This is an open letter to a group of my Christian brothers and sisters whom I have never met, in a place I have never been. You see, you are receiving a blessing this week that has required a sacrifice from me and my family: my sister, B, and her husband, L, as your new pastor and pastor's wife.
Please understand from the beginning that I have every reason to think well of you. L & B had only good things to say about you all after their visit to candidate with you. I have only seen warmth, kindness, and welcome from your interactions with them on Facebook and on your website. But I have learned the hard way that people we love and think we know and who, we believe, love us in return can hurt us the most profoundly. No one is beyond the benefit of an encouraging word of exhortation. And so, I desire to spur you on to love and godliness in your interactions with my sister and brother-in-law because, while God can require hard - even painful - things of us at times, failing to walk in His ways always results in pain, even for innocent parties.
For this reason, I write to you.
Please remember that my big sister is not just a pastor's wife. She is, but she is so much more than that. She is a wife, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a friend. She is a professional, a college graduate, and an aunt to my unborn child. She is the one who plunked out duets with me on the piano, who played dolls and dress-up with me, who introduced me to my favorite brand of makeup, who inspires me to read worthwhile books. She is well-read and has extensive knowledge about a variety of topics. She has spoken to a roomful of hundreds of collegues and has traveled to divers places. She has many strengths, but she has her fears and foibles as well. She isn't perfect, and moving into a parsonage will not make her so. Please, be kind in your words to and about her. Do not be shocked when she disappoints you or lets you down in an expectation. Get to know her as a real human, not just as your pastor's wife, or you will indeed miss out.
Please remember that L is not just your pastor. He is, but he is also so much more. L has hobbies and favorite books and places. He has quirks and preferences. He is not just learning to lead a church but also a wife. He will shepherd you in the ways of the Lord, but he himself is not infallible. There will be cultural differences as well (have you ever heard of Pizza Ranch or the Minnesota goodbye?). You will call him Pastor L, but do not let that title lull you into thinking that he is a pastor first (I say this because I am guilty of the same with my pastor). No, he is L. Please do not miss the richness of what that means by allowing the stereotypes and expectations of a title to suffice for actually getting to know him as a man.
Thank you for calling B & L. Thank you for extending this opportunity to a young couple fresh from seminary. I look forward to the opportunity to visit with you in person, to meet you and to begin to love the people and place that my sister and brother-in-law have chosen to love. I had never heard about you before a few months ago, and now it is my desire to make you friends as well as spiritual family. Please, in lieu of and agreement with their biological families who are separated by so many miles, wrap your arms - physically, spiritually, in prayer and in encouragement - around these our loved ones. As you do, may their absence from us be a gift to you. May you abound more and more in the riches of God's kindness, and may He strengthen you in the knowledge of our Savior Jesus Christ.
Peace be to you.
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Monday, May 2, 2016
The Struggle
Our little family is in the third trimester now.
Third trimester.
That sounds so much scarier than the first or second trimester did. Now, labor is impending. A birth is coming and coming soon. We are closer now to being honest-to-goodness parents than we are to our past of being just a couple.
All this has been brought forcefully to my full attention as I wait to hear from one of my dear friends who is laboring to bring their daughter into this outside world. I have been praying for the three of them in the silence between text updates, trying not to worry over long silences, practicing trusting that all is well when I so desperately desire that nothing go wrong for our dear friends.
All of which makes me think of the last time I worked in our church nursery.
It was a fairly full Sunday, but we volunteers were handling it well. I was cuddling and rocking a little boy who was sleepy/weepy, which lent me the chance to observe some of the others. There was the brother-sister duo who were playing with the plastic food, the little guy who wanted to read books, and one particular little girl who was on a mission of her own making.
She was attempting to climb up onto the Little Tykes slide, which, ordinarily would not have been much of a challenge for her. She had, for whatever reason, decided that today she wanted to take a a toy up there with her.
This was a good-sized toy, not too heavy, but cumbersome enough that she had to push and prod and shuffle it around while trying to get a leg up on the playset, cacthing it as it threatened to tumble from a precarious perch, adjusting it, and trying again.
My rocker was close to the playset, and I found myself ready to lean over and reach out a hand. One little push and it would be easily centered on the platform above the slide and all that would remain would be for her to follow it herself. Mission accomplished, right?
But before I could lean over and act on the impulse to rescue her, the thought flashed across my mind, "The struggle is important."
I sat back, wondering where the thought had come from, and just that quickly, she had pushed the toy to a secure position and crawled up after it.
The struggle is important.
Sometimes, it is simply important in the sense of accomplishment that follows knowing we persevered when it was hard and got it done anyway.
It is certainly important to the development of infants and toddlers as they learn to hold up their heads, roll over, crawl, run.
Children struggle to read or write or do simple sums but later go on to college and grad school where they have a whole new set of struggles to vanquish.
And parents get to go through their own struggles of pregnancy, birth, and child-rearing - and then they look back and wonder where the time went.
All these struggles are a prelude to learning more, doing more, being more. There is no growth where there is no struggle.
The struggle is important.
Of course, we have families - families of blood and families of Spirit - who gather around us, support us in our struggles, help us with the resources to make it through, and sometimes even remove the struggle from our lives. They are an important part of life, placed there by God's own loving hand of provision.
But we must not be too quick to pray for the removal of our struggles. We must not be so short-sighted as to assume that the faster an issue is resolved, the better it is for us or for our struggling friend.
Growth happens in the action of struggling. Yes, we can grow bitter, but if we truly believe that the struggle is important, we are more likely to lean into the pain, eager for the outcome that rewards at the end.
Sometimes, that outcome is one successful step.
Sometimes, we are rewarded by discovering a world of possibilities between the pages of a book.
And sometimes, after the struggle, we get to meet our very own flesh and blood.
Third trimester.
That sounds so much scarier than the first or second trimester did. Now, labor is impending. A birth is coming and coming soon. We are closer now to being honest-to-goodness parents than we are to our past of being just a couple.
All this has been brought forcefully to my full attention as I wait to hear from one of my dear friends who is laboring to bring their daughter into this outside world. I have been praying for the three of them in the silence between text updates, trying not to worry over long silences, practicing trusting that all is well when I so desperately desire that nothing go wrong for our dear friends.
All of which makes me think of the last time I worked in our church nursery.
It was a fairly full Sunday, but we volunteers were handling it well. I was cuddling and rocking a little boy who was sleepy/weepy, which lent me the chance to observe some of the others. There was the brother-sister duo who were playing with the plastic food, the little guy who wanted to read books, and one particular little girl who was on a mission of her own making.
She was attempting to climb up onto the Little Tykes slide, which, ordinarily would not have been much of a challenge for her. She had, for whatever reason, decided that today she wanted to take a a toy up there with her.
This was a good-sized toy, not too heavy, but cumbersome enough that she had to push and prod and shuffle it around while trying to get a leg up on the playset, cacthing it as it threatened to tumble from a precarious perch, adjusting it, and trying again.
My rocker was close to the playset, and I found myself ready to lean over and reach out a hand. One little push and it would be easily centered on the platform above the slide and all that would remain would be for her to follow it herself. Mission accomplished, right?
But before I could lean over and act on the impulse to rescue her, the thought flashed across my mind, "The struggle is important."
I sat back, wondering where the thought had come from, and just that quickly, she had pushed the toy to a secure position and crawled up after it.
The struggle is important.
Sometimes, it is simply important in the sense of accomplishment that follows knowing we persevered when it was hard and got it done anyway.
It is certainly important to the development of infants and toddlers as they learn to hold up their heads, roll over, crawl, run.
Children struggle to read or write or do simple sums but later go on to college and grad school where they have a whole new set of struggles to vanquish.
And parents get to go through their own struggles of pregnancy, birth, and child-rearing - and then they look back and wonder where the time went.
All these struggles are a prelude to learning more, doing more, being more. There is no growth where there is no struggle.
The struggle is important.
Of course, we have families - families of blood and families of Spirit - who gather around us, support us in our struggles, help us with the resources to make it through, and sometimes even remove the struggle from our lives. They are an important part of life, placed there by God's own loving hand of provision.
But we must not be too quick to pray for the removal of our struggles. We must not be so short-sighted as to assume that the faster an issue is resolved, the better it is for us or for our struggling friend.
Growth happens in the action of struggling. Yes, we can grow bitter, but if we truly believe that the struggle is important, we are more likely to lean into the pain, eager for the outcome that rewards at the end.
Sometimes, that outcome is one successful step.
Sometimes, we are rewarded by discovering a world of possibilities between the pages of a book.
And sometimes, after the struggle, we get to meet our very own flesh and blood.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Settling for My Dream
Four years ago, I was a junior in college, signing up to take the GRE, starting to think about grad schools for my master's, enjoying life. Looked forward four years from then, I saw myself finishing my master's this spring, looking for jobs, ready to go out and pay off student debt, find a place of my own - maybe Boston or San Diego, travel (eventually) to Italy and Greece.
I didn't always want to be a career woman.
Once upon a time, my sole goal in life (other than being a missionary to China like Gladys Aylward or a horse rancher) was to be a wife and mother. The problem with my dream was that high school ended, and no requisite husband showed up.
I took a year off of school to become a licensed piano teacher.
Still no applicant for husband.
Then I took two years of college while dating a young man.
That didn't work, so I got a job for a year.
Still no man.
So I went off to school again. "Plan A didn't pan out," I thought, so I moved on to Plan B.
Then, life blew up (quite literally) three and a half years ago, catapulting me back to Plan A.
Now, here I am, preparing for my hugely anticipated promotion to the position of mother.
From the outside, it might look as if I've settled.
Instead of looking for promising career opportunities, I am looking for new recipes for supper.
Instead of driving to classes or a job every day, I walk a few blocks to a part-time job that doesn't pay much above minimum wage and busily page through books of prenatal and postnatal information in my down time.
Instead of writing research papers and reading peer-reviewed journal articles, I am writing grocery lists and researching the best way to contain dirty diapers until they can be washed.
Yeah, that might look like settling.
But to me, it's living my dream!
I didn't always want to be a career woman.
Once upon a time, my sole goal in life (other than being a missionary to China like Gladys Aylward or a horse rancher) was to be a wife and mother. The problem with my dream was that high school ended, and no requisite husband showed up.
I took a year off of school to become a licensed piano teacher.
Still no applicant for husband.
Then I took two years of college while dating a young man.
That didn't work, so I got a job for a year.
Still no man.
So I went off to school again. "Plan A didn't pan out," I thought, so I moved on to Plan B.
Then, life blew up (quite literally) three and a half years ago, catapulting me back to Plan A.
Now, here I am, preparing for my hugely anticipated promotion to the position of mother.
From the outside, it might look as if I've settled.
Instead of looking for promising career opportunities, I am looking for new recipes for supper.
Instead of driving to classes or a job every day, I walk a few blocks to a part-time job that doesn't pay much above minimum wage and busily page through books of prenatal and postnatal information in my down time.
Instead of writing research papers and reading peer-reviewed journal articles, I am writing grocery lists and researching the best way to contain dirty diapers until they can be washed.
Yeah, that might look like settling.
But to me, it's living my dream!
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Stop and Feel the Roses
Do you ever think about what a boring place this world would be without texture?
I have pondered it lately due, in no small part, to a proclivity to nausea throughout the last several months (if you'received wondering why, read about the reason here). This seems especially relevant in the area of food.
Think of your favorite food for a moment. You can probably smell it, taste it, see it laid out in front of you, and feel it in your mouth. That "feel" may be the last thing I think of when it comes to food, but for some foods I avoid, I find that that is the primary reason for my dislike. It may looks nice, smell nice, and taste nice, but if that texture is too slimy, or grainy, or lumpy, it can completely overwhelm a dish's other positive attributes.
And textures in food are just a beginning!
I have a sweater I love, except that it itches when I wear it. My favorite around-the-house clothes look awful, but they feel so nice. When I bought sheets for our bed recently, I spent more time with my hand in among the cloth than I did picking a color.
Or the beauty of the outdoors? Imagine the green and brown of a tree - but without the fifty shades of each that textures give. It would look like a child's drawing: good enough for the refrigerator door, but a sorry excuse for a sweeping panoramic or idyllic pastoral.
And that is just a tree! There is the wonderful spiny texture of grass, the velvety curves of flowers, the soft bounce of clouds, the sweeping curve of sky, and the breath-taking undulations of a world covered in snow.
All that, and I haven't even touched on colors!
What a world of beauty and wonder we inhabit (yes, even those of us in a Midwestern winter)! There is a God I know, and I get my delight of texture from Him. How do I know? Because He did not have to make a world of textures. But He did. He made them, which tells me that He likes them, too.
So, take a moment, please, to stop and feel the roses.
I have pondered it lately due, in no small part, to a proclivity to nausea throughout the last several months (if you'received wondering why, read about the reason here). This seems especially relevant in the area of food.
Think of your favorite food for a moment. You can probably smell it, taste it, see it laid out in front of you, and feel it in your mouth. That "feel" may be the last thing I think of when it comes to food, but for some foods I avoid, I find that that is the primary reason for my dislike. It may looks nice, smell nice, and taste nice, but if that texture is too slimy, or grainy, or lumpy, it can completely overwhelm a dish's other positive attributes.
And textures in food are just a beginning!
I have a sweater I love, except that it itches when I wear it. My favorite around-the-house clothes look awful, but they feel so nice. When I bought sheets for our bed recently, I spent more time with my hand in among the cloth than I did picking a color.
Or the beauty of the outdoors? Imagine the green and brown of a tree - but without the fifty shades of each that textures give. It would look like a child's drawing: good enough for the refrigerator door, but a sorry excuse for a sweeping panoramic or idyllic pastoral.
And that is just a tree! There is the wonderful spiny texture of grass, the velvety curves of flowers, the soft bounce of clouds, the sweeping curve of sky, and the breath-taking undulations of a world covered in snow.
All that, and I haven't even touched on colors!
What a world of beauty and wonder we inhabit (yes, even those of us in a Midwestern winter)! There is a God I know, and I get my delight of texture from Him. How do I know? Because He did not have to make a world of textures. But He did. He made them, which tells me that He likes them, too.
So, take a moment, please, to stop and feel the roses.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Lemonade
Before you read today's post, I would like you to watch this video.
I appreciate how Chris Rice takes an old adage, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade," and turns it into a song of appreciation for all that God gives. As another year swings around, I am reminded of our daily blessings - blessings far more abundant than I have any right to expect. Gift after gift rolls to mind with only a few minutes' contemplation.
But, beyond the goodness of a lemonade-giving God, I am not even drinking it alone. I get to share a glass with a man who also thanks God for it as he drinks deeply of our life together.
And God isn't even finished yet.
We are announcing that we are going to need another straw!
I appreciate how Chris Rice takes an old adage, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade," and turns it into a song of appreciation for all that God gives. As another year swings around, I am reminded of our daily blessings - blessings far more abundant than I have any right to expect. Gift after gift rolls to mind with only a few minutes' contemplation.
But, beyond the goodness of a lemonade-giving God, I am not even drinking it alone. I get to share a glass with a man who also thanks God for it as he drinks deeply of our life together.
And God isn't even finished yet.
We are announcing that we are going to need another straw!
Monday, December 7, 2015
Christmas Lights
Hooray for Christmas decorations!
They are undoubtedly my favorite of all my home decor items. I love to decorate for Christmas!
But, of all the Christmas paraphernalia, mini white Christmas lights are my favorite.
After decorating this year, I had to sheepishly ask my husband to help me move the piano so I could plug in another extension cord, so I could spread out the five strings of white lights that I currently had on a single extension cord. I know, not the best idea to be loading them all on one like that, and, yes, I got that incredulous, husbandly look that says, "My wife may be losing it," but they are so pretty! I have them twisted into a wreath and twining through a rustic basket of pinecones and peeking through lettering in a little tin box that reads, "Peace on Earth." They're peaceful and bright and cheerful and cozy.
They wouldn't be nearly as nice in the middle of the summer.
The weather pulls us outside then, and the sun shines brightly through the windows nearly all our waking hours.
But in the winter, oh ho!, the winter is perfect for decorating with light. As we cuddle in for a dark, Midwestern evening, those little points of light are enough to gently brighten an entire room.
I don't think it's an accident that we use lights to make our homes ready to celebrate the nativity of our Lord. John 1:4 says that the life He brought was light. Light shines best in the dark. What a dark world He came to save:
the people were oppressed, conquered by a ruthless, godless emperor; that nation was stretching its tentacles of control into every corner of the known world, creating one world empire, and allowing no place to hide; taxes were oppressive; infants were slaughtered at a whim; regional rulers were suspicious and groped for power; pleasure was king, and those who refrained were eyed suspiciously; human life was cheap.
It sounds a bit like a world I know today.
Maybe all these crises and issues of the last century are not as original as we think.
Maybe all our panic over controversies and emergencies should be put on pause to give us a little time to reflect on His light.
For surely, the light that pierced the darkness in that stable in the shadows of Bethlehem in the depths of Israel in the blackness of the Roman Empire still shines brightly today. Indeed, it is multiplied exponentially in the Spirit-filled Church He left behind on earth!
John 1:5 says, "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." Another way to read this is "the darkness has not understood it." We should be the most misunderstood people on the face of the earth. In a world of deep despair, self-gratification, and false worship, Christianity does not make sense. We die to live, lose to gain, glory in suffering, have peace in chaos, and hope in an unseen reward.
We look like madmen, yet we claim to have the cure for what is wrong with the world:
Wholeness for the broken;
Healing for the sick;
Light for the darkness.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Of Feasting and Fasting
All too often, I hear myself telling God about how things look like they are going to be tight, that I don't know if things will stretch far enough, that He is going to have to cover a need if He wants me to do X. Then, I stop, look around the house, and sheepishly take my worries back as I start to thank Him for everything He has already provided. I mean, really. We have a home. Food in the fridge and in the pantry. A washer and dryer. Furniture to sit on; a bed to sleep on. Indoor plumbing. Safe drinking water. Central air and heating.
How rich are we?
I once heard someone say something along the lines of, "If you only had tomorrow the things you thanked God for today, what would you have left?"
Yeah, I started listing everything.
You've all heard the lecture about taking our lifestyles for granted when so many have so little. I don't mean to add this post to the ranks of white-middle-class-guilt-inducing literature. We don't have to feel guilty. But we should definitely feel grateful. And then we should act gratefully.
If we're grateful, then we're not entitled.
If we're not entitled, then we can give it up (or give it away).
But we don't like to give things up. Think, for example, of the last time you heard fasting mentioned as something a modern American should do. Can you think of a time? Even a time in church?
I used to fast more often. I would take a day a week, even, when I had something that needed some extra praying. It was a strange experience, almost enjoyable, once I stopped thinking about all the things I couldn't eat and just started using that time to focus on my prayer. (I did not know how all-pervasive food was to my thought life until I started doing this. It was unnerving.) The experience was freeing, in a sense, from my normal concerns; it proved to me that I could ignore this urge for a while, that it was not my master.
This month, I've been fasting from desserts and other highly-sugared edibles. Why? Well, the short answer is, "Because I didn't want to."
Note: The moment you tell God that you are not willing to give something up, know that that item is going, and going soon.
Thankfully, He brought me to the point of giving up my sweets through gently working in my soul, rather than creating a medical crisis necessitating such actions. He could have done it that way, but maybe He knew I would whine a lot less if He brought me to it this way.
Today, I have eight days left in the month. I have passed on birthday cake and s'mores. I have resisted doughnut holes and caramel cake. I've looked the other way while Preston ate ice cream or as I walked through the checkout aisle in the grocery store. And, yes, I have set a few select items by in the cupboard or freezer until October 1.
But I have been free.
I have had (almost) a month when I could say no to that sweet something calling my name. I have walked away from dessert and realized that I didn't feel hugely disappointed or like I had missed out greatly. I have not worshiped a brownie in weeks by putting enjoying it ahead of my health or my goals or of God's desires for my life.
I conceived of the goal as a weight-loss maneuver, but it has become a spiritual journey.
Oh, the temptation is there: if not to eat something sweet, then at least to fantasize about what I will eat as soon as the thirty days are past. But to know that God has given us these foods, that they are good, and that they are not my master, that is the real treasure; and, oh, it is sweet.
How rich are we?
I once heard someone say something along the lines of, "If you only had tomorrow the things you thanked God for today, what would you have left?"
Yeah, I started listing everything.
You've all heard the lecture about taking our lifestyles for granted when so many have so little. I don't mean to add this post to the ranks of white-middle-class-guilt-inducing literature. We don't have to feel guilty. But we should definitely feel grateful. And then we should act gratefully.
If we're grateful, then we're not entitled.
If we're not entitled, then we can give it up (or give it away).
But we don't like to give things up. Think, for example, of the last time you heard fasting mentioned as something a modern American should do. Can you think of a time? Even a time in church?
I used to fast more often. I would take a day a week, even, when I had something that needed some extra praying. It was a strange experience, almost enjoyable, once I stopped thinking about all the things I couldn't eat and just started using that time to focus on my prayer. (I did not know how all-pervasive food was to my thought life until I started doing this. It was unnerving.) The experience was freeing, in a sense, from my normal concerns; it proved to me that I could ignore this urge for a while, that it was not my master.
This month, I've been fasting from desserts and other highly-sugared edibles. Why? Well, the short answer is, "Because I didn't want to."
Note: The moment you tell God that you are not willing to give something up, know that that item is going, and going soon.
Thankfully, He brought me to the point of giving up my sweets through gently working in my soul, rather than creating a medical crisis necessitating such actions. He could have done it that way, but maybe He knew I would whine a lot less if He brought me to it this way.
Today, I have eight days left in the month. I have passed on birthday cake and s'mores. I have resisted doughnut holes and caramel cake. I've looked the other way while Preston ate ice cream or as I walked through the checkout aisle in the grocery store. And, yes, I have set a few select items by in the cupboard or freezer until October 1.
But I have been free.
I have had (almost) a month when I could say no to that sweet something calling my name. I have walked away from dessert and realized that I didn't feel hugely disappointed or like I had missed out greatly. I have not worshiped a brownie in weeks by putting enjoying it ahead of my health or my goals or of God's desires for my life.
I conceived of the goal as a weight-loss maneuver, but it has become a spiritual journey.
Oh, the temptation is there: if not to eat something sweet, then at least to fantasize about what I will eat as soon as the thirty days are past. But to know that God has given us these foods, that they are good, and that they are not my master, that is the real treasure; and, oh, it is sweet.
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