Life and Times of a Preacher Mom

Where Have I Been?

2012-01-05T22:58:00.001-05:00

October 1st

2011-10-01T22:23:00.000-04:00

Blue sky.
Cooler temps.
Day at home.
Good book.
Talk with a friend.
College football.
Clemson win.
Well behaved children.
News and greetings from Landrum friends.
Story/blog ideas.
Good, good day.

From the Ashes

2011-09-22T21:39:00.001-04:00

"About time, too. He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on." ~ Albus Dumbledore

Who Said Gray Is Dull?

2011-09-18T21:37:00.001-04:00

Why I love the beach in autumn.

I had plenty of company.

Broken but beautiful.

Looking for the Light.

The many textures of life.

Just Stuff

2011-09-13T09:41:00.000-04:00

A few bits of randomness is all I can come up with today.

* Anna brought home a mean, persistent virus last week and shared it with me. Gotta love the generosity of my children.
* I hate budget time at church.
* I hate budget time anywhere!
* I love that the temps have dropped enough in the mornings that I can raise my windows awhile at the office.
* I got a new phone yesterday. I've moved from the world of Blackberry to the world of Droid. Definite learning curve. But oh, the apps available . . .
* Last Wednesday was my strongest running day in a long while. The bug hit Thursday. Wonder how much ground I've lost in a week's time?
* I performed a wedding by the Charleston Harbor last weekend. The weather and the setting were beautiful. I love/hate weddings.
* I haven't been to the beach in over two weeks. I need to hear the ocean.
* Three consecutive days of public speaking while fighting a bad sore throat (rehearsal, wedding, worship) has resulted in a painful, strained larynx. I'm going to swear off talking as much as I can for a few days. Even a phone conversation is uncomfortable. (No - seriously. Those of you who know me IRL can quit laughing already!)
* Going through a tough time with my son. He's made some very bad choices recently. Allowing him to experience the full brunt of the consequences is tough for a mom who likes to protect her kids. I know it's best in the long run, though.
* When I'm the only one in the church, it makes me nervous when someone pulls up in the parking lot and just sits, and sits, and sits. Does that make me a weenie?
* I just discovered Michael Connelly's novels - and there are a lot of them. Sometimes it's good to be able to get lost in a world of fiction. I go nowhere without my Kindle these days. If you see me and I look a little distant, I'm probably tagging along with a rogue cop in L.A. in my mind. Sorry.
* I'd love to find a new series with a strong female protagonist. Suggestions, anyone?

One Day at a Time

2011-09-08T13:05:00.001-04:00

I just ran across a poem that my Dad wrote for me almost 20 years ago. I was a brand new mother. My baby was just 10 girl weeks old when my husband walked out on me. I was financially strapped, emotionally bankrupt, and terrified of the future. I try not to think of those days too often. The memories are just too painful. Sometimes, though, it is good to look back on those times and remember that yes, I made it through those hard times. I've made it through hard times since. Surely I can do again. . . one day at a time.

I do not need to see beyond the mountain
That lies ahead, too high for me to climb;
I put my trust in God who made that mountain,
And live my life just one day at a time.

The years are long; the future is uncertain;
The nights are dark; they last a long, long time;
But days are bright; my God flings wide the curtain,
And fills my life just one day at a time.

I do not fear the troubles of tomorrow;
I do not run from problems that are mine,
Because my faith is greater than my sorrow,
And I can live just one day at a time.

I thank my God who gives me strength for living;
Who fills my soul with love and peace sublime;
I thank my Jesus for His grace in giving
To me the strength for one day at a time.

What’s Your Medicine?

2011-09-05T05:00:00.000-04:00

A strong positive attitude will create more miracles than any wonder drug.

~ Patricia Neal

The Hand You’re Dealt

2011-09-04T05:00:00.000-04:00

Life is not a matter of having good cards, but of playing a poor hand well.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

The Race

2011-09-03T05:00:00.000-04:00

Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after another.

~ Walter Elliott

There Is Nothing Greater Than Grace

2011-09-02T18:26:00.001-04:00

In My Hands

2011-09-02T05:00:00.000-04:00

You must take personal responsibility. You cannot change the circumstances, the seasons, or the wind, but you can change yourself. That is something you have charge of.

~ Jim Rohn

My Message

2011-09-01T05:03:00.000-04:00

My life is my message.

~ Mahatma Gandhi

Choose Your Path

2011-08-31T05:00:00.001-04:00

All of life is a journey; which paths we take, what we look back on, and what we look forward to is up to us. We determine our destination, what kind of road we will take to get there, and how happy we are when we get there.

~From A Little Book of Happiness

Being Fearless

2011-08-30T21:01:00.001-04:00

If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.

~ Marcus Aurelius

Drawing: “Fearless” from the Sophia series, by David Hayward www.nakedpastor.com

Speechless

2011-08-30T21:00:00.001-04:00

It is rare that I am speechless, yet this is one of those times. For the next few days, I will share with you some words and images from others that are giving me direction and strength, as well as a little needed kick-butt encouragement. I hope you find something useful from them, too.

ADHD Sucks

2011-08-20T11:51:00.002-04:00

My son was diagnosed with ADHD a year ago. Believe me, it was no big surprise to anyone who ever spent time with him. I got him started on medication – Focalin XR, to be exact. It worked wonders! It was like I had my son and my family back, not to mention my own sanity. We’ve been in for med checks every three months. Over the course of the year we’ve had to make adjustments. He started off at 5 mg capsules. About a month ago, he was up to 20 mg capsules. They work fantastic during the day, but over the last several weeks, the evenings have become more and more difficult as the meds work their way out of his system. This past week has been nothing short of hell in the evenings. It’s like having a classic temperamental 2-year-old residing in an 8-year-old body. You cannot reason with him. You cannot get him out of his own little tantrum enough to listen. He stomps. He cries. He explodes over nothing and over everything. He is, in short, a most unpleasant child to be around from around 4:00 pm on. And then he won’t go to sleep.

I took him back to the doctor yesterday and she thinks he’s reached his limit on tolerating Focalin. We are trying a different class of medicine this weekend and from what I can tell, it isn’t the right one. Still stomping. Still crying. Still exploding. Still unpleasant in every way. I have a prescription for a medication from the same class as Focalin as a back-up. I have a strong feeling already that I will be filling it before the day is out.

I have been criticized for being too hard on my son. I have been criticized for showing favoritism toward my daughters. I’ve spent a LOT of time reflecting on those criticisms and feeling guilty about them. I try to be a good mom to all my children. I’ve made it a point to be more mindful of my daily interactions with my children and I’ve come to realize that my high-need, high-demand son consumes the vast majority of my time, energy, and attention. When I look at where my parenting time and energy is going, I realize that the child getting the very least of me is my youngest daughter. She is an easy kid, a non-demanding kid. She spends an awful lot of her time entertaining herself and taking care of herself while her mom is tied up with brother. To me, that doesn’t seem fair at all. She shouldn’t get less of her mom just because she is good. The problem is, there is only one of me. Well, there is Anna, but I also get criticism for allowing her to help discipline the kids sometimes. I cannot win.

ADHD sucks.

And That’s the Truth!

2011-08-16T05:00:00.000-04:00

Lily Tomlin on Laugh In as Edith Ann, a precocious five-and-a-half year old girl who waxes philosophical on every day life, either about life as a kid or things for which she feels has the answers though usually is too young to fully understand. (Wikipedia)

I have vague memories of Edith Ann skits on the comedy show Laugh In that aired from 1968-1973. I was young, born in 1965, so I imagine it was the later seasons that I remember. While Laugh In may not have been appropriate television viewing for a child my age, I had older siblings and was often able to sneak in some of their shows before Mom or Dad hustled me off to bed.

Edith Ann always sat in the oversized rocking chair holding her doll. She usually wore a jumper, white anklet socks, and Mary Janes. She talked with a childlike lisp as she attempted to narrate life with all the wisdom and knowledge of a five year old. And she always ended her skits with the classic, “And that’s the truth! Phlbtttt!”

I thought of Edith Ann recently. It was on a Sunday morning about midway through worship. The choir was singing the day’s anthem and I was sitting uncomfortably, trying to make sure the congregation was getting just a G-rated view on this day I had chosen to wear a dress that came just to the knees. Well, it came just to the knees when I was standing up. When I sat down, the dress wanted to creep a bit higher than that.

Complicating matters was the “preacher chair” that I sit in each Sunday. You know the chair. It looks a lot like a king’s throne. It was obviously built for the frame of the typical preacher back in the 50’s when the sanctuary was built and furnished. Of course, the typical preacher’s frame back then was that of an average-to-tall male, probably 5’10-6’. I am not a typical preacher. I am a woman of average female size and height. The chair dwarfs me and when I sit up straight my feet don’t quite touch the ground. It was on this day, wearing a princess-waist dress hemmed at the knee and cute but flat summer shoes, sitting in a chair that was much too big for me, that it dawned on me that I must look like Edith Ann.

I thought about little Edith Ann trying to make sense of her big, mysterious world a few moments later as I stood before my congregation to try to make sense of the big, mysterious Word. I could just imagine Big Mama God listening to me ramble on about all the things I thought I had the answers for but was just too little to fully understand. I hoped that Big Mama was simply shaking her head, hiding snickers behind the hand that covered her mouth, thinking my precociousness was more cute than sassy.

I looked out at all the dear people sitting in the pews before me. There is Miss Donna who just turned 95. There’s Joe, who received a Purple Heart in Vietnam, and Delma who flew aircraft into war zones, and Frank who spent months under the sea in a submarine on missions that he still doesn’t talk about. There’s Marian, who fears that her husband’s cancer may have spread to the brain because his memory has diminished and he has started having frequent angry outbursts. There’s Mr. Todd, whose beloved wife Lucy collapsed and died in the grocery store parking lot right in front of his eyes. There’s Susan, whose husband asked for a divorce a few weeks ago. What could I, the Edith Ann in the pulpit, have to say to all these needs sitting in the pews before me?

The fact is, every Sunday I feel like Edith Ann. I hope it isn’t just me who feels that way - I hope every preacher does. We bring to the pulpit what we know. Yes, we know the Bible, the theology, and the theory we learned in seminary. That stuff will buy us a little respect, for a little while at least. What people really want to know though is our story – the experiences that taught us a lesson, the tragedies that have broken our hearts, the times we’ve been so scared we thought we might die, the disappointments that took our breath away, the happiness that made us dance with joy. Then they want to know how that big, mysterious Word helps us make sense of all that life has dealt us.

As I look out at these people whose life stories I am learning, I realize that we’re all like little Edith Ann’s – tiny little creatures sitting in Big Mama’s lap, telling her about our day and what we think it all means. Sometimes we’re on target. Sometimes we’re cute. Sometimes we’re sassy and need stern talking-to. But always – always – we are in the lap of One so much bigger than ourselves, who loves us with a love we cannot comprehend, who has a plan greater than we can imagine – even with our wild Edith Ann imaginations. And Big Mama has an endless patience for our childish understandings and misunderstandings, always ready to teach us a little more when we’re ready to handle it.

For that, I am forever thankful.

And that’s the truth! Phlbttt!

Monday’s Child: Back to School

2011-08-15T05:00:00.000-04:00

It’s that time again! The kids will start back to school tomorrow. Mia will be a 3rd grader and Gus will be a 2nd grader. They both seem excited and ready for a new year. I know that I am about ready for a schedule again myself. As much as I’ve loved the freedom of summer and having a lot of time with them, I’m ready to have my office and my work hours back to myself for awhile!

I made a BIG decision last week. Because of the oddities of the old Bush-era No Child Left Behind, our very good neighborhood school was forced to offer school choice to all its student. DFE truly is a good school, but it’s held a few significant drawbacks for me and the kids. First, it’s huge. There are 800+ elementary students in the school. Remember, we moved here from a small community, so this was a shock to our systems. Second, while it is very close to our home, the school is a good 35+ minutes from my church (and many days much more than that when traffic snarls, which is too often for my taste). That means that the kids have to stay in after school care until almost 6:00 every day, which translates into less than three waking hours together at home during the school week. Finally, something about the school community is unwelcoming to newcomers. I’ve attended a number of PTA events at the school for the past two years. At every event, without fail, no one except for the kids’ teachers has ever spoken a word to me. Seriously. Not. a. word.

So when I researched our two new school choice options, I discovered that one of the options was attractive. It’s a smaller school – less than 450 students. It’s closer to the church – only a 15-20 minute drive. And when we toured the school we were overwhelmed with friendliness from everyone. From the principal, to the guidance counselor, to every teacher we met, to the front office staff, to the custodian – everyone was welcoming. All of these things outweigh for me the extra miles between the house and the school. After a lot of thought, a lot of prayer, and a number of phone calls/texts with my brother and his wife (who happens to be a superior educator), I made the decision to make the transfer.

A new school year. A new school. New opportunities. New friends. Exciting times!

Peeking Out

2011-08-14T19:05:00.001-04:00

I’ve been in hiding for awhile, licking my wounds and regrouping. I’m understanding a lot more, yet there is still so much beyond my grasp. Life is even more complex than I originally thought. (Sorry for being so vague. Since the story isn’t mine alone, I can’t share all the details.) Still, I believe that all things happen for a reason, that God can take even the worst that happens to us and turn it for good, and that even on the darkest days there is hope if we just look hard enough for it. Armed with these beliefs, I think I’m ready to start peeking out from my hiding place - a little bit at a time.

Coincidence?

2011-08-05T23:35:00.001-04:00

I spent a couple of hours last week sitting in the rocking chairs overlooking the Lake Susan dam, reading through different books from the Montreat Bookstore to see if there were any I wanted to purchase. There was one book in particular that caught my eye: Attempting Flight by Kristen Jongen. It was a unique little book – part art, part poetry, part prose. Honestly, it’s the kind of book that I normally wouldn’t give a second glance. For some reason I was compelled to read it cover to cover, stopping a couple of times to jot down quotes that struck me. When I got back to the apartment, I read over them again and wondered why they struck me and why I bothered to write them down. Odd quotes, indeed.

This has been a rough week. As I drove home from the church, exhausted after tonight’s Hands of Christ, I was feeling a strange mix of elated (from the night’s successes) and weepy (from life overall). I remembered writing down those quotes, but couldn’t for the life of me remember exactly what they said, or even what they were about. As soon as I got home I found my journal and flipped until I found it. Kristen wrote:

When I am vulnerable, I will repress the urge to cling. To run after. To beg, convince and remind. Of course, that is not what I want. It is not what I need. Don’t we all want a love that is running towards us with the same speed?

Feeling vulnerable beyond belief right now. Not sure what to do with it, but wondering if the Spirit was equipping me last week for what I would face this week.

Or maybe it’s just a coincidence.

What do you think? Spirit talk or coincidence? Wise words or a bunch a baloney? Right now, I just don’t trust what I think or what I feel.

FAIL

2011-08-03T13:39:00.002-04:00

Several years ago I ran into my first grade teacher at a scrapbooking party. Miss Stein was a first year teacher the year I started school. When I graduated from high school, I sent her a graduation announcement to let her know that her very first class made it all the way through standing on the foundation she had given us. I adored Miss Stein. Even so, I realized that I had very few distinct memories from that year. So I asked her to tell me about me as a first grader. I loved to talk. I loved to read and was quick to learn to read. And she remembered that any time she returned a paper of mine that had even a single X on it, I would quickly shove it in my desk so that no one could see my mistakes and failures.

Apparently I never outgrew that. When my marriage started to fail, I put on my happy face and did such a good job of it that even my family members were surprised when my husband walked out on me. When I quit my job at DJJ due to unbearable conditions and ended up living in a camper in my sister’s back yard and working a job for barely above minimum wage for a few months, I cut ties with all my friends so I wouldn’t have to admit how bad things were. There are other failures, some in the distant past and others quite recent, that I’ve shared with only one or two people. Often my past silences on the blog had less to do with laziness and more to do with retreating to lick my wounds alone. I would rather suck it up and put on a fake happy face than admit to the world that I failed at anything.

I’ve been away from the blog for the last week. As I shared, I was nesting in an apartment in Montreat, taking some much needed time away. I’m back home and back at work now. This week we will be up to our eyeballs in Hands of Christ at the church – three days of the hardest, busiest, most exhausting most rewarding community outreach that our church does – giving out school uniforms, supplies, Bibles, and hugs to somewhere around 1000 area children.

I could easily take a longer break from the blog and justify it by the busyness at work. That would be true, but it would not be the whole truth. I’m also reeling from a failure. It seems that a three year relationship that I gave my heart and soul to has come to an end. It hurts. I’m having to recalibrate all my dreams for the future and embrace being a “real” single mom again, not just a “single for now” mom. I didn't just lose my dreams, I lost my best friend. The next bit (days? weeks? months?) will be hard. Any relationship is a two-way street, so it is impossible to just blame him or shoulder all the blame myself. I will undoubtedly fight the “I’m not good/pretty/interesting/worthy enough to be loved demons. I will alternate between being heartbroken and being a raging bitch on wheels. But for once, I’m not going to hide it.

My name is Jan – Preacher Mom. I am not perfect. I fail. I am miserably bad at relationships. And I own it.

The Nest

2011-07-26T15:30:00.001-04:00

I’m spending a lot of time this week sitting on the balcony of my apartment at Montreat. We’re up in the trees and I feel like I’m in a bird’s nest. When I look out, all I can see are tree limbs, tree leaves, and the mountains peeking through. That’s a good place for me to be right now. A nest is safe. A nest is where we incubate and are nourished. A nest is where we slowly get the strength to fly.

I need to be nested awhile. As a single mom and solo pastor, I spend all my time nesting – building the nest, maintaining the nest, taking care of the ones in the nest. I need to incubate: to think, to rest, to regroup, to reconsider, to plan. I need to be nourished: by the quiet, by sleep, by long walks, by the (slightly) cooler temperatures, by the change of scenery. I didn’t realize how tired and how stretched to the limit I was until my first day here, when all I could seem to do was sit and stare. Today is a little better. I trust that each day in the nest will make me stronger.

I may go a little quiet on the blog this week. If I do, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be flying again one day soon.

Monday’s Child: Locks of Love

2011-07-25T15:36:00.001-04:00

My Mia has the most beautiful black hair I’ve ever seen. She has been stopped in stores and restaurants by people commenting on it. Except for a few small trims, she hasn’t had it cut in a couple of years.

We’ve been talking for a long time about whether she might want to get her hair cut and make a donation to Locks of Love. We’ve talked about Locks of Love, what it does and who it helps. She decided that’s what she wanted to do. I wanted to make sure that she was sure, so since the beginning of summer I would ask from time to time if she was ready to get her hair cut. I waited until she consistently answered yes and then began pestering me about when we could do it before taking the plunge.

Last Saturday was Hair Day. She was so excited!

She had so much hair that she was able to donate 11 inches of hair and still have enough length for a shoulder-length cut.

And here’s the final result. Shorter. Cooler. She loves it because everyone tells her it makes her look older.

I may be biased, but dang, that kid is cute!

Everyone Is Beautiful

2011-07-23T10:02:00.001-04:00

from the closing lines of Katherine Center’s novel, Everyone Is Beautiful

And here, after all that, is what I have come to believe about beauty: Laughter is beautiful. Kindness is beautiful. Cellulite is beautiful. Softness and plumpness and roundness are beautiful. It’s more important to be interesting, to be vivid, to be adventurous, than to sit pretty for pictures. A woman’s soft tummy is a miracle of nature. Beauty comes from tenderness. Beauty comes from variety, from specificity, from the fact that no person in the world looks exactly like anyone else. Beauty comes from the tragedy that each person’s life is destined to be lost to time. I believe women are too hard on themselves. I believe that when you love someone, she becomes beautiful to you. I believe the eyes see everything through the heart – and nothing in the world feels as good as resting them on someone you love. I have trained my eyes to look for beauty, and I’ve gotten very good at finding it. You can argue and tell me it’s not true, but I really don’t care what anyone says. I have come, at last, to believe . . . Everyone Is Beautiful.

Friday Five: Overcomers

2011-07-22T17:38:00.001-04:00

Sally writes over at RevGalBlogPals:

Today is the Feast day of St Mary Magdalene, and as I've been pondering her life, and the inspiration she is. I find in her a wonderful mix of struggle and devotion. She is both the woman who needed a deep healing and the woman who was declared (by many) to be the first amongst the apostles. She inspires me by the way she overcame so much to become so much. When I stop to think about the folk who do inspire me they are almost always overcomer's in some way or another.

With that in mind I bring you this Friday Five; List five people who inspire you to dare to step out into becoming more: Bonus question, a song or fictional character that inspires you to move beyond boundaries!

1. My family of origin. For all our foibles and dysfunctions, these are the people who are always there for me no matter what. I want to honor my parents in my life, even if I don’t always make the choices they might prefer. I pray that at those times they recognize the strength of character to stand for what I believe is right that I learned from them. I happen to think that I have the best brother ever and I want him to be proud of me. His frequent words of encouragement and support mean so much to me. I felt the same about my sister during her life. Sure do wish I could pick up the phone and give her a call just to talk.

2. My children. They make me want to be my best, but they love me even at my worst. That is truly an inspiration for this mom.

3. Danny. He challenges me to see myself as he sees me, and he sees me through eyes of love. It is hard to love myself or believe in myself like that, but he makes me want to. Every day that is my challenge and my goal.

4. Collectively, my church. It is humbling to be viewed by so many as the spiritual leader and the torchbearer for the church’s vision. They think I am helping them, but they help me even more to stretch and grow and trust and believe.

5. Soul Sisters. I have many soul sisters. Some are pastors. Some are writers. Some are moms. Some are just the best dang friends a girl could ask for. Some are a combination of all four. Sometimes they struggle. Sometimes they soar. Regardless, they are partners on the journey, encouraging me, listening to me, pushing me when necessary, comforting me when needed.

As for the bonus, I’ll have to give that one some more thought. If something comes to mind, I’ll come back and update with it.

Four More Days

2011-07-20T17:25:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling a little blah - physically, emotionally, professionally. While I faithfully observe my day off, I haven't taken significant time off from work or away from home in awhile. The change in schedule at church seems to have broken momentum - mine, at the least, if not the overall church momentum. Everyone knows it's easier to keep a body already in motion moving. It's much harder to get a stalled body moving again. Other changes on the personal front aren't suiting me so well. Potential changes on the home front are stressing me out. I need something, I'm not sure what. But in four days, I will be passing through these gates.

I will spend a week writing and reading, rock hopping and exploring, thinking and sleeping. I hope to come back feeling more like myself again. For now, I'm counting down the days to my getaway.

A New Office?

2011-07-19T22:52:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was my day off, so if you’ve been by here before you know that means it was a beach day for me and the kids. That is what one is supposed to do on a day off, right?

Today we were invited by church members to spend the afternoon with them and their extended family . . . at the beach. I thought I might feel a little guilty about not being in the office on a regular office hours day, but really, not so much after all. I wasn’t sure if this was another day off since we were at the beach having a blast or if it was work because when with church members your really never “off” completely. In the end I decided not to worry about what to call it, other than a good day.

While we were enjoying the beach today, I had a brainstorm – a great idea for how to encourage people to come sit down and talk with me if they feel the need. Somehow going to the church to the preacher’s office seemed to me in my pre-preacher days to be a lot like going to the principal’s office. It’s just not a place you go to chat, you know? I figure if that how I used to feel, then chances are good that others feel that way too. So how about this . . . wait for it . . . summer office hours on the beach! We can have a custom-made beach umbrella with the church name. We can rotate between the 3 main beaches in our area, just to be fair and accessible. Talk about a comfortable place to chat!

We have a session meeting tomorrow night. Think I can sell the idea to the session? If so, then maybe next summer I can talk them into a beach cottage as well!

No? Well, a preacher girl can dream!

Monday’s Child: Growing Up

2011-07-18T05:00:00.000-04:00

My youngest daughter spent the week on the farm with her grandparents. It’s a fairly new thing for us, having Mia go away without her brother. They’ve been joined at the hip for almost seven years now. Mia, the youngest, is the more independent, more differentiated of the two. This is her second trip to the farm alone. Gus was given his chance to go a few weeks ago, but he refused to go without his sister. He grieved mightily when they went separate ways last Sunday. Each day he got a little stronger. This is not what he wants, but it is very much what he needs.

I sent my little girl away looking like a little girl. Somehow she looked so much older when I picked her up. Can a single week do that?!

One of my favorite stories from the week that my mom shared with me is this one: Mia was sitting at the dining room table in one of the wooden dining room chairs. It squeaked and cracked and made a lot of noise. She asked her grandmother why. My mom replied, “Oh, this dining room set is as old as the hills! It must be at least 30 years old!” Mia looked thoughtful for a moment and replied, “Well my mama is 45 – no, 46 – and she doesn’t make that much noise!” (I’m thinking my child hasn’t followed too closely behind me when I climb the stairs. My knees put an economy-sized box of Rice Krispies to shame!)

I’m a happy mama with all my children back home!

Friday Five: My Name Is Gratitude

2011-07-15T11:08:00.000-04:00

A wise person once told me to make an ABC list of things I am grateful for any time I feel sad or depressed. It is a good practice when one is feeling happier than that, too. So for this Friday Five, I suggest that you use your name or nickname of about five letters and express your gratitude about something that starts with each letter. Some people have longer names, so you decide how you will go about this! (Last names, middle names, and nicknames count!)

Hmmm. Jan is a little short for this project. My real name is Janet, but no one ever calls me that so it doesn’t even feel like me. My last name too long, as is Preacher Mom. So how about PM Jan?

P = The present. I am grateful for today, even though I spend a lot of energy thinking about what I want in the future. I’m learning to live in and love the only time I really have, which is right now.

M = Mentors. I’ve carried a dream around for a long time without ever doing anything to try to make it come true. This summer I have some excellent mentors who are helping me as I take my first tentative steps.

J = Joy. Memories of my sister, Joy. Time I spent this week with my niece, Melinda Joy. Tales of my energetic great-niece, Addison Joy. The sweet smile and tender heart of my daughter, Mia Joy. Can you tell we like Joy in my family?

A = Antics. Whether it’s the summer adventures of my children, or the cuteness of our puppy, or the acrobatics of our cats, or the sense of humor of someone I encounter. It keeps me smiling.

N = Night. Summertime is a challenge sometimes for this introvert. With the kids out of school, I have someone with me all day long, every day. There is no solo commute for making the transition from home to work or work to home. There is no office time that I can say, “Please take my messages for the next hour (or two) so I can work on my sermon.” If my kids need me (and of course they do) there will be interruptions. So in the summer, night has become my time. I may not be awake to enjoy it for long, but even the sleeping dreams are my time. I love night.

Gullah Thunder

2011-07-14T19:11:00.001-04:00

I love a good summer afternoon thunderstorm. Not a bad storm, mind you, just enough of a storm to bring a cooling rain and some Gullah thunder.

Gullah thunder? You haven’t heard of that? When I moved to the Lowcountry from the Upstate, one of the first things I noticed was how different thunder sounds down here. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because there are no mountains for sound to bounce off of like there were in the small town where I lived before. I really don’t know. When I mentioned it to my brother, he suggested that maybe with all the Gullah influences down here, the thunder has learned to rumble in Gullah. That explanation works for me!

We had a rough thunder-bumper to move through this afternoon, knocking off electricity at the church. No computer for writing. No lights for reading. The clouds were nighttime dark outside so natural light wasn’t enough. If I’d had a couch or an air mattress, I would have had perfect napping weather. Lightning held us hostage for a long time – too close and too unpredictable to make a safe dash to the car. So I sat in the dark, talked a little with the secretary, soothed Rookie’s raw puppy nerves, and relaxed. It was a mid-afternoon Sabbath, given by an act of God. What a blessing!

Maybe Tomorrow!

2011-07-13T19:08:00.000-04:00

I've been thinkin' and thinkin' and thinkin' til my thinker done thunk out.

No profound words are coming from here today. I'll try again tomorrow!

Sunrise of Your Smile

2011-07-12T23:07:00.001-04:00

For my children. For all children.

Reject the worldly lie that says,
That life lies always up ahead,
Let power go before control becomes a crust around your soul,
Escape the hunger to possess,
And soul-diminishing success,
This world is full of narrow lives,
I pray by grace your smile survives.

For I would wander weary miles,
Would welcome ridicule, my child,
To simply see the sunrise of your smile,
To see the light behind your eyes,
The happy thought that makes you fly,
Yes, I would wander weary miles,
If I could see the sunrise of your smile.

Now close your eyes so you can see,
Your own unfinished memories,
Now open them, for time is brief,
And you'll be blest beyond belief,
Now glance above you at the sky,
There's beauty there to blind the eye,
I ask all this then wait awhile,
To see the dawning of your smile.

Monday’s Child: Sometimes Parents Fail

2011-07-11T05:00:00.000-04:00

My son has Attention Deficit-Hyperactivity Disorder. I know what you’re thinking: that’s what people say when they have energetic children, or when boys are being boys, or when parents can’t control their children. Parents are looking for excuses to medicate their children. I thought that too in my pre-ADHD parenting days.

Take a look at the symptoms below. In the Inattentiveness category, my son scores 8 out of 8. In the Hyperactivity category, he scores 5 out of 7. In the Impulsivity category, he scores 7 out of 8. This has been confirmed not just by me, but by two teachers and two physicians. At our meds check last week, our new doctor checked him over thoroughly, asked lots of questions of both of us, and did some observation. “Classic ADHD,” she said. “Almost every symptom on the list.”

Symptoms of Inattentiveness in Children

Doesn’t pay attention to details
Makes careless mistakes
Has trouble staying focused; is easily distracted
Appears not to listen when spoken to
Has difficulty remembering things and following instructions
Has trouble staying organized, planning ahead, and finishing projects
Gets bored with a task before it’s completed
Frequently loses or misplaces homework, books, toys, or other items

Symptoms of Hyperactivity in Children

Constantly fidgets and squirms
Often leaves his or her seat in situations where sitting quietly is expected
Moves around constantly, often runs or climbs inappropriately
Talks excessively
Has difficulty playing quietly or relaxing
Is always “on the go,” as if driven by a motor
May have a quick temper or a “short fuse”

Symptoms of Impulsivity in Children

Acts without thinking
Blurts out answers in class without waiting to be called on or hear the whole question
Can’t wait for his or her turn in line or in games
Says the wrong thing at the wrong time
Often interrupts others
Intrudes on other people’s conversations or games
Inability to keep powerful emotions in check, resulting in angry outbursts or temper tantrums
Guesses, rather than taking time to solve a problem

(http://helpguide.org/mental/adhd_add_signs_symptoms.htm)

My son is one of the cutest kids you’ll ever meet. Sweet, Polite. Cute little dimples and devilish grin. But let me tell you, he can wear your butt down!

Now take a look at some of the following complications for this mom: single with no back- up in the home; rough week full of quacking, pecking ducks at work for 4 consecutive days; summer vacation with no childcare; a pulled back muscle and the ongoing accompanying pain; being an introvert who has literally had no more than 5 waking hours alone in 5 weeks. I could probably add a few more, but that would be whining to the extreme and nobody likes a whiner.

Take list #1 and mix it up with list #2 and you have a disastrous recipe for a major mama meltdown, otherwise known as parenting failure. I don’t like to fail. I don’t like the ugliness of feeling like a bad parent. Some days, it’s just too much. Being the professional pastor, the responsible adult, and the calm, understanding parent – all at the same time and with no personal time to regroup/refresh - is exhausting.

I love my kids – all of them – even when they screw up. My kids love me even when I screw up. After a parenting fail, I just need to learn to love myself - even though I’ve screwed up. That’s the hardest part of all.

Sunday Grace

2011-07-10T21:31:00.001-04:00

It’s been a long week. A stressful week. The kind of week that wears at your patience and sinks your attitude. I love my work. Love it. But the quacking ducks that make a lot of noise and peck from behind seemed unstoppable all week, to the point that I dreaded going back into the office for the last several days.

My church served as a neutral pulpit today for a ministry candidate who was preaching for a pastor nominating committee from another church. Thank goodness for that, since I honestly don’t know how I could have produced any kind of sermon this week except maybe one entitled “Damn Those Ducks.” I’m not sure that would have been a good idea.

On this Sunday morning, when my spirits were low, I was given some beautiful moments of grace. I was reminded of all I have to make me thankful.

* I am thankful to be where I am in ministry. This particular candidate has been searching for a call for over a year now. I have another friend from another presbytery who has been searching for about that same length of time. A colleague nearby has been searching for several months, with no luck. I remember all too well what it feels like to need a call to a church. It hasn’t been so long since I was in that same boat. With all that is going on within the denomination – major changes, disagreements, rumors of churches leaving the denomination - most churches are just waiting it out to see what actually comes about with all that is taking place. It is indeed a blessing not only to have a call, but one where I truly love the people and they love me. (Well, maybe except for a duck or two.)

* PNCs (pastor nominating committees) stand out like sore thumbs when they visit a congregation. Anyone who knows anything about the call process in this denomination can spot a committee within 2 minutes of their arrival. I made my way to greet this particular committee before worship began. I noticed that one of my members was already there, greeting them. I introduced myself and welcomed them, and noted that I saw they were already receiving a welcome from D. D just laughed and said, “I came to welcome them, and then to tell them that if they were here to listen to you they just needed to go on out the door right now!” Can I just say what a wonderful, warming compliment that was?! I didn’t feel the sting from all the ducks’ pecks anymore.

* Shortly after that, M, our resident greeter and head usher who is in his 80’s, brought me a small journal that had a picture of a starfish on it, along with the story about the girl who walked along the beach throwing starfish back into the surf. When someone stopped her to tell her that there were too many starfish for her efforts to make a difference, the girl scooped up another starfish, threw it into the surf, and replied, “Made a difference to that one.” I asked him how he knew that I frequently walk the beach and throw starfish back in the ocean – because I really do. He said, “Oh, I didn’t know that, I just know you make a difference here. Every Sunday. The story makes me think of you and I want you to keep the journal.” Dear God, how I needed to hear that! By this time I couldn’t even hear the quack of the ducks anymore.

* I was more than happy to share the pulpit with another preacher/worship leader, but I was antsy. I missed leading worship. I was excited that while I wasn’t preaching, I was doing the baptism of a precious 14-month-old boy. Before worship, as I talked one last time to the parents about exactly what would be happening, I encouraged little C to play in the water. 14 months is old enough to put up a pretty big protest, so I wanted him to be as comfortable with me and the water as possible. During the actual baptism, I would have to say that he was the happiest baby I’ve ever seen. When I looked at him as I talked about baptism, he looked right back as though he was taking in every word. And when I actually baptized him, he reached down and splashed in the water and squealed with delight. We all got showered, which was perfect because I really needed a tangible remembrance of my baptism and call today.

Ducks? What ducks? There were no ducks at church today. Just grace – and lots of it.

Summertime Friday Five

2011-07-08T15:25:00.001-04:00

So, what's up, Rev Gals and Pals? How are you spending your summer? (I know, some of you are in a different hemisphere and it may be chilly...sorry!) Are you experiencing fire or floods or tornados? Vacationing? Working harder than ever? Experiencing change? Longing for change?

Share five things that are happening in your life, personally or professionally or some of each, in this season of life.

1. Kids, kids, kids - With all three of mine out of school for the summer, we have a lot of family together time. The church has graciously allowed me to work from home one day a week during the summer, which limits the office days that the kids tag along to just 3. Anna has a part-time job this summer, so some days she is with me as a great personal assistant and other days she does her own thing. Nothing like a little (or a lot) of togetherness!

2. Beach - I do love the beach. My day off is beach day for us unless the weather prevents it. I’ve written numerous times about my love of the ocean – its sounds, its smells, its calming influence. I also love to go late in the evening just to walk. Ahhh!

3. Writing - I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into with this writing intensive. I have a lot of work to do between now and Sunday, when I have to submit something for peer review and critique. I’m enjoying the work of writing and being a part of this kind of group gives me both the accountability and the “excuse” to write more often. Still waiting for the project to gel, though.

4. Montreat – I think that everything is coming together for a week at Montreat very soon. While it will be a study leave for writing and planning, it will also be a week of peace and relaxation. As much as I love Charleston, I haven’t taken more than a day or two away in a very long time. It’s time for some get away. And I love the mountains almost as much as I love the beach!

5. Decisions – We’re spending a lot of time at the church this summer making decisions about fall programming, worship themes, fellowship, and mission events. It’s fun to dream in outline form, knowing that the real work will come when it’s time to fill in and implement the details. At home I’m weighing the pros and cons of staying in our current rental vs finding a new place. The market isn’t so great right now, but it sure would be nice to have work, school, and home all closer together. Researching, thinking, and praying a lot about that right now.

The Best I Can Do: Star-Thingies

2011-07-07T22:06:00.001-04:00

This week feels like it’s been three or four weeks wrapped up into one. It has kicked my butt. I would like to turn out an interesting, worthy post, but I’m afraid all I have the energy to share are a few star-thingies.

* Work report for the week so far? Totally and completely unbloggable. I love my work, but this week has been capital-S Stressful. All will be well. It’s heading that direction already, I think. But it’s been no fun at all.

* Up until today, Gus has seen the same doctor about his ADHD meds. We couldn’t get in to see that doctor until next month, so we saw someone new. I loved her! I got so much more information, so much more encouragement, and so many more options to study for future consideration.

* I have a good news/bad news report today. The good news is that Danny has a new job. His current job has been hell and he’s been very unhappy in it. The new job is a much better situation with good benefits. The bad news? It’s still 4 hours away. So our long distance relationship seems to be the way we’ll continue to go for now. I can’t say that the long distance thing thrills me, but I read something this week that made me see waiting in a new light. It’s a great post by Edward Paz called What God Is Doing While You're Waiting. I’m trying to learn to trust it!

* It’s official. I’m getting old. I had an eye exam and fitting for new contacts this week. I’ve been doing the whole mono-vision thing for almost two years – wearing a contact for distance in my left eye and nothing in my right eye. That way I had at least reasonably good distance in one eye and reading vision in the other. My vision has now changed enough that mono-vision is starting to place too much strain on my eyes. I now wear bifocal contacts. Ouch! That hurts my pride! I wore them for the first time today and didn’t have any problems except for my right eye’s protests over wearing a contact again. The good news is that my eyes are otherwise healthy. My family history includes glaucoma and cataracts and my brother’s MS was diagnosed by his eye doctor, so that’s good news indeed.

* I caught a tiny baby lizard in my study at the church today. When I first saw it scurrying by, I thought it was a big spider and I almost stomped it. But something about the way it moved made me take a closer look. It was less than two inches long and so cute! I caught it in a cup and released it in the flower pot outside the office. I wish I had taken the time to snap a picture. I was so shocked by his appearance that it never crossed my mind. How does a tiny lizard get into an upstairs office anyway?! Oh, and lucky for him, Rookie was not with me at work today. Can we say “afternoon snack”?

Once Upon a Time . . .

2011-07-06T20:58:00.001-04:00

. . . long ago and in a land far away, a preacher mom discovered a means of communication called the blog. She discovered that it was a place where she could anonymously write about the joys and challenges of her life as a female pastor. When things happened at the church – say, with a staff member or an elder or a member – she could write about it freely. She could express whatever emotion she felt, be it anger, frustration, amusement, or dismay. Blog Land was a safe and happy place.

She discovered that there were others out there in Blog Land who had similar experiences who would happily commiserate with her and/or offer her advice and encouragement. Even though the residents of Blog Land were scattered far and wide, the conversations shared felt like a group of friends sitting down to share coffee, dessert, and the day’s events.

Times changed, as they always do. After awhile more and more people became aware of Blog Land. It became more difficult, pointless even, to remain anonymous. There was always a chance that the subjects of the stories shared online might stumble upon those stories, and always the danger that feelings could be hurt, offense taken, and jobs placed in jeopardy.

The preacher mom learned the wisdom of not sharing everything in Blog Land anymore. The blog goes on and the friends in Blog Land are still there, but the forum for safely airing the funnies and frustrations of ministry is gone.

So for my friends in Blog Land, particularly those of the preacherly kind, boy-oh-boy would I have some stories to share with you today if we still lived in that long ago, far away land! You don’t know how badly I wish I could snark it up here with you and in turn receive your sympathy/empathy (and based on past experiences from days gone by, I know you could sympathize/empathize with this one). I could use the calm, wise ones among you to talk me down as well as the snarky, funny ones among you to help me find the humor.

I know you would be there, just as you always have been. For now that is enough. And for that, dear friends, I am thankful.

Like a Kid

2011-07-05T15:57:00.000-04:00

You know what I think is so neat about kids, especially the younger ones? They love life and get excited about everything. Every single day is an adventure. Every new or unexpected experience is like a gift. They don't know what to expect or even what could be, so they are rarely disappointed. Whoever is with them is their favorite playmate. Whatever toy is in their hand is their favorite toy. Their favorite memory is right now.

The older we get, the more we know. The more we know the more we expect. The more we expect, the more often we get disappointed. The more we know about what's "out there" beyond our reach, the less satisfied we are with what's "right here" in front of our faces.

My kids and I had a great July 4th. We were with friends. We had ocean and sand, two pools and a lazy river. The temperature was not too hot and there was a great breeze all day. None of the four of us sunburned. People-watching was at its best. Fireworks on the beach - a wild combination of professional fireworks and everybody else's - were chaotically beautiful. Road travel, although very late going home, was uneventful. I couldn't have asked for more.

Only I could have. I didn't get everything I wanted for the 4th. I didn't do everything I wanted to do or see everybody I wanted to see. In the middle of all the fun, there was an abiding sense of longing for what wasn't happening. It made for a bittersweet kind of day.

Sometimes I wish I was a kid again.

Happy Independence Day!

2011-07-04T05:00:00.000-04:00

Taking a holiday break from Monday’s Child in order to celebrate the day with my children. Hope you have a wonderful 4th with the people you love best!

RGBP Friday Five: The Way We Blogged

2011-07-01T14:43:00.001-04:00

A friend and I were lamenting recently about the good ol' days of blogging and memes. Certainly there are still some very active blogs around our web ring, but the days of the Friday Five getting 50-70+ responses are in the past. We lamented that the Friday Five is the equivalent of the women's guild of RevGalBlogPals.

I am one of those who went from blogging just about daily to periodically at best. Unfortunately, the number I routinely read has gone down as well. What about you?

1) Have your blogging (writing/reading) habits shifted since the days of yore?

I’ve been blogging for over 6 years, but my posting habits have been sporadic. My “high” years were 2007 and 2008 with 200+ posts. My “low” was last year with a measly 48. I came very close to closing down the blog this spring, but instead I got a second wind and recommitted. I posted every day in May and June. Yay me! I like the discipline it brings to my writing and my attention to the details of life when I blog. I’m giving myself permission to back off from the 7 day a week posting schedule starting this month, but I still intend to post 4-5 times a week.

As for my reading habits, I still follow my favorites via Google Reader. I’ve gotten pretty slack on leaving comments though. I sure do miss the interaction we used to have through posts and comments.

2) Do you have some favorites that you miss?

Real Live Preacher was the one who introduced me to blogs to begin with – ironically, when he published a book of his posts and essays. I still read Gordon as he posts in other places, but I do miss Real Live Preacher.

3) Are there some blogs you still put in the 'must read' category?

My “must read” blogs are mainly those of fellow clergywomen who have formed a community via the RGBP ring. I’m afraid to start naming names, because just as soon as I do I’ll leave someone out. I’m still very much interested in following the lives, adventures, and ministries of these amazing women.

4) If we gathered at your knee, what would you tell us about those early days of blogging?

That the most amazing thing can happen – people just might actually read what you write. And they might respond. And you might find your world expanded exponentially through these amazing connections. Who would’ve thought it?!

5) Do you have a clip or a remembrance of a previous post of yours or someone else's that you remember, you know an oldie but goodie?

Every Saturday during the months of June and July, I’ve revisited some of my favorite posts. Most of these I had forgotten until I took the time to re-read my blog back in April. Finding these forgotten memories were like stumbling upon precious treasures. They may not be of much value to anyone else, but to me – priceless.

What I Learned From The Voice

2011-06-30T05:00:00.000-04:00

I sheepishly confess to getting hooked by yet another reality show: The Voice. I started watching it because I was intrigued by the idea of the blind audition. Each potential contestant came out on stage and sang for the judges as the judges sat with their backs turned. No peeking! If the judges liked what they heard, they could turn around. Turning around was a commitment on the part of the judges that they were willing to take that singer on as part of their team. These singers were initially judged on their voices alone. Imagine that!

I found myself drawn back to the show week after week because it was such a positive show. Unlike so many of the other reality/talent shows, this show seemed built on providing positive feedback and training instead of snarky criticism. True, there was a lot of teasing between the coaches, but it was good-natured and fun.

Another reason I was drawn back again and again was the level of talent. Even in the early rounds of the show several of the contestants, most of whom could never get a nod from the recording industry previously, sounded better than many of the well-known singing artists’ studio produced recordings. And they were singing live!

I think the right singer won. Javier has an amazing voice, and besides that, he seems to be such a good family man – so proud his little girls. I expect the other three finalists will soon have recording contracts of their own. We haven’t heard the last of them.

There are a few things that I learned from The Voice:

1) Our voice, our essence, does indeed stand apart from appearance. While media generally tries to persuade us otherwise, you don’t have to have a pretty face or a skinny body to be a person of value or talent. We all have a voice and we’ve all been given some specific outlet to share our voice with the world.

2) You don’t have to be snarky to be entertaining. Camaraderie goes a long way. Praise and constructive criticism provides much better motivation than tearing a person down. And as for the fun? Well, that’s just fun!

3) Every person has his/her own unique style and voice. While we should never change who we are to fit in with others, sometimes we do need to make accommodations when it comes time to work together. When singing a duet, or working with a partner, we really do need to blend.

4) Sometimes our styles and voices are so different that maybe it’s best that we work toward the same goal – but apart. I have to say that I wasn’t fond of the performances of the four coaches together – Blake Shelton, Christina Aguilera, Cee Lo Green, and Adam Levine. Each one is awesome in his/her own way, but blending country, pop, hip hop, and rock styles and voices into a single performance? Well, it just doesn’t work very well.

Find your voice. Find your outlet. Find your coaches, your encouragers, your partners, and see what amazing things you can accomplish together. Oh, and don’t forget – have fun!

Mid-Week Music: Blessings

2011-06-29T05:00:00.000-04:00

This is one of my new favorites. I know I spend a lot of energy asking why some things happen the way they do. Maybe I'm just missing the blessings.

We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know the pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the achings of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise

I’ve Got Peace Like… an Ocean

2011-06-28T05:00:00.000-04:00

Is there anything in this world more soothing, more peaceful, more restorative than the sound of the ocean? The crash of the waves, the call of the seagulls, the squeals of children, voices from nearby sunbathers and passing walkers – all muffled by the breeze blowing across my body. It doesn’t put me in a euphoria. I can still feel sad or lonely or other “downer” emotions. But what I’m sure to feel as well is peace. Maybe being in the presence of something as immense as the ocean reminds me that I’m also in the presence of an immense God. It’s the one time, the one place, I can feel myself let go. Now, if I could just bottle that peace and that release and take it home with me . . .

Monday’s Child: The Family Run

2011-06-27T05:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve been going to the gym and/or doing morning run/walks for awhile now. This summer, however, my oldest daughter decided that it was time for her to get physical too. While I’m perfectly content – happy even – to exercise alone, Anna isn’t happy doing much of anything alone. “Come on, Mom. Run with me.”

We don’t make great running partners. I like to run in the morning. She likes to run at night. She’s 26 years younger, skinny as a rail, and has such long legs that even when I match her step-for-step in pace, she still gains a considerable lead. Not to mention that if two of us go out running, the other two have to come along as well. It may not be the most productive exercise time for me, but it is interesting.

Long-legged Anna generally leads the way. Gus, usually in his Nerf ammo vest and camouflage hat, runs back and forth stalking bad guys. Sometimes he runs point in front of Anna. Other times he lags behind the rest of us. Mia is a good runner – for sprints. She can fly like the wind and catch up with her older sister. Then she poops out and walks to catch her breath, often falling way behind. Then there’s me, trying to keep my legs moving, gulping for oxygen hidden somewhere in the thick, humid air, and doing my best to keep all three kids in sight. Sometimes I’m right with Anna. Sometimes I’m at the back of the pack where I can see all three. Sometimes I’m doubling back to join Mia, who has fallen too far behind.

It’s quite different from my solo exercise experiences, when I can get lost in my own thoughts, go at my own pace, and set my own route. It’s fun, though, to watch my kids each doing his/her own thing, in his/her own style.

Anna is strong-willed and determined. She pushes hard, past the point where I would want to stop for a breather. She holds herself erect. It’s only by watching her closely that I can tell when she’s wearing down. Her stride shortens and there’s a tell-tale kick to the outside. But when she’s on the home stretch, look out! That girl can move!

Gus hardly recognizes that he is exercising. His imagination is so lively that it’s nothing to him to keep going as long as he sees the “enemy” around every corner and behind every bush. He can drop to the ground, do a quick roll, pick off a few imaginary insurgents, and be back on his feet with little effort. If, however, I was trying to get him to run straight sprints or do calisthenics, he would wear down and quit in short order. Let him get lost in his own world and he can go forever.

Mia is amazingly fast. Her short little legs are a blur as she takes off in a sprint. I hope to see her on the soccer field or on the track leaving competitors in the dust one day. Her endurance will build, but I’m careful with her because of her asthma. Our first night out she seemed tentative. I was afraid she was having asthma trouble, but when I checked her, I heard no wheezing. We had a long talk about the difference between being out of breath and having an asthma attack. She seemed surprised to realize that all of us have trouble breathing when we exercise hard. That made her feel better and she’s since lost that tentativeness.

And me, I’m kicking along trying to keep up with all the kids, looking out for their safety, hoping that I won’t miss a single second of their joy or a single indication of their need – all while trying to stay in touch with myself and my body. That’s what I call a real workout!

How Great Thou Art

2011-06-26T05:00:00.000-04:00

I have to say that I love the old hymns. That makes me somewhat of an oddity among people in my age group. This one remains one of my favorites, sung by one of my favorite country singers.

O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works thy hand hath made,
I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed;

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home- what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, my God, how great thou art!

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home- what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, my God, how great thou art!

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

Revisiting: The Forgotten Room

2011-06-25T05:00:00.000-04:00

Certain themes have a way of reappearing in my writing and in my dreams. The post below, written on August 2, 2009, contains one of those themes: a house, a room, a special and often forgotten place newly rediscovered. I continue to have these dreams on a regular basis. A home of my own and a place (room) of my own represent something of great importance in my subconscious/unconscious mind. And in my conscious mind as well, I’m sure.

It's been almost 6 weeks since I moved from Small Town to City by the Sea. In those almost 6 weeks, I've had an image make an appearance in 3 separate dreams: the image of the forgotten room. Since it made its 3rd appearance last night, I thought maybe it was time to pay it a little attention.

In all 3 dreams I am living in a new house. I am mostly unpacked and settled in. In all 3 dreams I stumble on a large room at the front of the house, one I knew existed but had shut off and forgotten it was there. In the 1st dream, I walked into the room and knew I would make it a library. In the 2nd dream, it had a huge table in the middle of the room where I could spread out to sew (apparently I can sew in my dreams) and draw (apparently I can draw in them, too) and make all kinds of beautiful things. Last night when I opened the door to the forgotten room, I found that it had 3 walls of windows. One side looked out on the ocean, one on the bay, and one on the marsh. (I think my long, long walk on the beach to the tip of the island yesterday made an impact!) I knew it was meant to be my room to write. The water was my inspiration. Regardless of its specific purpose in each dream, each time I found it I was so surprised that I ever could have forgotten it. And I was so excited because I knew it was my room - a place that made me very happy

I've been told that in our dreams the house is a reflection of our self. If there's any truth to that, then what part of my self have I have closed off and forgotten? What is that place of peacefulness (bookstores and libraries are where I go to get away from it all), and creativity, and self-expression? Where is that place in me that is surrounded by inspiration? Why did I shut it off and forget it? How can I find it again? And what will it mean to me when I do find it?

Now I'm no great interpreter of dreams. I might even discount it as just an interesting dream - if it hadn't reappeared 3 times in such a short period of time. I believe that recurring dreams are trying to tell us something if we just pay close enough attention to hear what they are saying. Maybe you're better at reading dreams than I am. Any suggestions?

I Want To Be A Quitter

2011-06-24T14:08:00.001-04:00

A few years ago, I discovered Jon Acuff’s blog, Stuff Christians Like, when Anonymous read one of my self-image posts and sent me a link to one of Jon’s most powerful (in my opinion) posts, Thinking You're Naked.

Since that time, I’ve followed Jon’s blog and career like a good social media lurker. Of all that he’s written so far, his latest book is my favorite. Quitter is all about following and realizing your dreams. It’s not a “pie in the sky” kind of book. I’ve read plenty of those. As a single mom, solely responsible for putting a roof over my kids’ head, keeping food in their bellies, taking care of their needs, and putting them through college, those fantasy dream-chasing books just won’t work. I don’t get to check out of reality just because there are a few things out there I’d really like to do. Quitter is the most reasonable, responsible, hopeful book on dream chasing I’ve ever read.

And now Jon is doing this: a Quitter conference. I want to go! It sounds just like what I want/need right now. My dilemma is this: because every penny seems to be committed to the responsibilities I listed above, I would like to do this through my continuing ed fund for work. I’m working on making the connections needed to justify this conference as a pastor’s continuing ed event without scaring the bejeezus out of my session for wanting to go to a conference named Quitter. Any suggestions? Anyone? Please?

Welcome to the World, Baby Boy

2011-06-23T05:00:00.000-04:00

His mother was like one of my own. She, her older sister, and Anna were inseparable as kids. They laughed, argued, and got into all kinds of mischief together. They played soccer together for so many years that they made a formidable threesome on the field. Just two days shy of 18, this young woman has grown up a lot in these past few months. This isn’t how she planned to spend her senior year. It isn’t how she expected to spend her summer. Yet with the love and support of her family, her friends, and her boyfriend, she made the decision to give birth to the healthiest baby possible, and to love him and raise him with the love she has always know herself. I’m proud of you, new little mama. And your baby boy? He. is. PERFECT!

Learning to Write

2011-06-22T05:00:00.000-04:00

After my grand failure at the library, I decided to hunker down and get some serious work done. I found that sometimes you have to go back to the basics. My writing day started off looking like this:

Then after awhile it looked like this:

Then I took all those notes and organized them in rough outline form here:

And finally made it back here:

Index cards? Hard copies? Pen and paper? Who knew those things still worked?!

Productivity FAIL

2011-06-21T05:00:00.000-04:00

My session has graciously agreed to allow me to work from home one day a week during the summer to make life with kids a little easier. I’m excited about that day at home, anticipating that I will use it primarily for my continuing ed intensive writing project. I had high hopes for my first summer work-from-home day. I was going to pack up my notes, my laptop, and my kids and head to our local library. Once there, they would happily peruse the bookshelves and/or play on the kids’ computers while I set up shop at one of the tables and proceeded to be amazingly productive.

Right.

Problem #1: There was a recycling program for kids and the place was packed out! So for the first 30 minutes I joined my Gus and Mia and watched the show. Fun, but not productive.

Problem #2: Anna sent a list of titles to look for, which I decided to do before settling down to work. If I had just looked for those 4 titles alone, it would have been fine. But books! So many books! The temptation was overwhelming.

Problem #3: The magazine rack is near the tables. I saw an issue of Health magazine that I hadn’t seen before. Hey – it’s cheaper to glance through it at the library than it is to buy it!

Problem #4: For the first time in the history of trips to the library, my kids were ready to go long before I was. What happened to the children who always need a few more minutes to look? What happened to the children who always beg to play the computer games?

I haven’t decided yet if I dare to give the library another try next week. In theory, it should be one of the best places ever with kids along. In reality . . . we’ll wait and see.

Twelve Year Anniversary

2011-06-20T10:00:00.000-04:00

Twelve years ago today I was ordained as a Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (USA). I am remembering the special group of people who served as my ordination commission. I am remembering the very high highs, the very low lows, and the mostly in-betweens of the last twelve years of ministry. I am realizing that I had no clue about what I was getting myself into – and that’s probably a good thing. I am thankful for where I am in ministry today and look forward to what is still to come. And as I have been from the beginning, I am humbled by this calling.

Monday’s Child: Our Home Is Not Broken

2011-06-20T05:00:00.000-04:00

In early 2003 I interviewed a half dozen adoption agencies in my search for the one that I would use to grow my family. I remember one interview in particular at a Christian agency. After getting information about their international programs, I asked what the domestic adoption picture would look like for me, a single mom. I remember the woman drawing herself up straighter in her chair and saying, “Well, we like to place our children in homes with both a mother and a father. If we were unable to find a suitable two parent family, which never happens, only then would we consider placing a child in a broken home.”

If you know me well at all, then you know that I hate confrontation so much that I will endure a lot of guff to avoid it. On this occasion, however, it was too much guff for me to swallow. “Ma’am, I realize that my home is a single parent home, but it is not a broken home. My home was broken when I lived under the same roof with a husband who verbally and emotionally abused me and who contributed almost nothing to the care of our daughter. That was a broken home. And my experience tells me that there are just as many two parent homes that are broken as there are single parent homes that are broken – maybe even more.” Then I drew myself up straighter and marched myself right out their door.

Yes, I know that the ideal family consists of a father and a mother, both loving and involved in their children’s lives. I want that for myself and my kids more than I can express. But do not assume that because my family isn’t ideal, it’s broken!

A few months ago I had a conversation with a mom about the sports her children play. She indicated that they enjoyed the baseball crowd of parents better than the soccer crowd of parents. “When we’re in the baseball stands, we’re with families that are more like ours – you know, two parent families. For some reason, the soccer stands seem to be full of single moms. You know what I mean.”

Well yes, I do know what she meant. I happen to have been one of those single soccer moms in the stands for two seasons out of every year, for twelve years. I was there every single game, even if it meant standing on the sidelines in a dress and heels because I would have to leave in the 3rd quarter to go perform a wedding or a funeral. I took my share of turns bringing snacks and drinks. I carpooled other kids to and from practices and games. I was team parent several seasons. I even coached one year. In my daughter’s entire soccer career, I missed only one game. She was in 10th grade. It was the first year I participated in the MS Challenge Walk and I had to leave early in the afternoon to make the long trip down for the event. I got a cell phone play-by-play from another soccer mom during the game, and then another one from my daughter after the game.

Do not tell me that because I am a single mom, I am somehow an inferior parent, giving my kids a less-than-ideal home. (Can you tell I feel strongly about this?).

It is true that being a single parent is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. It is exhausting. It is stressful. It is overwhelming. I cannot afford all the extracurricular stuff I’d like to provide for them. Our evenings after school/work during the academic year are way too short. I can’t put on the big birthday parties. But I love my children. I take care of my children. I do everything in my power to give them a safe, stable, loving home. Even if it does half kill me some days, I think I do a pretty good job.

Father’s Day was hard for me this year. Anna spent the day in Columbia with her father and grandmother. I am so grateful that she is of the age that I am out of that loop and that she can handle her own meeting plans with him. I spent the day with Gus and Mia, trying to give them a good Father’s Day. They call these days that the three of us play together “Mom and me” days. We ate Mexican. We went to see a movie (Judy Moody and the Not Bummer Summer). We walked in the mall and bought new things for them to read at the bookstore. We called my dad, whom they call Daddy, and wished him a happy Father’s Day. It was a good day. For them, our life is completely normal. For me, a lucky girl who has a great dad, I know they are missing something I can’t provide by myself. One day I believe that will change, but for now I am The Parent, providing for them the best I can.

Call us a conspicuous family. Call us a unique family. Call us a single-parent family. Just do not call us a broken family. Our home is not broken.

Happy Father’s Day to All Dads…

2011-06-19T05:00:00.000-04:00

I love you, Daddy!

And Danny, this is for you and your little princess.

Cinderella

She spins and she sways
To whatever song plays
Without a care in the world
And I'm sitting here wearing
The weight of the world on my shoulders

It's been a long day
And there's still work to do
She's pulling at me
Saying "Dad, I need you
There's a ball at the castle
And I've been invited
And I need to practice my dancing
Oh, please, Daddy, please?"

So I will dance with Cinderella
While she is here in my arms
'Cause I know something the prince never knew
I will dance with Cinderella
I don't wanna miss even one song
'Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight
And she'll be gone...

She says he's a nice guy and I'd be impressed
She wants to know if I approve of her dress
She says, "Dad, the prom is just one week away
And I need to practice my dancing
Oh, please, Daddy, please?"

So I will dance with Cinderella
While she is here in my arms
'Cause I know something the prince never knew
Ooh-oh ooh-oh I will dance with Cinderella
I don't want to miss even one song
'Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight
And she'll be gone She will be gone.

Well, she came home today with a ring on her hand
Just glowing and telling us all they had planned
She says, "Dad, the wedding's still six months away
But I need to practice my dancing
Oh, please, Daddy, please?"

Revisiting: Deep South

2011-06-18T05:00:00.000-04:00

This continues my journey through some of my favorite and/or more popular posts since the beginning of Preacher Mom. This piece was first posted on May 23, 2005.

For my entire life, minus a little over 2 years when I was very young, I have lived in the South. I love the South. Then again, I don't really know anything else. Six years ago I moved from a "metropolitan" Southern town to a quaint Southern small town. Small enough that everybody knows everybody, and everybody knows everybody else's business. Small enough that impromptu parades led by fire trucks and ambulances still take place when the local high school wins a state championship. Small enough that folks are suspicious of you if they don't know who your parents or grandparents are. Small enough that it is still "ruled" by a couple of leading families. The matriarch of one of those families is in my church. Lucky me. She doesn't like me much. Not so lucky me.

This weekend I read a mystery novel by an author who, although she's apparently been around quite awhile, I just discovered - Nevada Barr, and her Anna Pigeon series. I read Deep South this weekend. It was an interesting read, especially in the way that it gave a newcomer's reaction to living in the South. We must truly be a strange people if her observations are anywhere close to accurate. And I believe they are!

In the novel, Anna Pigeon describes the South to her sister in this way: "It is a country of deep-fried kindness and cotton-mouthed hostilities." I read the sentence, then re-read it a couple of times. Oh-my-gosh, is that not a great way to describe it?! (You other Southerners out there - feel free to chime in here!)

In the South, and particularly in rural and small towns, the kindness is indeed deep-fried. It pleases the palate, but so help me, it'll kill you if you aren't careful. And as for the cotton-mouthed hostilities, Southerner have more ways to tell you to kiss their tails with such graciousness that good manners make you want to say, "Thank you." But like the bite of the cotton-mouth snake, the venom is painful. If it doesn't kill you, it makes you wish that it would.

Folks, in my six years in this small Southern town, I've had so much deep-fried kindness sent my way that I have to watch my step to keep my feet from sliding out from under me. And yes, I suffered the cotton-mouthed hostility of none other that our dear old matriarch. God, it was painful, but I lived through it. Even though I received the bite about two years ago, I can sometimes swear that a bit of the venom is still in my system. Maybe it's just phantom pain. Maybe it's just the abiding fear that the cotton mouth is just waiting for an opportunity to strike again. Anyway, I think I'll survive. There's plenty of deep-fried antidote available.

Blessings Y’all!
Preacher Mom

Sweet Summertime at the Farmer's Market

2011-06-17T05:00:00.001-04:00

Every Thursday at the community center at Park Circle, they host a local farmer's market. I always have good intentions of stopping by to pick up fresh produce, but too often I get distracted and find myself zooming past, slapping my forehead exclaiming, "Dang it, I forgot again. If I stop now I'll be late getting the kids." It's been my weekly habit ever since the market reopened in the spring.

The kids are home for the summer now, so I don't have to rush to pick them up anymore. We took a mid-afternoon break to walk across the street to see what we've been missing. There were produce treasures of every shape, size, color, scent, and flavor. There was a man selling plants. The sweet scent of the Confederate Jasmine tempted me, but since I don't plan to stay in the house I'm renting much longer, I was able to withstand the temptation. There was the woman selling herbs. She's also a painters. She complained because her hands are always dirty with either paint or dirt. The smile on her face let me know that it wasn't really a complaint. She's a happy woman.

I wanted to buy at least one of everything, but for this trip I settled on corn, cantaloupe, okra, peaches, and local honey. Add some fresh biscuits and I think we'll be set for a summertime supper.

Back in the office, the smell of the produce sitting in bags on my desk was sheer heaven. My stomach started growling for supper at 3 p.m. I washed a couple of the peaches and gave them to Gus and Mia to snack on. You would have thought I'd given them food from the table of the gods. Or food from the table of God, which I suppose is exactly what it is. "I wish I could marry this peach!" For the word "marry" to be uttered by my son who thinks all things love/kissy/marriage are gross is saying a lot!

I doubt they'll let me forget next week!

The Praying Church Dog

2011-06-16T05:00:00.000-04:00

From the time that Rookie joined our family 18 months ago, he was the church dog. He went with me to work every day from the very beginning. I am fortunate to be in a church made up largely of animal lovers. The older ladies just love him. The older men just love him. Everybody just loves him. Members of other churches have been known to make special trips to my church in order to see the church dog.

My church’s session holds its monthly meetings in my office. Some months I leave Rookie at home on session meeting days; other times I bring him with me. The elders chastise me on the days I leave him home. He adds personality to the meetings, I guess.

Last night Rookie was present for our meeting. As usual, he was well behaved. (Well, except for stealing my shoes from under my chair when I slipped them off mid-meeting. I should have known better.) We closed our meeting as we usually do – by praying the Lord’s Prayer together. Only this time I suggested that we stand and hold hands to pray.

“Our Father, who art in heaven . . .” ~ bark ~ “. . .hallowed be Thy name.” ~ bark, bark ~ It wasn’t his play-with-me bark. It wasn’t his I-hear-something bark. It wasn’t his feed-me bark. He was talking. “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” ~ bark ~ By this point he was scratching on the back of my leg, indicating he wanted me to pick him up. Obviously I couldn’t. Instead, I lifted up one foot behind me and he clung to it for the remainder of the prayer. “. . .For thine is the the kingdom” ~ bark ~ '”and the power” ~ bark, bark ~ “and the glory forever.” ~ bark ~

Amen.

Chores

2011-06-15T05:00:00.000-04:00

For years I have operated under the “sometimes it’s just easier to do things yourself” theory. I think it’s also known as the “if you want something done right, do it yourself” theory. Back in the days when I was married, it was the “get this done before he has the chance to tell you all the ways you do it wrong” theory. Regardless of what you call it, it reflects a need for control. It results in being overworked and harried.

I’ve been known to complain about all I have to carry on my shoulders as a single mom. Once I’m done being a professional at work all day, I have to come home and manage the house, the kids, the meals, the chores, the bills, etc. It feels like too much. It is too much some days. Finally one day recently I got smart and asked myself why I was doing everything by myself. I decided to make a few changes.

I got Anna to fix supper. She did a great job! Did she go about it the same way I would have? No. Did it drive me a little crazy? Yes. Did I say anything? Absolutely not! (I refer you back to the “get this done before he has the chance to tell you all the ways you do it wrong” theory above.) She is also very helpful with the younger kids. She’s also one of the best personal assistants at work that I could ask for.

Soon after that, I taught Gus how to change the cat litter. Did he spill the dirty litter in the carpet on his very first unsupervised attempt? Yes. Did it drive me a little crazy? Yes. Did I fuss about it? No. Did he get an extra lesson in sweeping and vacuuming? You bet! He also gets a kick out of taking care of the trash and the recycling.

Tonight I taught Mia how to load the dishwasher. Do I have that down to an art? Yes. Does she do it like I do? No. Am I going to complain or correct? No, even if it does drive me a little crazy. She also loves feeding the cats and watering our one and only flower – the one she gave me for Mother’s Day.

I don’t know if I’m a control freak or if I just hate asking for help so much that I’ll be a doormat before I call for backup. I do know when I do let go, when I do ask for help, I’ve been pleasantly surprised not only at how much lighter my load feels, but also by the discovery that others people can achieve equal or better results, even if they don’t do it my way. (By the way, this is true at church too. Ironically, this was the post on the Acts 16:5 Initiative blog today.)

Teach. Let go. Trust. Observe. And finally – enjoy!

What took me so long?

Today’s the Day! (And a de-Lurking Request)

2011-06-14T05:00:00.000-04:00

At 8:30 I’ll dial in for the writing intensive group’s first teleconference call. I’ve never taken part in a class set up quite like this, so it should be an adventure. It looks like it will be me, three other writers, and our mentor. I’m pretty excited.

I am still trying to formulate in my mind the shape of this project. I’m not there yet, but I’m looking at self-image and body image and the myriad of experiences that influence how we feel about ourselves. I have experiences I look forward to sharing in writing – some humorous, others not so much so. The purpose of this group is to help me find a shape for my project and then to keep me on track. I’m praying that they are wise, wise people! I need all the help I can get.

In the meantime, my goal is to continue posting regularly here. The discipline alone of keeping up with the blog is helpful. I don’t really understand Blogger’s blog stats, but I know enough to know that even though there aren’t many comments left, more people are stopping by. (Or maybe the same people are stopping by more often!) If you’re one of those people, consider de-lurking for me every now and then. Don’t worry. I’m a lurker on most blogs I visit too. Just leave me a “Hey!” or a “(o)” every now and then. I’d love to make sure I’m keeping up with your blogs too.

Monday’s Child: Dreaming Big

2011-06-13T05:00:00.000-04:00

I remember dreaming of what I would be when I grew up. For a long time, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a spy. I wanted to be a gold medal Olympian in gymnastics, or ice skating, or swimming. I wanted to travel all over the world. I never really dreamed that I would be a teacher, and then a preacher. (Never, ever dreamed I would be a preacher. Just wanted to make that perfectly clear!) I never dreamed I’d be a single mom, or an adoptive mom. l haven’t lost some of my dreams. I’m not a vet, but I’ve spent the years caring for and nursing animals of all shapes and sizes and kinds. I still want to be a writer. People who know me well enough know that I’m nosy enough to be a spy. I’m not an athlete, but I do enjoy pushing myself physically – sometimes, anyway. And while my work and my kids keep me tied down for now, I would still love to travel one day. I’m not through dreaming big. I hope I’m never through dreaming big.

Back in the spring we went to an air show at the Air Force Base in Charleston. I love this picture of my son taken that day. Can’t you see it in his eyes – a scrawny little kid in the cockpit of an Air Force C-17 thinking, “One day I’m going to fly one of these things!” Other times I watch him in his imaginative Ninja world. Other times, stalking a bad guy with his Nerf gun. I see him concentrate on his newest original Lego creation with the intensity of a professional architect or engineer. Some days he is swinging an imaginary bat hitting imaginary homeruns. I don’t know what he’ll end up doing when he is grown. (Some days I just hope he survives his own antics long enough to make it to adulthood!) All I know is that I hope he always dreams big and that his big black eyes will always sparkle with the possibility of what can be.

The Prayer

2011-06-12T05:00:00.000-04:00

Sunday is a day to nourish the soul. What better way than through music?

The Prayer

I pray you'll be our eyes
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know Let this be our prayer
As we go our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
To a place where we'll be safe

I pray we'll find your light And hold it in our hearts
When stars go out each night
Remind us where you are
Let this be our prayer
When shadows fill our day
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe

We ask that life be kind
And watch us from above
We hope each soul will find
Another soul to love
Let this be our prayer
Just like every child
Needs to find a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe

Need to find a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe

All My Children

2011-06-11T16:01:00.001-04:00

It’s been such a good week. Exhausting, but so much fun. We had 5 camp counselors to come down to conduct a day camp at our church. They provided a top-notch program for our kids and we provided housing, meals, support, and entertainment for the counselors. Tuesday night the kids and I strolled downtown with them, popping in and out of stores and of course eating ice cream. Anna and the 5 counselors hit it off great. Gus and Mia loved the attention from the cool big kids. And me? Well, I felt like the lucky mama of 8 super-special kids. If you look closely below, you can see all 8 of them. (Note: Gus is riding piggyback on one counselor’s back.)

We popped into the Life is Good store, where Mia tried to imitate her newest buddy.

Not to be outdone . . .

We walked to Waterfront Park where we all played games and sang songs (mostly oblivious to the reactions of others), waded in the fountain, and held foot races.

Wednesday night we walked (and walked, and walked) on the beach and played in tidal pools.

Thursday night we went out to eat and then harassed Anna at work.

Day camp was over yesterday. Our counselors had to leave us. (That makes me feel sad.) This week of 12-14 hour days came to an end. (That makes me feel relieved.)

The kids and I were only home to sleep and grab breakfast on the run all week long. Last night I took them out to eat. It seemed like a good option, since the pantry was bare and the dishes stacked in the dishwasher were still dirty. My introvert self had reached its limits of people interaction. It seemed to me that everything at the restaurant was painfully loud, from the Mexican music blaring through the speakers to the table of too many beers behind us. My ears literally ached. I assumed it was the beginning of the “shut down” so typical for me when I need quiet time. Unfortunately, both ears are still hurting and sensitive to sound today. Not sure what’s going on with that.

Except for a trip to buy a baby shower gift, I’ve been holed up in my bedroom sleeping, writing my sermon, and recovering. Even the kids seem content to be low-key today. Rest is a good, good thing.

Revisiting: Frisky Bird

2011-06-11T07:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve been revisiting some of my favorite posts from the past. While this may not be my best writing, it is one of my favorite funny memories. Sometimes I have to learn things the hard way. This was one of those times. I first posted this piece on February 28, 2005

I was asked to tell a little more about item #6 on my "Ten Things" list. The story is a bit too long for the comment section, so here it is:

I was in Miami with another pastor friend attending a Church Redevelopment Conference. We walked down to the open air market on the bay for a little sightseeing and fresh air. We happened upon an outdoor kiosk where a man would take your picture with his tropical birds - $5 would buy you a Polaroid memory. The birds were beautiful. Since I'm not much of a bird expert, I can't tell you what kind they were, only that they were large and very, very colorful.

I stopped to admire the birds. The man asked if I wanted to have a picture made with them. I declined and began to move away. He called me back and asked if I would like to hold one of the birds. Sure! So he had me hold up my arm for a perch and placed the bird on my forearm. I was surprised at how heavy it was! Then he asked if I wanted to hold the other bird, too. I told him that I wasn't sure I wanted to hold them both, but he shushed me and turned the second bird over on its back and had me cradle it in my free arm like a baby.

So here I stand in the middle of an open air market, one bird perched on my right forearm, another cradled against me in my left arm. Then it happened. The cradled bird began to, ummm, let's say it began to try to nurse me - roughly! There was nothing I could do!

My friend doubled over in laughter. The man stood there with an expression that was a mixture of triumph and amusement. A small crowd began to gather. And there I stood. After a brief moment (that seemed like an eternity to me), the man lifted the frisky bird from my embrace and said to it, "Sorry, friend. No booby today!"

My advice to other gullible women out there: if you aren't going to spring for the photo, don't hold the birds!!!

Robin Hood Jesus

2011-06-10T07:00:00.000-04:00

Continuing my tour of the images of Jesus that you can find in my church: we call this one Robin Hood Jesus. Robin Hood and His Merry Men are walking through what looks like an English countryside.

In case you missed it, we also have Principal Jesus and Patronus Jesus.

Patronus Jesus

2011-06-09T16:45:00.001-04:00

We’re having day camp at church this week and I’m finding myself spending time in parts of the church I normally just pass through as I move from Point A to Point B. I’m noticing some of the art (“art”) that I’ve never really paid much attention to. Yesterday I posted a picture of Principal Jesus.

Anna calls this picture “Dementor Jesus,” although I tend to think he looks more like a Patronus Jesus because of the white glow. What do you think?

Principal Jesus

2011-06-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

This picture hangs in the Senior Adult Sunday School room in my church. Every time I look at the picture, I feel like I’ve been called into the principal’s office. I almost hear the words, “Jan, I’m very disappointed in you.” See the stern look? The folded hands? The slight lean forward? Is it just me, or can you see it too?

Compare/Contrast

2011-06-07T07:00:00.000-04:00

Those used to be the words at the beginning of writing assignments I gave to my high school students. Compare/contrast the settings of these two short stories; the motivations of these two characters; the way these two different genres approach a particular topic. It’s a great way to organize your thoughts in writing.

It’s a horrible way to view your self and your self worth.

Sometimes it seems harmless enough. When Anna and I go to the beach, there will be at least a few “Am I that white?” questions from my fair child. There will be at least a few “Am I that big?” questions from me.

I’m a skinny girl in a no longer skinny body. That still comes as a shock to me on some days. I was so skinny – painfully skinny – for so long. Then came 30, a divorce, and the stress of juggling parenthood, work, and seminary. My metabolism changed but my eating habits didn’t. Then one day I looked in the mirror and it was like seeing myself for the first time. I didn’t like what I saw. (If you’ve ever watched Drop-Dead Diva, then you get a picture of how I feel most days.) In an effort to reconcile my skinny-girl memories with my not-so-skinny girl reality, I compare. I truly have a hard time seeing myself accurately.

It’s not just my body, of course. I compare my parenting to other parents. I compare my ministry to other pastors. I compare my writing to other writers and bloggers. I compare my strength and stamina at the gym with other gym rats. I compare my house and belongings to other people’s houses and belongings.

I am not fair in my comparisons. It’s not fair to judge my body against my younger self or any other woman’s body. It’s not fair to tell myself that if I was a good parent then my kids would have the same extra-curricular opportunities that other (two parent) kids have. It’s not fair to expect my church’s attendance/missions/programs/budget to measure up to churches that are larger and/or are multi-staffed. I can admire other writers’ work, but I know I’m not supposed to sound like them. I’m supposed to sound like me. I am 46 years old. I should be proud to be at the gym, not criticizing my body for not keeping up with the 20-something-year-old in the cute little bare-midriff outfit two treadmills down. And I know, even though I often allow myself to forget, that while my furniture is second-hand and my house is rented, this is what my kids call home. What more should I want? I am my own worst, most cruel critic. Always.

I’ve written about my struggles with body image and self image several times. (Here. And again here. There are a few other blog posts as well, but this is a good sampling.) The one thing that always strikes me when I write about body image and self image is the number of comments and emails I usually receive. I normally don’t generate a lot of comments on my blog, but obviously these topics touch a nerve for a lot of us.

I have been blessed by two special men who have reaffirmed me in ways that have touched me deeply: my brother and Danny. Through their eyes, I have seen glimpses of a me that I can love. Through their words, I have been reminded of a worth that was mine before I allowed outside messages and negative experiences “steal” that worth from me. I am the first to be an encourager for others. The encouragement of these two men has reminded me that I owe it to myself to encourage myself just as diligently as I do others.

I am trying to learn my triggers. I am trying to heal old wounds. I am trying to silence the inner critic. I am trying to learn the difference between wanting to improve myself and telling myself that I’m not good enough.

I know that others are walking that same path. Some are further along the path than I am. Others, bless their souls, haven’t made it as far as I have yet. We can learn from each other. We can encourage each other.

I’m curious. What is it that sets off your self doubts? Where do your words of self-criticism come from? Are they words you learned from others or have you set impossibly high expectations for yourself? Is it the media that you are hearing? What things give you strength and encouragement? What lessons have you learned? What struggles do you still have?

I would love to compare/contrast our journeys. If you have a story to tell, please do – in the comments below or by email. I promise to share what I learn from others with you. Thanks!

Monday’s Child: Why Po Made Me Cry

2011-06-06T07:00:00.000-04:00

***Spoiler Alert***

It was a completely innocent attempt to keep the kids entertained on the hot Memorial Day holiday. A quick check online indicated my only option for a kids’ movie was Kung Fu Panda 2. Hmmm. Didn’t sound like anything I would particularly enjoy, but Gus would love the action and Mia is pretty much game for anything. The movie kicked off with silliness, fun, and animated kung fu action. It wasn’t until Po’s dad entered the story that I realized I was in for more than I had bargained for. You see, Po is a panda. His dad is a goose. “That sure doesn’t look like his dad,” Mia whispered.

Uh oh. I’d marched my two sweet adopted children into an adoption-themed movie without doing my homework or preparing them (or me) for it. Goodness knows that the theater industry isn’t known for being sensitive or wise in its typical treatment of adoption. I wasn’t too worried about Gus. As I’ve said before, he’s mostly oblivious to adoption issues. Mia, on the other hand, goes through periods of grief and struggle. I reached over to pat her leg. She wrapped her arms around my arm and put her head against me. I held my breath and prayed for the best.

For a little while, it didn’t look like the best would come. After Po learned that he was adopted (something you would have thought would have already happened to a panda who called a goose “dad”), he went on a quest to find out who he is and why his parents left him. His insecurities about his true identity affected his abilities to do the things he did best and his worries invaded his every thought, sleeping and awake. He dreamed that he saw his parents and he called out to them. They turned to him and instead of embracing him, said that they never really loved him anyway. Lord Shen, Po’s nemesis in the movie, told him on more than one occasion that his parents abandoned him because they didn’t want him and didn’t love him.

My heart was breaking because Mia has asked questions about why her mom didn’t keep her, and whether her family in Guatemala loved her. I knew the fears displayed larger than life on the big screen in front of us were the same as the ones of the big heart in the child beside me. I cringed and cursed myself for not researching the movie. And I started to cry a little.

As the story unfolded Po, aided by the soothsayer goat, learned the details of his story: how the village of pandas was attacked by Lord Shen and the wolves because the soothsayer had foretold that his defeat would come through a creature of black and white. (This part of the story was reminiscent of Herod and the Slaughter of the Innocents in Matthew.) Po was a baby bear and both of his parents went to heroic measures to save him. Both were killed.

I found the telling of this backstory to be excruciatingly painful. I could feel Mia tense around my arm. I tried to keep my tears from falling on her. She was too wrapped up in the movie to notice them. It was the words of the soothsayer to the shocked, grieving Po that began to turn this adoption story around for me. She said to him: “Po, your story may not have a happy beginning, but it is not in the end who you are. It is who you choose to be.” It was a poignant moment. I cried a little more.

Armed with the knowledge of who he was and where he came from, Po was able to take on his nemesis from a place of strength. He defeated the enemy and saved China. But that’s not the end.

Po returned home to his dad, the goose. Poor dad had been worrying about him – not just about his safety, but also whether the knowledge of his adoption had ruined their relationship forever. Po looked at his dad and said, “I found out where I came from. I know who I am.” His dad’s eyes filled with tears. “And who are you?” he asked nervously.

”I am your son.”

With this, I became a weepy mess.

I felt Mia relax. As the movie credits rolled, I tried to dry up the tears. As we left the theater, Gus said excitedly that his favorite part was all the fighting, and then he began imitating the kung fu moves. Mia reached out and took my hand and said quietly, “That was a great movie, Mom.”

Maybe it was a good thing after all. But next time, I’m researching the movie first.

I Am

2011-06-05T07:00:00.000-04:00

Last week I ran my favorite song by Nichole Nordeman. This is a very close second.

Pencil marks on a wall
I wasn't always this tall,
You scattered some monsters from beneath my bed,
You watched my team win,
You watched my team lose,
You watched when my bicycle went down again,

CHORUS:
And When I was weak unable to speak,
still I could call You by name,
and I said “Elbow healer, Superhero,
come if You can,” and You said “I am”

Only 16, life is so mean, what kind of curfew is at ten PM
You saw my mistakes, You watched my heart break
Heard when I swore I’d never love again

CHORUS:
When I was weak, unable to speak,
still I could call You by name,
and I said “Heart-ache Healer, Secret-keeper,
be my Best Friend” and You said “I am”

You saw me wear white, by pale candlelight,
I said forever to what lies ahead
two kids and a dream, with kids that can scream
too much it might seem when it’s two AM

CHORUS:
when I am weak, unable to speak,
still I will call You by name.
“Oh Shepherd, Savior, Pasture-maker,
hold on to my hand,” and You say “I am.”

The winds of change,
And circumstance blow in and all around
us so we find a foothold that’s familiar,
And bless the moments that we feel You nearer

Life had begun, I was woven and spun,
You let the angels dance around the throne, who can say when,
But they’ll dance again, when I am free and finally headed home

CHORUS:
I will be weak, unable to speak,
still I will call You by name
“Creator, Maker, Life-sustainer,
Comforter, Healer, My Redeemer,
Lord and King, Beginning and
the End, I am, yes, I am.”

Revisiting: An Unusual Guest

2011-06-04T07:00:00.000-04:00

This post from October 21, 2007 is the one currently holding the record for most page views on this blog. While I’m no longer at Small Church (one pseudonym I’ll continue to use in this blog), I find the challenge described below to be one faced by every congregation: how do we accept those who are different from us?

Small Church is about as traditional as traditional can be. If you were to look up the definition for "traditional congregation," you would find a photograph of the sweet faces that I see every Sunday morning. For the eight years I've been at Small Church, they've made a lot of noise about wanting to grow. I've made a lot of noise back about how growing means openness to and acceptance of people who do not look like they belong in our picture-perfect photograph of the traditional congregation. They say that is fine. Still, I feel sure that the teenage boy with long greasy hair who wore saggy black cargo pants and an old black t-shirt that showed off the tattoo that covered most of one arm probably felt a little bit less that completely welcomed by everyone. The same probably holds true for a young couple dressed a little, um, differently. Or, for that matter, my own daughter when she wears a shorter skirt (I'm her mom - I swear it isn't that short!) or when she kicks off her most uncomfortable pair of dress shoes and walks barefoot.

So when BJ approached me a few weeks ago to exclaim excitedly, "I'm ready now! I want to join your church!" I knew we were in for some interesting times. She was so happy to have a church home that as the session stood in a circle holding hands and praying with her after welcoming her into membership, she cried tears of joy. She is so ready to find her place and begin serving. But I've been praying hard about it because I sense that this may be Small Church's first really big test of their resolve to be open and accepting. You see, BJ was not cut out of the same cookie cutter mold that the majority of the congregation was. I pray, pray, pray that they will pass the test.

Today's quiz? BJ brought a guest with her - Maggie. Maggie is six years old. She sat like an angel through the entire service, except for that one time during the prelude when she got up and ran around for a second. The catch? Maggie is a dachshund. She is a real sweetie and was much better behaved than most children would ever be in worship.
I thought it was pretty neat. I have no problem with it. I know that a good number of our members are animal lovers, although none of them have ever brought a furry family member to church before. I'm pretty sure I saw an few raised eyebrows. (One was from one of my elders - the one who keeps weekly records of our attendance. Imagine the look on her face when I told her to be sure to count Maggie as a first-time visitor!) But when BJ asked me after church if she could bring Maggie back again, I told her yes. I warned her that there was a possibility that a few people may not approve, but as long as she was not disruptive, I didn't see why not.

BJ lives alone. I don't imagine that she has a huge circle of friends. What family she has left all live out West. Maggie is her constant companion who goes with her everywhere she goes. I know that on at least one occasion, Maggie sat in the car during worship. (Thank goodness it wasn't hot that day!) While I know it's not "traditional," it just seems right to accept BJ just as she comes to us, Maggie and all.

I feel sure I've not heard the last of this. I am praying that what I do hear, however, will surprise me.

Friday Five: Summer Reruns

2011-06-03T16:44:00.001-04:00

1. To Kill a Mockingbird: I love this book and the movie too. I read it first as a high school student. I read it several years running back in my teaching days. I loved introducing this book to students because even the most reluctant readers tended to like this story. I read it again when Anna did for her English class. I’ve read it at least a couple of times just for fun. May I just say this: Atticus is my hero!

2. You’ve Got Mail: Yes, the movie is now technologically and stylistically dated, but I never tire of watching it. I’m not sure what it is that attracts me so to this movie. I love almost anything Tom Hanks does. I love the spunk of Meg Ryan’s character. I love the way he woos her in the end. I love the idea of the Book Shop Around the Corner. I love the idea that even if the book shop closes, we can always write our own books. (Yes, I’m a nerd!)

3. The beach: I could go there every single day I have off from work that the weather and temps allow. Wait – I do! My favorite beach image is above.

4. Montreat: There is something magical about driving through the Montreat gate. I instinctively feel myself exhale my stress as I pass through and the next breath I take in feels like peace. I WILL go there this summer, hopefully before June is out.

5. My aunt’s caramel cake: There is nothing fancy about this cake, but it is delicious. I can’t imagine ever turning a piece down. (Not to mention her red velvet cake, or the chocolate pies my sister used to make, or my mom’s biscuits. . .)

Stopside Down

2011-06-03T07:00:00.000-04:00

This week, my schedule ran me rather than me running my schedule. A presbytery project that I thought would be completed over a couple of weeks had to be finished in 48 hours. In other words, I gave 8-10 hours to something that I’d scheduled 2 hours for this week.

Today, summer break begins for my children. Now we begin the day camp/VBS/go with mommy to work routine. It will be fun, but challenging. Routine is a friend of parenting. In the summer, routine is nonexistent.

I realized yesterday afternoon that I’m less than halfway into a schedule that has me at the church for 11 consecutive days. I love my church, but that seems a bit excessive.

I’m 11 days away from the official start of my intensive writing project. I still haven’t settled on a project. So many ideas are flying around in my head, but none of them will settle long enough for me to capture them.

I’m in the midst of a vivid dream run. Several of the dreams have been nightmares. I’m fascinated by dreams and tend to think that they show up with this intensity when my brain fails to take in what it needs to know by daylight. I can’t figure out what it is I’m missing. I am so tired.

My schedule, my body, my brain are so jumbled up that I’m no longer sure which way is up. Vacation, where are you?

Three for Thursday (Plus One)

2011-06-02T07:00:00.000-04:00

Here are a few things that caught my attention from around the web this week.

1) I’ve always called myself a peacemaker. After reading this, I realize that I’m probably more of a peacekeeper. Time to do a little work on this.

Peacekeeping vs Peacemaking

2) I can be my own worst critic and my biggest, meanest enemy. I’m finding Jon Acuff’s book Quitter to be helpful in so many ways. Still, I find myself at this parade all too often. You?

The Worst Parade of All

* Jon wrote a wonderful follow-up to this yesterday. I had to add it in as my “Plus One.”

Kevin Smith and the Weight of Criticism

3) Sometimes I feel like one great big chicken. This post by Angie Mizzell reminded me that if I take a step back and gain some perspective, I’l see that I am one brave mama after all!

Risks Worth Taking

Just Plain Mean

2011-06-01T07:00:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, in service to my presbytery (or perhaps out of insanity). I met for the first time with a commission that is charged with investigating a complaint brought against my presbytery. For obvious reasons, I won’t give any details of the case here. I will say, however, that there is evidence of just plain meanness. There is a person who did not get what he/she wanted and seems to have no plans to let up until he/she gets what he/she wants. It’s just plain mean.

A few days ago I learned from a friend’s story the definition of the word dooced. While technically my friend was not dooced, the intent and effort was there. And even after her nemesis got a result she wanted, it still wasn’t enough. She didn’t get everything she wanted and in an effort to achieve a “victory,” she did something that violated personal rights in ways that were cruel and, quite frankly, probably illegal. It was just plain mean.

I shared with her a story of how the clerk of session in my previous church did something downright evil in my absence on the weekend that my sister died, and then how she showed up hours later at the visitation for my sister with a smile on her face. She would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, not even out of respect for a death. It was just plain mean.

My best friend in the whole world has displeased members of his family. I’m not sure of exactly what they want, but it seems they will stop at nothing now to hurt him. It’s just plain mean.

Sometimes it seems to me that just plain mean has the upper hand in our world. I get discouraged. I get cynical. I become distrustful. I circle the wagons and vow to protect myself and my loved ones from all the meanness. Then I realize how wrong that is. Circling the wagons is a defensive posture. Why should meanness win?

I don’t know how to defeat the spirit in people that spurs them to say and do mean things. I do know how to stand up for what is right. I do know how to support others who are hurt by meanness. I (hopefully) can learn how to ask for support when I’m the one wounded. I want justice, fairness, respect, and consideration to win in the end. So maybe I just need to keep standing in the face of meanness, side by side with others who feel the same way, refusing to give up and refusing to give in. It’s kind of like a coalition of the littlest kids on the playground joining together to defeat the playground bully. We cannot let the bully win. We cannot let just plain mean have the final say.

Wanna join me?

I Did It!

2011-05-31T07:00:00.000-04:00

31 days. 31 posts. I’ve had longer posting streaks than this, but not in a long time. It’s been fun! No, I didn’t write every day. I wrote in spurts and scheduled posts ahead of time. Anna told me that is cheating. Not!

I tried to set up some theme days so that I wouldn’t always be so random. Mondays became children/adoption day. Saturdays became walks down memory lane as I pulled out some of my favorite old posts. Sundays became inspirational music days. The other days were “who knows what you’ll get” days.

I think the best thing that came out of this for me was the discipline of setting aside time to write, even if it wasn’t every single day. I found that weekends are good times to keep the computer up for writing stops between chores and kid stuff. All three of the kids seem fascinated that Mom is writing as much as she is. Fascinated and curious. And nosey.

I hope to keep it up even though the Blogathon is over. I may or may not keep the 7 day a week routine. I will be starting a writing intensive course on June 14th. (I wrote about it here.) I’m nervous and excited and ready to get started. This has been a great warm-up. We’ll see how that project and the blog mesh. I do not want to go AWOL from the blog again though.

I appreciate the words of encouragement you’ve given me this month through comments and private emails. It has meant so much. Stick around please! I will continue to need/want/appreciate your input in the days/posts/projects to come.

If you’ve been around for awhile (or even if you haven’t) and you have suggestions for things you’d like to see me write more about or maybe theme days to add, please let me know. And hey, if you’re a lurker how about leaving me a note just to say hi. I’d love to know who you are.

Thanks!

Monday’s Child: Summer is a-coming

2011-05-30T07:00:00.000-04:00

This is the last week of school, or the last part-week. The kids are out today. They have full days Tuesday-Thursday and a half-day on Friday. Then it’s on!

I have very mixed emotions about summer. I was a teacher for 10 years and a student for many years before that, so I’m a pro at counting down the days until summer vacation. Only I’m not a teacher anymore. I don’t get summers off anymore. I now have a college kid and two young kids with lots of free time on their hands. Well, the college kid not so much – she is working some. When Anna was the kids’ age, summer wasn’t a problem. Even though I was no longer teaching, my church job at the tiny church was not so demanding, my time was flexible, and I already worked mostly from home. And there was just one of her. Now I’m in a church that is much more demanding of my time, I have to keep office hours, and there are two of them. Finances are tight and childcare/camps for two are prohibitively expensive. Help!

So far I have two, maybe three VBS/day camps lined up. There is the possibility for a half-week music camp. My parents are wanting the kids to spend time with them some. My session approved my request to work from home one day a week during the summer. So on non-VBS/day camp/grandparents weeks, that leaves three office days with the kids tagging along. Bless them. There’s not much for them to do at the church.

So – movies, puzzles, art projects that can be done largely unsupervised, books . . . Any other suggestions? This could be a long summer.

How many days until school starts back again?

Every Season

2011-05-29T07:00:00.000-04:00

One of my favorites from Nichole Nordeman

Every evening sky, an invitation
To trace the patterned stars
And early in July, a celebration
For freedom that is ours
And I notice You
In children’s games
In those who watch them from the shade
Every drop of sun is full of fun and wonder
You are summer

And even when the trees have just surrendered
To the harvest time
Forfeiting their leaves in late September
And sending us inside
Still I notice You when change begins
And I am braced for colder winds
I will offer thanks for what has been and was to come
You are autumn

And everything in time and under heaven
Finally falls asleep
Wrapped in blankets white, all creation
Shivers underneath
And still I notice you
When branches crack
And in my breath on frosted glass
Even now in death, You open doors for life to enter
You are winter

And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced
Teaching us to breathe
What was frozen through is newly purposed
Turning all things green
So it is with You
And how You make me new
With every season’s change
And so it will be
As You are re-creating me
Summer, autumn, winter, spring

Revisiting: A Walk in the Dark

2011-05-28T07:00:00.000-04:00

I spent the month of April re-reading the 800+ posts I have published since 2005. On Saturdays in May I will share with you some of my favorites. This particular piece was posted on October 9, 2007.

It seems strange for darkness to arrive so quickly these days. It’s a sign of the coming winter, one of the few signs to be found on these 90 degree October days. It was a hot one today. It felt more like August than October. We were fortunate to get an early evening rain shower that cooled us off and settled the dust a bit.

After tucking the little ones into bed, I decided to leave their big sister as guardian and take my chunky-butt dog Scratch for a walk around the neighborhood. We’re a great pair, you know – chunky-butt Preacher Mom and her chunky-butt canine companion. We both need the exercise.

Our favorite walking route keeps us close to home as it circles us in and around neighboring blocks. There is one stretch of road that is very, very dark. What little light that leaks in from the nearest street lamps and porch lights serves only to create deeper, darker, scarier-looking shadows. Scratch, who is a bigger chicken than I am, glances back at me nervously, making sure I am ready to protect her. Maybe I should avoid this area, but because it is within shouting distance of two church members’ houses I feel reasonably safe.

It’s strange to see the differences in these houses. One sits on one corner and appears to try to hide from the world. A fence of Leyland Cyprus trees protects the front of the house. The windows that can be seen through gaps in the trees are heavily curtained so that no light peeps out. Several overgrown bushes guard the side of the house bordered by yet another narrow street. The windows on that side of the house are hidden away behind full-sized awnings. I’ve often thought of how sad it must be to look out those windows from the inside of the house and see nothing but fabricated metal. My organist and her husband live inside. She suffers from mental and emotional illness. He is secretive and protective. They really are an odd couple – sweet, but odd. I wonder sometimes if I ever did need to cry out for help if they would respond or simply batten down the hatches even tighter.

On the far corner of the next block, at the opposite end of the stretch of darkness and odd shadows, is another house. It is a grand old house, probably my favorite house in the entire town. It was built in the 1920’s by the town doctor. Now an eccentric retired architect and his wife live there. The windows all have window blinds, but they are never closed – night or day. There is always some sort of ambient light shining from within – candles, lanterns, or antique lamps. I confess that although it makes me feel a bit nosy, I always look inside as I walk by. I just can't help it. Sometimes I’ll get a glimpse of people sitting in the den, laughing and talking easily. They frequently entertain guests. Sometimes I see no one, but get to admire the warm colors painted on the walls or the flower arrangement on the table by the window. In spite of the wrought iron fence that encompasses the yard, I feel like the house is inviting me in. I happen to know that they rarely lock their front door. I think if I wandered in unannounced I would still be greeted warmly and told to make myself at home. There is no doubt in my mind that if they heard a cry for help from the street they would rush out to see what they could do.

As Scratch and I drew near to our own house at the end of our walk, I wondered how people see us. In spite of my many complaints about the manse, it is for the time my home. Does it send out a message that says, “Go away! Keep out! Leave us alone!” to anyone who passes by? I’ll admit that there are days when I feel like that. After dealing with people who sometimes fail to see or respect the boundaries between my professional and family life, I do feel like erecting a tall fence of protection. Then again, I want this to be a home where friends and family feel welcomed. I want people to look at the light in my windows and somehow know, “In there lives somebody who cares, somebody who would try to help me if I was in trouble.”

The choice is mine to make, I guess. Which end of the darkness will I choose to inhabit?

Flip a Coin

2011-05-27T07:00:00.000-04:00

Surely I’m not the only indecisive one around.

Maybe I should try flipping a coin more often.

Help?

2011-05-26T07:00:00.000-04:00

Sometimes certain themes seem to reappear in short periods of time, making me think that maybe I’m supposed to perk up and pay attention. The theme of asking for help has popped up three times in the last 24 hours.

The first time was in the season finale of Biggest Loser last night. (Yes, I watch Biggest Loser. Faithfully. It’s one of only 2 TV shows I make it a point to watch. Maybe I need to explore my attraction to Biggest Loser, but I’ll save it for another post.) At last night’s finale, finalist Hannah was reflecting on the most important thing she had learned on her Biggest Loser journey. She said the most important thing she had learned was to ask for help. To her, in the past asking for help meant an admission of failure, of neediness – a reminder of everything she lacked. So she didn’t ask for help when she needed it and her life spun out of control. Through the Biggest Loser, she learned to ask for help. She said that realizing what you can’t do on your own strength and asking for assistance isn’t a sign of weakness, but of strength. Hmmm.

The second time the topic came up was at our prayer luncheon at church today. We were talking about caring for each other, and then caring for the “others” who come our way. We talked about ministry fatigue in terms of helping those who come to us for assistance, usually asking for money. While we came out in a healthy place (I think) in our discussion, I did pick up some negative vibes at first about those who ask for help.

Then tonight as I checked my twitter feed, I came across this quote attributed to Oprah’s finale this afternoon (which I did not get to watch): “You get in life what you have the courage to ask for.”

I hate to ask for help. HATE it. I’m still where Hannah said she was before her journey. To me, asking for help feels like failure. I don’t like feeling like a failure. I don’t like feeling vulnerable. I don’t like saying “I can’t . . .” Those feelings are re-enforced by those negative vibes I picked up in our conversation at church. Sometimes people judge you when you ask for help. Then here comes Oprah – you get in life what you have the courage to ask for. The courage to ask for? Yes, that’s a new concept for me.

I’m thinking about that tonight. What areas in my life do I really need help and where do I just need to suck it up and get to work? What things am I afraid to admit I need help with, and why am I afraid? What would my life look like if I did find the courage to ask for help, if what Hannah said is true for me too? I don’t know the answer to these questions yet, but I’m thinking, considering, wondering. . .

What about you? Which attitude to asking for help reflects where you are?

Somebody’s Gotta Do It!

2011-05-25T07:00:00.000-04:00

I have to be among the luckiest women in the world. I live in a place where on my day off I can do this:

And that is exactly what I do every chance I get during beach season, which around here runs from May through October. To me there is nothing like the smell of salt air and sunscreen, the feel of the sun and breeze, and the sounds of the waves and the seagulls.

Like I said, somebody’s gotta do it. I am so glad that I can!

Taking the Plunge

2011-05-24T07:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve made a decision. (Yeah, I know. Me! A decision! Who knew that was possible?) I’ve decided to take part in a writing intensive course this summer. For three months, I will be a part of a group, probably 4-6 in size. Each one of us will be working on a specific project and we will be offering support and feedback to each other. We will meet by teleconference every other week to review/critique each other’s work and to hold one another accountable. For me, this is big. It’s one thing to hold myself accountable to posting on the blog every day for the month of May. I doubt any of you would take me to task if I missed a day. In fact, you probably wouldn’t even notice. But to be a part of a group that expects me to upload my work for their review on a regular basis, to put myself out there for critique, and to commit to narrowing myself down to a specific project? Yeah. Big.

I’ve worked with Anita, the group leader once before in the writing workshop I mentioned here. That group was inspiring and affirming. I met with her last week to talk about possible projects. I’m pretty ADD when it comes to writing. You’ve seen here on my blog that I’m usually all over the place as far as themes and topics. She helped me focus in on a couple of possibilities and I will work in the next few weeks to sharpen that focus into a workable project. I’ll be asking for your input and support, so stay tuned!

Monday’s Child: Color Blind, Part 2

2011-05-23T07:00:00.000-04:00

So the hot discussion has been this for trans-racial adoptive families: how do you honor your child(ren)’s heritage while establishing your family? Do you enroll them in language classes? Do you integrate native dishes into your family’s dinner menu? Do you intentionally set playgroups with other children of shared ethnic heritage?

I don’t know if there is a right or wrong answer to these questions. So much depends on the child, on the family, and on the age of adoption. I wrote here about how, after my children came home, I decided not to make a big deal of ethnicity. We talk about it sometimes. We eat some of the native dishes and fruits that Anna and I ate while in Guatemala, but my youngest children never ate those things. Mia was just a baby and Gus was apparently on a powdered milk diet for his first 20 months of life. Still, I see how they naturally seem to love the fruits like papaya, mango, and bananas, all of which we enjoyed fresh on our trips back in ‘04.

The fact is, my son sometimes fails to realize that his ethnicity is different from mine. At the beginning of the school year, he told me that there were four Hispanic children (“hixpanic,” by his pronunciation) in his classroom. Then he named the four. “Gus,” I said, “you have five Hispanic children in your class.” He looked puzzled, named them again, and said, “No, just four.” You should have seen his face when I added to his list, “And Gus!” It was like a brand new realization dawning.

As I shared here, Mia has been much more sensitive to her adoption and her ethnicity. Her sensitivity has lessened in recent months, to the point that we had a humorous incident just last week. Gus, Mia, and I were eating at our favorite Mexican restaurant. The kids tend to get extra attention at Mexican restaurants, for obvious reasons. The waitresses especially are prone to ask about them. There’s a 50/50 chance that they will be disapproving of our multi-ethnic family. Adoption is not popular in Mexican culture. I have received a cold shoulder and less than ideal service on a few occasions. Sometimes though, they are delighted. Our waitress asked me if the children spoke Spanish. I told her not really, except for counting and a few words.Then she asked if they were Mexican. It told her they were born in Guatemala. She smiled big and went on her way. After she left, Mia wanted to know why she asked those questions. I replied that she knew they were both Latino and she was curious about whether they shared a country and a language with her. “But how did she know we’re Latino?!” Then she realized and said, “Oh yeah. Because of our skin.”

This incident reassures me that the assimilation of our family runs deep. It doesn’t matter that Anna is blonde and fair or that Gus and Mia are black-headed and olive-skinned. They are all my children – thoroughly, equally, and forever. I forget myself sometimes and find myself wondering how people know we’re an adoptive family. I hope I’m not doing them a disservice by not making sure they are fluent in Spanish already or plugging them in with others from the Guatemalan world. Sometimes it’s just all I can do to get us to school and work, fed, and wearing clean clothes, you know?

Still, this I know. My children are happy. They are healthy. They are loved. They are accepted for who they are, inside and out. Isn’t that all any of us really need?

Yes, My Jesus Loves Me

2011-05-22T07:00:00.000-04:00

A new take on an old favorite.

The video is obviously amateur, but the voices are beautiful. I think you’ll recognize the lyrics.

Revisiting: Who Am I?

2011-05-21T07:00:00.000-04:00

I spent the month of April re-reading the 800+ posts I have published since 2005. On Saturdays in May I will share with you some of my favorites. This particular piece was posted on August 1, 2005.

Who am I to join another family as they gather at the bedside of a dying loved one?

Who am I to sit in another family's presence as they make decisions about whether to disconnect life support from their matriarch now that the doctors have concluded that there is no hope?

Who am I to enter the emergency room treatment area to stand beside a member who just killed an innocent bystander in a horrible car accident?

Who am I to speak words of comfort and hope to others when my own heart is breaking in two?

Who am I to teach the truths of the Bible when there are so many that I do not understand myself?

Who am I to pass judgment on a friend, pronouncing that her lifestyle is not fitting for one elected as a spiritual leader in the church?

Who am I to offer words of guidance, reproach, or leadership to Christian men and women with twice as many years of living and experience than me?

Who am I that my words carry weight?

Who am I that my presence brings comfort?

Who am I that my judgments matter?

Who am I?

I am a Pastor.

God help me, I am their pastor.

Sanctuary

2011-05-20T07:00:00.000-04:00

A few months ago I participated in a writing workshop on the Isle of Palms. It was my first workshop of this kind and I found the prospect of reading my work aloud very intimidating. The work that follows is a piece I wrote after a long walk on the winter beach during one of our breaks. (The picture above was taken on that particular walk. It is my favorite beach picture to date.) This essay ended up being more personal than I intended, but the group was wonderfully gentle with me as I shared. I hope you will be as well.

Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true With thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you.

The words of the worship song came unbidden as I walked the shoreline. It was our break, our meditative thinking time. I didn’t have much of anything on my mind (which was the point, I think) other than feeling the cool breeze, listening to the sound of the ocean waves, and pausing every now and then to snap a picture of the seagull that looked colder than I felt or the sun reflecting off the water.

Slowly it dawned on my consciousness that these words and this melody were running on repeat in my mind. Where did these words come from? Why now?