Archive | June, 2012

dolls.

19 Jun
Today, I learned about dolls.
China dolls.  German and French-made dolls.
I sat at a care center and thumbed through a quarterly publication for doll collectors.  Pat, the member I was visiting, has photos of her dolls interspersed with photos of her family members tacked on the bulletin board in her room.  She has hundreds of dolls.  She used to go to doll conventions.  She’s moving out of the care center at the end of this week, and moving in with her daughter and son-in-law.
Are you ready to move?, I asked.
I’m excited to see my dolls, she replied.  You’ll have to come visit and see them.  If only you could shrink to doll size then you could stay even longer and play.
We learned about the bleuette doll specifically.  I read captions to photos of the doll from the collector’s magazine but lots of the words were in French, as bleuette dolls were made in France for French girls.
Oh, Pat, I don’t speak French, I said as I found French words in front of me.
Congratulations, you’ve just started to learn, was her reply.
She’s funny.  And as I left I told her she was a blessing and a joy.  She made my [long] day.

asparagus.

15 Jun
I wanted to find out how to cook asparagus in a new way.
I went to pinterest and searched.
My search results were interesting.

Reminds me of the llama, llama, cheesecake, llama video of college popularity. 
Asparagus, asparagus, creepy animal, asparagus …
I’ve included a photo of my finished dinner plate. Grilled cheese is one of those foods I could eat forever and ever, and it’s been forever since I’ve ate one. The bread was an afternoon purchase from a Mennonite family at the Austin farmer’s market. That bread is so delicious it’s dangerous. Danger. Danger.

lonely.

15 Jun
In the last two weeks, I’ve been told two specific things, each three times.  Stay with me –

Three different times, people have told me that they appreciate my honesty.

Three different times, people have had conversations with me about how lonely ministry is.

I will now share with you honestly how ministry is lonely.

ding.  turn page.

Ministry is lonely.  That seems like an absurd thing to even say.  You might want to respond, Lindsay, you’re with people all the time.  Part of your job is to have conversation with people.  How is your job lonely?

It is.

The role of an ordained minister is, by its very nature, lonely. People often see us as set apart, which we means we must be intentional about finding relationships that allow us to be our true selves. We desperately need the space to laugh, cry, and rejoice together! [source: supporting young clergy]

True story.  And it’s hard to find those intentional relationships that allow us to be our true selves.  And it’s hard to work at a solo call with no colleague to bounce ideas off us, celebrate, and complain.  And it’s hard to have a long day and not have anyone with whom to share that.

I certainly am surrounded by family and friends who I know I could call and say all these things to … but it’s not quite the same.  I also know how fortunate I am to have Paige, jD, and Lauren nearby; I wouldn’t have made it this far were it not for them.  But it’s still lonely at times.

In every other place I’ve moved [college, Stillwater, seminary, Dawson], there have been potential friends built into the structure – be it coworkers or fellow students.  Here, alone in the middle of a cornfield … not so much.  And I’m completely at a loss where to even begin.

That’s life.  And that’s part of why I cry so much and am slightly, halfway unhappy here.  It’s not all the congregation and it’s not all me.  Part of it is simply is loneliness and part of it is that I don’t know how to fix it.

And I guess that’s really all I know to say about that.

[Talk about an anti-climatic post and ending.  When I first starting writing this yesterday afternoon, I anticipated it being a long, involved post.  … guess not.]

the good in Sunday.

11 Jun
I think I so heavily focused on that one slightly sexist remark that I failed to see the good in yesterday.  Not once, but twice, I was recognized for the hard work and hours I put in here.  It’s not that I need to be recognized for it but so often – I think particularly in this church given their history with certain pastors – it seems people are skeptical that I actually put in a full week, they feel the need to check in on me, or always think I need to be doing more.  [Welcome to it, I suppose.  People will always think I should do more.  Fact of life.]
I was locking up the church after worship, when I noticed two women in the parking lot.  Two members – a mother and a daughter.  I haven’t had a whole lot of reason for interaction with the daughter in my time here but we had a lovely parking lot conversation about fairy gardens and going out for lunch.  As we were saying goodbye, this woman told me, Thank you for all you do here.  Aww, shucks.  Thank you for saying that.
Second, for miscommunication reasons, I was sitting outside the lutheran church in Blooming last night.  It was VBS and I thought I was needed there but really I wasn’t and so on and so forth.  A ROG member – also involved in the communication – caught up to me as we were both on our way home after not being needed.  We chatted a bit about youth things and what was coming in the next week.  You sure do earn your keep, she said.  You keep so busy.  Yes, yes, I do.  Thank you for recognizing that I am working hard and this isn’t easy!

what year is it?

10 Jun
I mentioned before it’s strawberry festival week at Red Oak Grove.  The event is on Tuesday but things are already in full swing.  Today, following service, potatoes and eggs were cooked and peeled.  Celery was chopped with amazing precision, and manly men moved tables.  

This is my first strawberry festival so I’m not entirely sure what to expect or what my role is to be as pastor.  I had mentioned to a couple ladies that they should let me know what I can do.  I feel totally uncomfortable being a person at an event without a job.  I want something to do so I’m not standing awkwardly, waiting for people to talk with or whatnot.  The introvert in me needs a task – something to fall back on and keep my hands busy during conversation lulls.  I told them I was willing to do anything – just lead me to it and sign me up.  I’m game.  Just don’t tell me my job is to talk to people all night.  That would not be overly enjoyable.
Bake sale, I was told.  The baked goods are put on tables in the narthex and I could help Judy run that sale.  That way, they told me, I was still in the middle of the action and could still greet people.  [So, really, I didn’t completely escape the-pastor-as-hostess role but I got close.]  Great, I said.  Bake sale it is.
I chatted with a dear woman this morning over coffee.  I hear you’re looking for a job, she said.  I explained that I would be helping with the bake sale so I was set.  We’ve never really had to think about giving the pastor a job, she said.  They’ve always been men but of course you can help.
She meant well and nothing she said was directly insulting really.  She was just fine with me helping.  But the only reason I can help is because I’m a woman?  Or pastor-men always just assume that their role is play host and woo the crowd?  Or shame on us – our pastor is a woman now; we should include her in the womanly tasks?  I’m not quite sure but the comment shook me bit nonetheless.  
This is on the shirttails of another conversation with a younger woman in the congregation who was told last year that she couldn’t scoop ice cream in the kitchen because it was a man’s job.  Props to her for sticking with it.  She said her arm hurt the next day but she did it.  [whipping-face-mask-off-in-the-final-scenes-of-Return-of-the-King: I am no man!]
What year is it again?

vacation: it’s over.

9 Jun
Cry for me, Argentina.  The vacation is over.  Over and back at it with a funeral this morning and a Sunday sermon to write this afternoon.  [The children of the deceased are British and totally have that beautiful European look.  I wanted to be their friend.  I wanted to listen to them talk all day long.  #anglophile.]
But before I can face that second sermon, let me show you the rest of my vacation.  
After breakfast conversation with Alex from Zurich, I hit the road.  I walked the breakwater on the harbor in Grand Marais before driving reluctantly south on Hwy 61. I made two state park stops on the way home – Cascade River State Park and Gooseberry Falls.  I think Cascade was my favorite because it was a bit off the beaten path and I didn’t have to wade through people like I did at Gooseberry Falls.  I was bummed I couldn’t spend longer hiking the trails but also learned that, hey, I really like hiking.  Mabel and I will have to get some solid use out of the park pass that now sticks to my windshield.  
rock art on the breakaway.

the harbor.
Cascade River State Park

Gooseberry Falls
And then I drove home.  Boo.  I would be lying if I said I didn’t start to sob the minute I hit the southern edge of the cities.  It was like a switch flipped.  I didn’t want to go home.  I didn’t want to have to work again.  I realized that I’m really kinda sorta unhappy here.  Or maybe the end of vacation cued a flair of dramatics.  Because while I would much rather be hiking or kayaking or exploring a new town, the last two days haven’t been terrible.  No tears since that initial night of return.  As Pastor Heidi told me, it’s all about finding the recreation and joy in everyday and not just vacation.  But oh how nice another couple nights of vacation would have been.
le sigh.  To Sunday sermon prep we go … and then it’s Strawberry Festival week, people.  [The annual festival of Red Oak Grove is Tuesday.  Approx. 800 people are fed meals of barbecues and any kind of strawberry dessert you may desire.  It will be my first experience of it all.  I anticipate chaos and long prep days ahead.]

two thumbs up.

8 Jun
Two thumbs up for bed and breakfasts.
When I left the MacArthur Inn on Thursday morning, Max and Sherry, the delightful owners, walked me to the door.  They thanked me for my stay and I thanked them for showing me the greatness of b&bs.  It was quaint, convenient, and just plain different than a hotel.  Two thumbs up.
It was breakfast on Thursday morning that really convinced me of the greatness.  While there were only five of us for breakfast on Wednesday morning, the next morning the table was full with eight guests.  Next to me was a gentleman with an accent.  Alex from Switzerland.  We had small talk as a table during the meal [blueberry strata] and then Alex and I began talking as others wondered off to their day adventures.  We sat and chatted for close to an hour about how we had come to Grand Marias, about driving to Alaska [he wanted to and his friends in Europe told him he was crazy.], and what we do for a living.  He works at a hostel and does city tours of Zurich.  Twelve years ago, at 21, he came over on a temporary work visa to work the summer months as a housekeeper and dishwasher, and so the town of Grand Marais is close to his heart [he said as he tapped his chest].  [The tourism of the town depends on European help, much like the WI Dells, I suppose.]  I told him I was a pastor [and you know how Europeans are about church…] and he said, “Not to be ignorant or rude, but what do you do all week?”  A super fun chat that – chances are – would never have happened at a hotel.
On another note, I think I’m on a kayaking high.  I think that happens when you conquer a certain fear successfully.  And I think I just really liked the experience and am totally psyched to go again sometime soon.  [But maybe in a recreational kayak as opposed to a sea kayak.  And maybe somewhere a bit calmer water-wise.]  I kinda feel like this kid – I can do anything now.  [If you haven’t already seen the video, you must watch it.  Must.  It’s an oldie but a goodie.]

Two thumbs up for rock and roll, for kayaking adventures, and for bed and breakfast stays.

thoughts on traveling alone.

6 Jun
Traveling alone isn’t all fun and games. 
There is no one to share in the inside jokes. 
No one to whom I can complain. 
No one to laugh with or with whom to people watch.
Congratulations. You have just become that person. I am now going to tell you everything I couldn’t tell anyone when it happened.
You know how that one husband who is staying at the B&B looks like the gay guy Cher kinda sorta dates in Clueless? Totally.  They kinda laugh the same too.
How funny was it when that couple at the restaurant last night sat on the same side of a table? [A table designed to have one person on each of its four sides.]  It apparently was their anniversary and the wife kept asking, “Did you move your chair closer, honey? Did you move your chair closer?” Lay off, woman, and eat your vegan dinner. You don’t need to be sitting on top of your husband right now. “Did you move your chair closer? Did you?”
Do you think Phil-the-kayak-guide is single? Also, what do you think it would feel like to run your hands through his curly red hair? (Answer: amazing.)
And that woman on the kayak trip who apparently knew everything? Gross.
< Was it just me or would you also want to run inside and yell to the people behind the counter at this donut place, “You did it! You finally did it!” like on the movie Elf?  World’s best donuts?!  Congratulations!  
Do I really have cause to currently dislike my job or do I simply have too high of expectations? Maybe it’s not the job that has to change; maybe it’s me.  [shoot.]
I don’t want to go home tomorrow.  Please don’t make me.  One more night would be perfect.
my dinner view at the angry trout.
>The server I had for dinner at The Angry Trout restaurant was named Lenna. Of course she was.  I wonder where Ole was.  All I know is that she didn’t charge me for my glass of wine because she kinda forgot about me for fifteen minutes.  I’ll take it; it wasn’t like I was just sitting there doing nothing.  I was reading my book on introverts by myself like most crazy people would be doing.
No, Stone Harbor Outfitters, I will not rent one of those stand-up paddle boards to try on Lake Superior.  You crazy.  But I will buy a set of playing cards called Don’t Die Out There to give to my brother, Ben.  Each card has a survival tip on it; not that he needs it.  He just got back for a bear hunting trip about which he sent an email.  He called it “exciting” and is apparently getting a bear rug out of the kill.  Huh.
Bright yellow Keen sandals were a very wise investment.

vacation: post four.

6 Jun
Really, my whole reason for traveling to Grand Marais for vacation was to go kayaking.  One might call it a bucket list item for me; I’ve wanted to go kayaking for a long time and have never found the friends or the opportunity to do it.  Today, I went sea kayaking on Lake Superior and I survived.  I didn’t even tip over or make a gigantic fool of myself.
The more I thought about it prior, the dumber I realized this plan was.  My first time kayaking to be on frigid, choppy Lake Superior?  Really, Lindsay?  Did you think this through at all?  Maybe not the greatest plan of attack.  But Stone Harbor advertised that this half-day trip was suited for beginners.  deep breath.  Okay, that’s me.  Let’s do this.
I was fearful going into it.  Nervous.  I was worried I would tip over.  I was worried I would be completely uncoordinated or not able to get in and out of the kayak with grace.  I was worried the guide would be cute and I would get flustered and dumb because of it.
The first two worries didn’t happen.  The third did.
This is quite literally what happened – 
I arrived at the outfitter and checked in at the desk.  I began filling out the waiver/medical info and the dude behind the desk said Phil would be my guide and he was off getting things ready.  He hasn’t lost anyone yet, dude said jokingly.  I’m writing on the clipboard and a guy appears next to me, talking to the dude behind the desk.  Dude behind the desk directs my attention and says, Lindsay, this is Phil.  He’ll be your guide.
I look up, shake Phil’s hand, and my inner monologue seriously mutters, Shit.  A redhead.  
I’m a sucker for redheads.  And this one was absolutely adorable.*  
There were two other ladies on this trip.  We met up with them, walked out to the back of the building, and put on the equipment we needed – wetsuits [gross.], windbreakers, PFDs, and a spray skirt.  There is no question that I looked like a complete moron in pants too tight.  We went to the beach and learned how to sit in a kayak, how to get in and out, how to paddle, and how to attach the spray skirt [which is probably the hardest part of it all].  Phil adjusts the foot peddles inside my kayak awkwardly while I’m still sitting in it [when you sit in a kayak, you don’t sit with your legs flat on the bottom of the boat.  there are peddles to rest your feet on and pads to put your knees against while bent.] and then pushes me out to sea.
I was completely freaked out.  There were waves.  It made me sway.  I really, really didn’t want to tip [just like everyone else ever].  Was the rhythm of it all going to make me seasick?  Could I really do this?  But then … it was okay.  Gradually, I got the hang of it and it was lovely.
Artist’s Point
We paddled around Artist’s Point and continued on the water for a couple hours.  We stopped along a rocky beach for a brief break; a break needed more to stretch the legs than for the arms.  [I felt like my arms didn’t get nearly as tired as they do when canoeing.]  It was at this point I really had to go to the bathroom but I was wearing a frickin’ wetsuit and there were no bathrooms in sight.  We ate energy bars, I drank no additional water, and headed back out, in and out of the harbor, and back to where we started.
I survived sea kayaking.  I faced a fear and lived to tell the story.  I label this day a success.  
* You know how they say everyone likes the sound of their own name and to make a good impression with someone new, you should use their name frequently in conversation?  Phil knows this technique.  He was so personable and good at the name game.  He also applauded my graduation from seminary  [and I applaud him for knowing the word seminary and that that’s where pastors go for school] and seemed … impressed? … that I was a pastor.  Maybe not all hope is lost.

sabbath.

5 Jun
Pastor Siri, a former coworker of mine at Trinity in Stillwater, is leading a group of people in reading the book Sabbath by Wayne Muller.  It’s a book that has been on my shelf since it was recommended to me during CPE and a book that I still haven’t read all the way through in those last three years.  I’m thankful for Siri’s structure and accountability in finally reading it as I join in the virtual reading group.  
today’s ponder text.
There is a schedule; a couple chapters a week for the summer.  Throughout it all, Siri will text us questions to ponder and thoughts, along with blogging about it on her blog.  Chances are I’ll be blogging about it too.
Hello.
She sent the first group text today and it encouraged me to start my reading of the book this evening.  

To be unavailable to our friends and family, to be unable to find time for a sunset … to whiz through our obligations without time for a single mindful breath, this has become the model for a successful life.  [Sabbath, p. 2-3]

Muller’s theory is further proved by a commercial on the television just a moment ago.  I don’t even recall what company it was for but this company prided itself in being “unwilling to rest.”  That’s exactly what Muller talks about – we don’t rest and … that’s become a positive thing?  

While many of us are terribly weary, we have come to associate tremendous guilt and shame with taking time to rest. [p.8]  

I can relate to everything he writes and thus, I’m declaring my summer one of sabbath.  That doesn’t mean a summer of vacations or simply making sure I get one full day off a week.  It’s more than that.  It’s a restored rhythm to living.  It’s a way of effortless, nourishing rest. It’s said best by Muller –

Sabbath is a way of being in time where we remember who we are, remember what we know, and taste the gifts of the Spirit and eternity. [p. 6]

Yeah.  That.  That’s what I’m aiming for this summer.  Hold me to it, will you? 
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