Archive | ministry. RSS feed for this section

denial.

30 Apr
I’m in denial about my week and the work that needs to be done.
Denial is meeting up yesterday to see a movie with Paige and looking on amused as a man in a camouflage jacket awkwardly flirted with her in the lobby.  It’s watching The Five-Year Engagement and realizing that Jason Segel is becoming one of my favorites. 
Denial is baking cakes.  When in doubt, bake a cake, right?  I baked nine this weekend.  They all now reside in my freezer, crumbled in Ziploc bags.
Denial is dancing like a maniac and not caring who sees.  I learned the power of crazy dancing last year at seminary.  Now blaring the local pop station and going crazy in my living room is a favorite kind of stress release.
Denial is sleeping in until eight on Monday morning.
Denial is reading Andy Root’s work written for a college classmate’s Cancer & Theology blog series.  It’s good stuff.  [Andy = seminary advisor and professor of mine who taught me to see God present even in darkness and suffering.]
Denial is cleaning off my desk, writing thank you notes, and making a pre-marital counseling organizational chart instead of writing any one of the sermons I need to write.
Denial is facebook.  Denial is pinterest.  Denial is blogging right now instead of working.  
It can’t last forever.  Reality is about to get into a kicking and screaming and punching match with Denial and I know who will unfortunately win that fight.  But first I’m going to go eat lunch.

three funerals and a wedding.

28 Apr
If my current life were a movie, it would be titled much like Four Weddings and a Funeral.  Do you remember that one?  Hugh Grant and the movie in which the first dozen words are all curse words.  The movie in which there are four weddings and one funeral.  If it were my movie, it would be called Three Funerals and a Wedding.  By next Sunday at 4pm, all of those will have taken place. 
One funeral has already been.  A funeral for a four-day old baby.  I hate Marilyn, the admin assistant, for saying, “Your first one.  There will be more.” but I also know she’s right.  Seeing the baby in the tiny white casket, born months early and weighing under two pounds, was absolutely heartbreaking.  Absolutely.  I know the family has a long road ahead of them as the healing begins and my whole heart goes out to them.
The next day I was called to the hospital.  I walked into the room and this member, a member long knowing she would die soon, greeting me by saying, “I won’t be in church on Sunday.”  It was her sense of humor and if there is peace in any of it, it’s knowing that she was ready to die.  She’d said it many times.  She was ready and at 90 she had lived a great life.  They were making plans to put her on hospice and bring her home, but she died only a couple hours later.  She was ready.
The day after that I was called to the care center and sat with a couple as they watched their sister/sister-in-law struggle for breath.  This member, nearly 90, was the sweetest, tiniest little lady.  She died shortly after I left.
Thus my week is heavily loaded on the far end.  Funeral, wedding rehearsal [with three baptisms included], wedding, Sunday morning worship, a two-hour youth meeting, and funeral.  If you don’t hear from me, you know why.  But knowing how crazy and tired it will make me aside, it’s been quite the holy, emotional week.  I’ve been invited into places and spaces at the end of life.  I feel humbled that my call reaches those places and that I can comfort, pray, and deliver the news that death is not the end.  Holy places, indeed.

Shocking.

6 Dec
I survived my first funeral at ROG.  Shocking?  Not overly.  I expected I would survive.  As nervous as I become for things like this, it went well.  [I think.]
I greeted family members, introduced myself, and was chatty.  Shocking?  A little bit.  The introvert was pushed to the side, as she needed to be.  But, boy, was I tired afterwards.
I turned on the corded microphone in the pulpit before reading the gospel.  Shocking?  Yes.  Literally.
We’re having microphone issues right now, as in my Britney Spears mic is at the shop.  I’m using a corded mic [in the pulpit] and the lectern mic primarily.  I walked up into the pulpit, had one hand on the metal reading lamp and put the other on the microphone to switch it on.  It was like I had put my fingers in an empty light socket.  [… which yes.  I’ve done before.]  I was zapped!  It was more than a carpet static shock but not enough that I swore or had any sudden movements.  After it happened, I remember thinking to myself, “Can I still stand?  Can I do this?”  A woozy second or two and I was fine.  I read the gospel.  Preached a mediocre sermon.  And survived.  My hand tingled for a couple hours afterwards.  
I spent about 20 minutes sitting in the empty sanctuary after all of it with a third grade grandson of the deceased.  Shocking?  Nope.  It was the right place for me to be.
I’m never sure where to sit during the coffee/cake time following a funeral.  I don’t need to sit with the immediate family – they have other people to greet – but often times they are the only people I know besides the women in the kitchen.  Today, I gravitated towards the kids.  There was a group of four grandchildren sitting at a far back table.  I joined them as that awkward pastor they don’t know.  Plus, none of them were drinking coffee so their coffee pot was full and in need of a drinker.
Later, as people began saying goodbyes downstairs, I walked up to the narthex and was going to go into the sanctuary to clean up my papers/books/etc. I started walking down the aisle and heard someone talk to me from behind.  It was a third grade grandson who had been in the group I sat with earlier.  He was asking me a question.  I answered and then kept walking.  He asked another question.  And another.  And soon we were both plopped in pews, on either side of the aisle, facing each other and talking.
We talked about everything.  How to outrun a cougar.  [You can’t.]  How he wants to go to Africa with a monster truck on safari.  [A silly boy.]  About Chicago, where he used to live.  About his older brother who died four years ago from what sounds like a suicide.  How he once told this guy about Jesus.  [His parents are pastors in the Salvation Army, which includes a theology of “saving” people.]  “I’ve never talked to a pastor like this before,” he said.  [I took that as a compliment.]
Soon, his sixth grade sister joined us.  “I was surprised.  You did a good job up there,” she told me, pointing to the pulpit.  We talked more about how they fight a lot as brother and sister [he bit her yesterday], about what will happen tomorrow at the cemetery, and the fact that the hotel they’ve been staying in does not have a pool [gasp].  
Soon, their parents were ready to leave.  We walked out of the sanctuary together and the sixth grader gave me a hug.  Sitting in that sanctuary with those kids after the funeral of their grandma was exactly where I needed to be.  Amen to that, Holy Spirit.  

another first.

4 Dec
My weekend without sermon writing was true in its title – besides some touch-up work on the sermon Saturday night, I spent no time writing.  It was wonderful.
However [yeah.  there’s a however.] it was anything but a weekend free of work.
I had a board meeting on Friday afternoon at the nursing home in Austin.  Have I told you I’m on a board of directors at a nursing home?  I’m a warm body in a chair and that’s pretty much it because I still can’t read the financial sheet they hand out each month.  I spend an hour driving to and from and the 1.5 hours there in a daze.  It is on my day off, after all.
And then [yeah.  there’s an and then.] I went to the post office to drop off a bulk mailing.  From there, it was to the funeral home.
That’s right.  This girl has her first funeral at ROG this week.
I met the funeral director to get the scoop [the family had met earlier that day and I was not invited into that conversation.  weird?], drove home, and went to the office.  [Sidenote: The funeral director?  Surprisingly young.  And married.  I looked.  But I do wonder what makes a person want to become one who arranges funerals and preserves bodies.  I admire them.]  I had phone calls to make, funeral church arrangements to secure, and my own bearings to find.  
I met with the family on Saturday morning to plan the service.  It was good to meet them before it all – I had only met the husband once [when I visited he and his wife – now deceased – in my first month here].  We chatted.  We planned.  Now tomorrow my task will be to prepare for it all on Tuesday.
Tuesday is December 6th which marks exactly my three month anniversary at ROG.  It’s as if the universe is saying the easy part is over.  It’s real now.

dr. knock-me-down and how I learned to stop crying and embrace the party rock.

16 Nov
*cue refrain*
Sunday was great.  [Church was … meh – I blame my own preparation – but it was followed by an afternoon of the Blooming High School musical and local church potato supper with two lovely congregation ladies.  That was followed by Mabel and I trucking to O-town to hang out with the first-year-first-call groupies and having great conversation about Catholic pre-marital counseling.]  
Then Monday kinda sucked.  Tuesday morning wasn’t a whole lot better.
If life and work could stop being such a roller coaster, I would greatly appreciate it.  
I felt knocked down on Monday.  I’m facing fears of change, trust, and lots of different emotions that I can’t even name at this point.  It’s hard to know how to go forward without experience or much confidence on my end.  I cried, watched Dawson’s Creek, and ate a fruit smoothie to nurse my sore throat.  [you may play your sympathy music here.]  Bottom of roller coaster.
I started to go up on the ride yesterday.  I embraced the party rock and began my day with a blow-dryer-loud-music dance party for one in the blue bathroom.  That doesn’t mean that I didn’t cry when I got to work but that also doesn’t negate the power of party rock.  An afternoon of tea and website conversation continued the climb.  A night of nothing.  Literally nothing.  Needed.
Welcome to Wednesday.  Another party rock morning.  Naomi Circle meeting at Perkins.  Good.  Nursing home communion visits.  Good.  Dorcas Circle meeting at church.  Good.
It was a day of great stories.  Stories of second chances, long lives, and how God works through all of it.  Stories of going home from the nursing home after a two month recovery.  Stories of being married for 71 years.  Conversations about deep roots, good soil, and necessary silence.  
And then confirmation.  My confirmation group of four is beyond awesome.  They’re engaged, ask questions, and – dare I say? – a bit excited to be bringing their Bibles each week.  Tonight we talked about what we’re thankful for, the movie Serendipity [one could say there are likenesses to, oh, Isaac and Rebekah?], and the relation of music and faith.  
One of the confirmation gals also said she is working through the Bible reading plan that I stuffed in the bulletins last Sunday.  [Yes!  At least one!  And a youth at that!]  As we reviewed what we learned last week, I asked a bunch of questions about Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac.  This particular gal wanted clarification on whether it was a lamb or ram given for sacrifice in the binding of Isaac.  I told her to look it up and asked her where she would find the story, hoping she would be able to give me the book name.  “Genesis 22?” she asked.  Yes!  Yes!  “I just read it yesterday,” she said.  “It’s on the reading plan.”  Yes!  Yes!
Up and down.  Up and down.  Tomorrow is first call colleague group over lunch [up] and a day of two sermons on my plate [down].  There will also be cleaning for a visitor this weekend [Adam!] and thoughts of a state football playoff game at the Metrodome on Saturday morning.  [Blooming Prairie is playing – guess who? – Dawson in the state playoffs!]  Up and down.  Up and down.  I’m holding out for less dr. knock-me-down and a little more party rock in the next days.

DEAR

14 Nov
Do you remember DEAR time from elementary school?  [Drop Everything And Read]  I loved DEAR time.  I was that kid with her nose in a book all the time.  All the time.  
I hereby reinstate DEAR time in my life.
When I was at the fall theological conference, it seemed people were constantly suggesting I read this book or that.  They would tell me that this one book sounded a lot like what I was going through or talking about or they found that one other book really helpful in their first year of call.  Forget the pile of books that are already on my shelves, waiting to be read or reread post-seminary [now with a context to which apply them].
I hereby promise to make the best attempt I can to read for 30 minutes during each work day.  Thirty minutes of theological, devotional, or educational reading.  Maybe more.
I always felt guilty sitting in my office and reading.  I felt like I should be doing something.  Fall theological helped me realize that reading is doing something and it is part of my job.  It belongs in the office and deserves at least 30 minutes of my day.  jD and I are holding each other accountable … or at least trying.
First up: Sabbath, by Wayne Muller.
Perfect in many ways for my life right now.  Perfect because I often feel like this:

A ‘successful’ life has become a violent enterprise.  We make war on our own bodies, pushing them beyond their limits; war on our children, because we cannot find enough time to be with them when they are hurt and afraid, and need our company; war on our spirit, because we are too preoccupied to listen to the quiet voices that seek to nourish and refresh us; war on our communities, because we are fearfully protecting what we have, and do not feel safe enough to be kind and generous; war on the earth, because we cannot take the time to place our feet on the ground and allow it to feed us, to taste its blessings and give thanks. [p. 2]

And want the ability to feel like this:

Sabbath implies a willingness to be surprised when creation renews itself, when what is finished inevitably recedes, and the sacred forces of healing astonish us with the unending promise of love and life. [p. 37]  

less than perfect.

4 Nov
Two songs: F**kin’ Perfect by Pink and That I Would Be Good by Alanis Morissette.
I’m never totally up on the music scene so excuse me if I’m way behind the times.  I just heard the Pink song on the radio a few weeks ago.  The second song is an older one.  I recall listening to it in a pastoral care class and my recent renewed addiction to Dawson’s Creek has brought it to my attention again.  It was used in a recent episode and caught my ear.  They’re good songs, people.  Good songs. 

You’re so mean when you talk about yourself … change the voices in your head … make them like you instead.  Pretty pretty please don’t you ever ever feel like you’re less than – less than perfect.  Pretty pretty please if you ever ever feel like you’re nothing, you are perfect … to me.  

... that I would be good even if I got a thumbs down … that I would be good if I got and stayed sick … that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds … that I would be loved even when I’m not myself … that I would be good even if I lost sanity … that I would loved even if I wasn’t myself …

I like these songs particularly lately because I of all people need to hear them.  I resonate.  I may be mistaken as a confident young woman but, more often than not, I’m insecure, unsure, and fearful.  
I need to change the voices in my head.  My thoughts of late are constantly filled with judgement, self-doubt, and mistakes.  I second guess my decisions and consistently tell myself that I don’t do enough.  
It’s not that I’m not given grace.  It’s not that I’m not learning and growing in skill and confidence.  It’s not that I’m not supported.  Perhaps it’s how I function and a little enneagram #2 coming into play.  [I blame my 2-ness a lot.  Perhaps that needs to be a blog post of the future.]  Perhaps it’s how my history has seasoned me to act.  Perhaps it’s greater culture.  
Whatever it may be, mission: attitude change must begin.  A colleague told me that someone once told him that this pastor tells himself, “I am okay.”  Perhaps I need a personal mantra.  Something I can tell myself and believe.  Something maybe like:
I am a child of God.
I am gifted.
I am loved.
I don’t have to do everything.
I must take care of myself.
I carried a watermelon.
[strike the last one from the record.  but name that movie and I’ll give you an air high-five.]
You should repeat every one of those statements and know it to be your truth.  
Say it.  Believe it.  And I’ll try and take that advice for myself too.

a church home of many.

30 Oct
After worship this morning, I was Stillwater-bound.  My small group of ninth graders at Trinity were being confirmed and I was to be a part of it as their leader.  I stepped in to be the small group leader to four ladies in their last year of confirmation and it was only in those eight months that we meant on Wednesday nights.  They are gifted, amazing, and super polite gals.  It was fun to see them again and play a part in this affirmation of baptism.
One of my small group gals, Emma, was chosen to share her faith statement.  Yup.  I teared up.
One of the best parts of attending the service was to catch up the staff members with whom I worked for two and a half years.  Pastor Dan – the senior pastor – is ever the kind man with so many words of wisdom; it comforted me to speak with him oh-so-briefly about first call as he compared it to his in southwest Minnesota.  Musician Phil always greets me with a hug.  Youth guy, Cory, sat next to me and we cracked jokes the whole way through; I caught up with his very pregnant wife and stood in the parking lot talking about church, life, and cakepops. 
The years I spent at Trinity were invaluable to my journey in ministry.  It’s fun to return, see friends, and think about the person I was and how I’ve grown since then.  It’s one of my church homes and today, it was fun to go home even if ever so briefly.

roglutheran.org

29 Oct
I had mentioned briefly before that I was caught up in a new website for ROG.  I was finding the former website format to be incredibly difficult to update and use; it was a confusing program.  Away with that, I said.  The fact that the website was hard to update and edit [an out-of-date website is the worst] and the fact that the church was paying a fair bit of money for the site led me to the user-friendly [and free] WordPress option.
And viola.   A new church website.  You are welcome to check it up, keep tabs on the pastor, and read the blog that is a part of it.  It’s a blog that I hope to update with cool stories, holy moments, and guest bloggers.  It’s a work in progress.  Let me know what you think.

hope.

27 Oct
There have been moments this week when hope has been sparse.  Moments when I’ve wondered what in world I can do or say.  Moments when hope was kinda sorta missing.  
I’m happy to report my hope has been restored and for that I thank the older women who you pin to hate change when really they’re some of the most progressive in the congregation.  Proof that stereotypes cannot be trusted.  The older women who sit in the same pews every Sunday and in the same order are the ones open to a different confession and forgiveness in worship and might even – dare I say? – be on board for a new hymnal down the road.  
My hope is restored when Mabel returns home after tearing across the now empty cornfield after a deer.  [She went crazy!]  My hope is restored when I meet with my first call colleague group and think to myself, “I’m glad I’m here.  And I’m glad I’m not alone.”  My hope is restored when Karen and I go to lunch and she shares with me the promise of reformation.  [Not the Martin Luther kind.]
A place without hope is the time when I drive in tears, call friends frantically to explode with words, and sit in sweatpants and drink wine.  [The last of which can easily and happily be done with hope as well.]  It’s not the best place.  I’m glad to have found hope again.  [Not that it was ever gone; I simply failed to see it.]
← Older Entries
Newer Entries →