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.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
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.
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