we bade "goodbye" to these new-found friends and slowly enjoyed our ice cream, we headed home to get ready for T-ball practice.
My sons are amazingly good car riders. From day one, they've both loved riding in the car so much and are so quiet I sometimes forget they're even with me. This bit of trivia is pertinent to this story--really, it is. Since he is...well...an amazingly good car rider, I found myself reflecting on the conversation I had at Ikea. The Scottish gentleman was quite obviously "un-churched." At one point during our conversation he used some rather colorful language (colorful enough to still be banned from prime time TV, in case you were wondering), thrown out in a quite tasteful way. That's what caught me. I didn't instantly bristle in hidden and controlled condemnation. Five or ten years ago, I probably would have thought, "How sad that such a lovely conversation had to be ruined by a bad choice of language, even though he was careful to be quiet enough that the boys didn't overhear." Today I thought, "How sad this gentleman and his family don't live in Natomas so I could get to know them better. They seem just like the kind of people God's been throwing in my life lately." The shift is subtle, but clear to me. While I still don't condone or participate in "questionable" activities, I'm falling more in love with people who do. I'm seeing people who are far from God, feeling the tragedy of that and begging to help be the bridge to bring them to a point where they make an informed decision about whether they want to believe in Jesus or not. Besides, it just makes me laugh when I hear a friend who won't darken the door of a church tell someone else, "If you're going to go to church, pick my friends' church. They put on one hell of an Easter egg hunt!"
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Humility
Maybe you were one of those tiny girls who giggled and flitted through jr. high, loving every unstable minute of the drama that is puberty. I was not. As a child I was outgoing, happy-go-lucky and generally uninhibited. As a pre-adolescent, I was gigantic (5 foot 3 and 125 lbs is massive for an eleven year old) and clumsy. I wished I could either shine as the life of the party or fade into oblivion. I rarely enjoyed either luxury. Ages ten to fourteen were painful years I've mostly managed to block from my memory.
Why, then, am I drudging them up? This past week I had an opportunity to re-visit jr. high with the maturity (no laughing, please) and wisdom age is supposed to bring. Michael and I were able to enjoy a minister's and spouses staff retreat. It was an actual retreat with a beautiful hotel room, meals out and the chance to play with our church staff, instead of the normal working "vacation/retreats" most churches like to host :). The challenge hit when we moved into the fun activities portion of the retreat. The first activity was go carts on a slick track, which was really fun...even for an anal driver like me. After that, we headed over to a great driving range located on the edge of a man made lake. The holes were on islands adrift in the lake, which is pretty darn cool, if you ask me. I love watching the guys hit a few golf balls. The weather was beautiful, the conversation stimulating, until someone happened to remember I was there and decided we ALL needed to hit a few balls. All of the sudden I found myself in jr high again. I had never even held a stupid golf club before...unless you call a mini golf putter a club--I don't. I painfully managed to swing a few times. I missed the ball more than I hit but eventually plopped a couple in the brink about 50 yards in front of us. With great relief, I handed the club off to someone else. For the final activity of the day, we ended up in a bowling alley and the torture that is jr high continued. I had only "bowled" one game about ten years ago (it wasn't pretty). Once again, I had no idea what type of equipment to use, how to hold it, etc. Seriously people, I do know how to do some things that involve active participation. I can skate (both ice and roller), ride horses, mini-golf, ski and hike to name a few.
I definitely handled the whole situation and feelings that accompany being that awkward and obvious much better than I did when I was eleven. It's nice to know I've managed to mature some through the years. This brief relapse gave pause for introspection that evening. It all comes back to security and trust. Can I rest in God's love? Is His love good enough, or do I have to be talented, smart and witty too? It's a good lesson for me. After all, isn't trust about following Him even if you look (or feel) awkward, scared and inadequate through the process? I seemed to hear His words break through. "Do you truly love Me more than these...?"
Why, then, am I drudging them up? This past week I had an opportunity to re-visit jr. high with the maturity (no laughing, please) and wisdom age is supposed to bring. Michael and I were able to enjoy a minister's and spouses staff retreat. It was an actual retreat with a beautiful hotel room, meals out and the chance to play with our church staff, instead of the normal working "vacation/retreats" most churches like to host :). The challenge hit when we moved into the fun activities portion of the retreat. The first activity was go carts on a slick track, which was really fun...even for an anal driver like me. After that, we headed over to a great driving range located on the edge of a man made lake. The holes were on islands adrift in the lake, which is pretty darn cool, if you ask me. I love watching the guys hit a few golf balls. The weather was beautiful, the conversation stimulating, until someone happened to remember I was there and decided we ALL needed to hit a few balls. All of the sudden I found myself in jr high again. I had never even held a stupid golf club before...unless you call a mini golf putter a club--I don't. I painfully managed to swing a few times. I missed the ball more than I hit but eventually plopped a couple in the brink about 50 yards in front of us. With great relief, I handed the club off to someone else. For the final activity of the day, we ended up in a bowling alley and the torture that is jr high continued. I had only "bowled" one game about ten years ago (it wasn't pretty). Once again, I had no idea what type of equipment to use, how to hold it, etc. Seriously people, I do know how to do some things that involve active participation. I can skate (both ice and roller), ride horses, mini-golf, ski and hike to name a few.
I definitely handled the whole situation and feelings that accompany being that awkward and obvious much better than I did when I was eleven. It's nice to know I've managed to mature some through the years. This brief relapse gave pause for introspection that evening. It all comes back to security and trust. Can I rest in God's love? Is His love good enough, or do I have to be talented, smart and witty too? It's a good lesson for me. After all, isn't trust about following Him even if you look (or feel) awkward, scared and inadequate through the process? I seemed to hear His words break through. "Do you truly love Me more than these...?"
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Ministry Challenges
I was given a very interesting task this past Sunday. As we were chatting at an open house, the pastor of a large church overseas asked me what the most challenging aspects of being a pastor's wife are. After I threw out a couple of my own personal challenges, he said one of the ministry schools he has contact with is trying to form a few classes to help the wives of men studying for the ministry. Now THAT'S a capital idea! I wish they'd organize a few week long intensives for pastors' wives over here :). In order to give him more varied feedback (and probably more accurate, since I tend to be a little off the path of what is "normal"...no comments, please), I sent out a quick message to several pastors' wives I know asking about their challenges. The responses have been wonderful and I'm grateful to be able to read them. Not only are these women sharing from their hearts, I'm noticing many of the more seasoned pastors' wives are reaching out to shepherd some of the shared hurts and challenges. THIS is the church, and I love it!
Three key struggles have repeatedly made their way to the forefront. They are, in no particular order:
1. Expectations of both the pastor's wife and her family/children (both real and imagined)
2. People leaving the church
3. Criticism of their husband
Do these resonate with you? What do YOU feel are the biggest challenges of being a pastor's wife?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Still Here
Between rocking a fussy baby, entertaining a 2 yr old, cooking for 6 to 8 people and cleaning up for said people in between, I've neglected posting lately and felt I should let you know I'm alive. Just for the record, we didn't adopt a bunch of kids all of the sudden :). I've spent the last couple of weeks in Nebraska helping my sister. So, here's the mother of all stories about ministry challenges...
Three weeks ago yesterday my newest niece was born. She's perfectly formed-everything where it should be and a head FULL of blond hair to boot (blond newborns don't happen in my family). Blondie is baby #4 to move into the Gospel Wesleyan Chapel's parsonage (which is a modest size house to start with), so I knew my sister would need some extra help adjusting to life with four kids as a solo pastor's wife in a small town. The kicker came when baby was one day old. My sister hadn't even been released from the hospital yet when my brother-in-law broke his ankle--the RIGHT ankle! The new daddy can't drive, new baby can't seem to sleep at night and new mommy is trying to survive. Fortunately, my parents are parked next door (they have a house sized RV) and I flew out when baby was a week old. Between my brother-in-law and sister pastoring two churches 45 miles apart, giving music lessons and accompanying a high school musical next weekend-all with a broken ankle and newborn-it's been a zoo around here.
Today the weather is mimicking life. It's downright violent out there. As I sit here listening to the rumbling thunder and pounding rain, I'm reminded of the story in Mark 4. Jesus and His disciples were crossing the lake in a horrid storm. Jesus was sound asleep in the boat when His disciples woke him asking, "Teacher, don't you care if we drown?" Jesus seemed amazed at their fear and complete lack of faith.
Lately, I've fought a storm in my own heart. As in most of the rest of the country these days, life is uncertain in our neck of the woods. I feel the sense that God may soon ask more of our family than I'm comfortable with. I believe He's on the move...HE'S on the move and I'm in a holding pattern waiting for His timing to move with Him. I'm not sure what that will look like, which can be unnerving at best. I think I needed to see the physical storm today and read Mark 4 to better understand the spiritual storm. I don't want to hear the words the disciples had to hear. "Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?" Let me rest along side the God of the storm.
Three weeks ago yesterday my newest niece was born. She's perfectly formed-everything where it should be and a head FULL of blond hair to boot (blond newborns don't happen in my family). Blondie is baby #4 to move into the Gospel Wesleyan Chapel's parsonage (which is a modest size house to start with), so I knew my sister would need some extra help adjusting to life with four kids as a solo pastor's wife in a small town. The kicker came when baby was one day old. My sister hadn't even been released from the hospital yet when my brother-in-law broke his ankle--the RIGHT ankle! The new daddy can't drive, new baby can't seem to sleep at night and new mommy is trying to survive. Fortunately, my parents are parked next door (they have a house sized RV) and I flew out when baby was a week old. Between my brother-in-law and sister pastoring two churches 45 miles apart, giving music lessons and accompanying a high school musical next weekend-all with a broken ankle and newborn-it's been a zoo around here.
Today the weather is mimicking life. It's downright violent out there. As I sit here listening to the rumbling thunder and pounding rain, I'm reminded of the story in Mark 4. Jesus and His disciples were crossing the lake in a horrid storm. Jesus was sound asleep in the boat when His disciples woke him asking, "Teacher, don't you care if we drown?" Jesus seemed amazed at their fear and complete lack of faith.
Lately, I've fought a storm in my own heart. As in most of the rest of the country these days, life is uncertain in our neck of the woods. I feel the sense that God may soon ask more of our family than I'm comfortable with. I believe He's on the move...HE'S on the move and I'm in a holding pattern waiting for His timing to move with Him. I'm not sure what that will look like, which can be unnerving at best. I think I needed to see the physical storm today and read Mark 4 to better understand the spiritual storm. I don't want to hear the words the disciples had to hear. "Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?" Let me rest along side the God of the storm.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Choices, choices
I'll admit it...while I love and value people, when it comes to the choice between checking stuff off my "to-do" list or spending time with people, I naturally gravitate towards getting the job done. I think it has something to do with my parent's great job of raising me to "eat the veggies in life before diving into the cake." If someone has something significant happen such as a trip to the hospital, a death in the family or a car accident, I'll drop the "to-do" list every time...no contest. However, when the choice becomes clean house/pick up groceries or have a spontaneous play date at the park, I'm naturally drawn to finish the dreary responsibilities first. While it takes maturity to choose house cleaning or taking care of laundry over surfing the web or watching crime shows, I'm becoming increasingly aware that choosing "responsibilities" over the stuff of eternity falls far short of maturity.
Today, I had a couple of errands to run...a quick trip to the store and working through homework and writing birthday thank yous with the boys. As the boys and I were walking back to the van after school, we bumped into a new friend picking up her son from 4th R. As we chatted, she started dropping subtle questions/hints about the possibility of a impromptu park play date with our four boys. Habit suggested I should beg off and make my vitally important trip to Raley's. Let see, spending time with someone I love and God is actively pursuing or price checking vanilla wafers? Honestly, how could I EVER think vanilla wafers are more important? We didn't discuss the fate of the universe or even how deep/wide/great is the Father's love this afternoon. Still, I think maybe tonight my friend knows I'm willing to interrupt my life for her. Today it was a simple little play date and discussions about picky eaters and sibling rivalry. Some day it might include how Jesus has made me different.
"God, help me interrupt my life for the 'unimportant' stuff. Help me keep a view towards people more than piles of laundry, shopping lists or projects."
Today, I had a couple of errands to run...a quick trip to the store and working through homework and writing birthday thank yous with the boys. As the boys and I were walking back to the van after school, we bumped into a new friend picking up her son from 4th R. As we chatted, she started dropping subtle questions/hints about the possibility of a impromptu park play date with our four boys. Habit suggested I should beg off and make my vitally important trip to Raley's. Let see, spending time with someone I love and God is actively pursuing or price checking vanilla wafers? Honestly, how could I EVER think vanilla wafers are more important? We didn't discuss the fate of the universe or even how deep/wide/great is the Father's love this afternoon. Still, I think maybe tonight my friend knows I'm willing to interrupt my life for her. Today it was a simple little play date and discussions about picky eaters and sibling rivalry. Some day it might include how Jesus has made me different.
"God, help me interrupt my life for the 'unimportant' stuff. Help me keep a view towards people more than piles of laundry, shopping lists or projects."
Friday, February 27, 2009
Sorrow
Probably one of the hardest things pastor's wives face is watching those in our churches face loss. I would guess if you've spent any time in ministry, you've experienced the heart rending feeling of standing in a hospital room/funeral home/family home/etc. seeing someone you love and shepherd in a place of total vulnerability. As I write, memories flood my mind...sitting with a bereaved couple looking at baby names that won't be used, crying with another couple as we watch their 2 lb twins struggle for life, trying to help a friend make sense of the anger he experiences over losing his mom to cancer, rushing to the emergency room to feed and comfort children so their mom can make sure their dad is getting the care he needs.
A good friend of mine has had a month of dealing with hell (quite literally). He's a pk who works in the wide open mission field known as the work force. Recently, one of his co-workers lost a 9 month old granddaughter to cancer. His words touched me so deeply, I asked if I could share them with you. He agreed. I'll warn you ahead of time...it's long, but well worth the time to read.
I'm not sure why February has been this way, but it has. What the month has lacked in dreary weather it has made up for in sadness. First it was the lost of a coworker and then, this week, the 9 month old granddaughter of a fellow co-worker, past away after a sudden discovery of cancer, an attempted surgery and many attempts to keep her, Alli, alive. Babies die every day. This fact doesn't make it any easier to deal with but when we have the advantage of space and distance and we can shield ourselves from the pain.
On Thursday night Konnie and I went to visit the family at 'the viewing'. Upon entering the building we immediately saw a video playing, showing slides of little Alli that had been taken in her short 9 months of life. There were flowers, cookies and music playing. It was hard not to tear up even though I had never met little Alli in person. I could feel that space and distance closing in. We then started reading some poems that family members, including the father, had written for Alli. They were all very moving and brought even more tears to our eyes.
Once my friend, Alli's grandpa, came in we hugged and visited with them for a little while. Then we were taken into the room where the body was; where the baby was. This is when the distanced closed and the space around us seemed so close and tight that breathing became difficult. I noticed the photos, the memorabilia and more flowers that were lovingly placed in the small room. There was a bassinet with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals. The bassinet was empty in regards to a body though. At first I was somewhat thankful because I really have a hard time with the death of children. That fact doesn't make me special, it simply makes me human. But as I turned to the right, there was a couch with some people on there. And there they were. The mom was holding what almost looked to be a doll, but it wasn't a doll... it was Alli. She was stroking the babies hair and smiling at her. She then realized people were coming in and said, 'time to lay you down sweetie... I love you so much'. She smiled, she wept... she loved. She loved her little girl.
Writing about this doesn't make any of it easier. It wasn't my child; I had never even met her. But the overwhelming sadness I felt at that moment was undeniable. And it wasn't just me. My sweet wife began crying and I know she was thinking back to when our little Kaden was born and in intensive care for the first week of his life. How close we came to being where this family was.... the space we had and the distance we shared closed.
I spoke to my friend, again, of why I had to believe what i believe about God. I can't believe that this life has no meaning and that there is nothing beyond this life that isn't wonderful. Because if there is no reason that a 9 month old little girl gets cancer and dies, then I'm not sure I can be on board with that sort of cold, brutal universe. When my cousin's 2 year old died in a drowning accident I wrote a blog about Jesus saying 'Let the little children come to me'. It's with a heavy heart that I really need to hear Jesus say 'Let Geoffrey come to me'. I think we all need to hear him say that; to hear our name come from his mouth. I know I hope the family of Alli can hear Jesus calling them to Him. He's ready to hold them. When there is distance and space between you and God you can hide from emotion; you can hide from pain. But you also miss the comfort and love that only He can offer. We need to close the space and distance sometimes because we need to feel. We need to feel hope. We need to feel love. Because we surely feel the pain don't we?
There's nothing more powerful than when these little angels are born. There's nothing more painful than when these little angels die. "Jesus, you mind if we climb on your lap for just a bit and be held?" 'Come to me......'
Thoughts? Anyone, anyone...
A good friend of mine has had a month of dealing with hell (quite literally). He's a pk who works in the wide open mission field known as the work force. Recently, one of his co-workers lost a 9 month old granddaughter to cancer. His words touched me so deeply, I asked if I could share them with you. He agreed. I'll warn you ahead of time...it's long, but well worth the time to read.
I'm not sure why February has been this way, but it has. What the month has lacked in dreary weather it has made up for in sadness. First it was the lost of a coworker and then, this week, the 9 month old granddaughter of a fellow co-worker, past away after a sudden discovery of cancer, an attempted surgery and many attempts to keep her, Alli, alive. Babies die every day. This fact doesn't make it any easier to deal with but when we have the advantage of space and distance and we can shield ourselves from the pain.
On Thursday night Konnie and I went to visit the family at 'the viewing'. Upon entering the building we immediately saw a video playing, showing slides of little Alli that had been taken in her short 9 months of life. There were flowers, cookies and music playing. It was hard not to tear up even though I had never met little Alli in person. I could feel that space and distance closing in. We then started reading some poems that family members, including the father, had written for Alli. They were all very moving and brought even more tears to our eyes.
Once my friend, Alli's grandpa, came in we hugged and visited with them for a little while. Then we were taken into the room where the body was; where the baby was. This is when the distanced closed and the space around us seemed so close and tight that breathing became difficult. I noticed the photos, the memorabilia and more flowers that were lovingly placed in the small room. There was a bassinet with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals. The bassinet was empty in regards to a body though. At first I was somewhat thankful because I really have a hard time with the death of children. That fact doesn't make me special, it simply makes me human. But as I turned to the right, there was a couch with some people on there. And there they were. The mom was holding what almost looked to be a doll, but it wasn't a doll... it was Alli. She was stroking the babies hair and smiling at her. She then realized people were coming in and said, 'time to lay you down sweetie... I love you so much'. She smiled, she wept... she loved. She loved her little girl.
Writing about this doesn't make any of it easier. It wasn't my child; I had never even met her. But the overwhelming sadness I felt at that moment was undeniable. And it wasn't just me. My sweet wife began crying and I know she was thinking back to when our little Kaden was born and in intensive care for the first week of his life. How close we came to being where this family was.... the space we had and the distance we shared closed.
I spoke to my friend, again, of why I had to believe what i believe about God. I can't believe that this life has no meaning and that there is nothing beyond this life that isn't wonderful. Because if there is no reason that a 9 month old little girl gets cancer and dies, then I'm not sure I can be on board with that sort of cold, brutal universe. When my cousin's 2 year old died in a drowning accident I wrote a blog about Jesus saying 'Let the little children come to me'. It's with a heavy heart that I really need to hear Jesus say 'Let Geoffrey come to me'. I think we all need to hear him say that; to hear our name come from his mouth. I know I hope the family of Alli can hear Jesus calling them to Him. He's ready to hold them. When there is distance and space between you and God you can hide from emotion; you can hide from pain. But you also miss the comfort and love that only He can offer. We need to close the space and distance sometimes because we need to feel. We need to feel hope. We need to feel love. Because we surely feel the pain don't we?
There's nothing more powerful than when these little angels are born. There's nothing more painful than when these little angels die. "Jesus, you mind if we climb on your lap for just a bit and be held?" 'Come to me......'
Thoughts? Anyone, anyone...
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Special Boys
My husband posted a great blog on our personal site today. It affected me enough that I've got to paste it here as well. Let me say, I spent most of my early years begging God to save me from the horror of having boys. I prayed many a prayer and dreamt many a dream which involved pink cribs and lots of lace, ruffles and bows. God has a great sense of humor. I still remember the stunned shock I felt when we discovered Brendon was a boy. I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but come on! Nearly 10 years later, I thank God most days for giving me two boys. They have changed, softened and shaped me...hopefully, for the better. Apparently, their dad agrees with me. Here's the post address.
What has God taught you through your children? How have your "mom" experiences stacked up in light of your pre-conceived (how's that for a nice pun?) notions of parenting?
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