Archive | pastoring RSS feed for this section

wedding season.

25 Aug
One wedding this weekend.  Two next weekend.
uffda.
The one this weekend is one I’ve actually been excited about.  Let’s just say this to start – weddings are hard for me as a pastor.  Weddings are often events where I know only the couple getting married and maybe a handful of others.  Weddings require me to spend time with a whole bunch of people I don’t know and that is exhausting for me.  Weddings are another sermon for the week and are all so different from each other that each is its own entity requiring thought and planning and time.
This weekend’s wedding is for a couple with whom I would love to be friends.  They are beyond kind and friendly.  They were the first people at Red Oak Grove to have me over for dinner, which happened when I visited their house regarding their daughter’s baptism.  The groom is also part of a family that I know.  His cousin is in my confirmation class.  Through being a part of his great-uncle’s funeral a couple months ago, I was able to meet a lot of the family.  It was comforting to know that I would show up at the farm and have familiar faces.  In fact, this was the first wedding at ROG where I was a.) invited and b.) went to the rehearsal dinner.  And it was fun!  I sat at the kids’ table with Marnie, the confirmation student, and the other kiddos in the wedding.  One of them, a six year old boy, cracked me up beyond belief.  It was great entertainment for the evening.
And then there is the farm.  That’s the other part of this wedding that excited me.  The ceremony was to take place at the bride’s family farm.  I like that say that it was my wedding.  Only I attended as officiant.  Hay bales, mason jars, on the family farm.  Pretty sure I blogged about this way back when.  I was excited to see how this picture perfect wedding played out. 
Let’s just say it rained.  We held out as long as we could and it looked like we had a window of clearing.  The bridal party lined up and we started the ceremony.  Halfway through the declaration of intention, the sky opened up and it started to pour again.  Vows, rings, kiss, done.  [A little bummed that the wedding homily I worked on for a few hours will never be preached but so the cookie crumbles and the rain falls.]  Everyone was soaked by the end of it, even with umbrellas throughout the crowd and wedding party.  
The couple was so great about it though.  I think some brides and grooms would turn sour at such a unwelcome shower of rain but they practically laughed through the whole thing and were so great about it.  It’s one not to be forgotten.  I’m home briefly now to throw my clothes in the dryer before heading off again to the dinner portion of the celebration.  Luckily, that is slated to be inside at a ballroom.  Mmm, cake.

angry fist shake.

25 Jul
Sometimes I feel like shaking my angry fist and yelling with such indignation,
Curse you, introspective, processing mind and truth-telling friends!*
Don’t we all?
I’ve had one of those days.  I still haven’t recovered from a sleep-deprived week in NOLA.  I’m overwhelmed at work.  I hate that while I normally say, “We should do that this summer when we have more time!,” I now find myself saying, “We should have more time come fall.  Let’s do that then.”   [which is a lie.  we all know fall won’t be any slower.] Work is busy and right now seems all about budgets and writing job descriptions and administration; things I know absolutely nothing about.  I feel inadequate to do my job.
Twice today, amid tales of my day and how I feel dumb and inadequate and unable, I had friends tell me to go easy on myself.  To cut my own self a break.  I am the worst negative self-talker in all the world [or at least one of them].  What happened to the Lindsay with self-confidence, positivity [which, ironically, is one of my StrengthsFinder themes], and optimism?  I’m not sure where she has gone but I should probably find her.  It would be great if she would return.  Until then, I’ll shake my angry fist at the knowledge of what’s wrong and my current inability to know how to change it.  I’ll work on it.
At least it was a good hair day.  Had that going for me.
* but I’m thankful for truth-telling friends and a certain self-awareness.

NOLA: a summary.

24 Jul
I’ve returned to good old Austin, MN.  phew.  What a trip.  There is more info on the ROG site, which maybe you read.  Maybe you didn’t.  Either way, here’s my summary in true list form. 
The awesome:
— The speakers each night.  My favorite was Nadia Bolz-Weber.  You can watch her talk here.  It is totally worth your 20 minutes.  Not all pastors are stuffy and old and pious.  Amen.
— beignets at Cafe du Monde were pretty delicious.
— walking a mile while carrying a 40 lb. container of water.  It was a part of the 100 Wells Challenge education.  The ELCA is currently raising money to bring clean drinking water closer to people living in Africa.  It’s not uncommon for women and children to walk four miles each day just to get water.  The Red Oak Grove youth and I waited in line to carry 40 lbs. around ten times [which equaled one mile] in an air-conditioned building.  It was only a taste of what people in Africa must do.  And it was hard!  I did one lap and wondered how in the world I would ever do nine more.  Somehow, with a combination of breaks and pushing the jug on the smooth concrete floor for little bits, I made it.  All the youth did too.  [Two of the ladies admitted they cheated a little bit; they coerced a boy into carrying theirs for a segment of a lap.  Oh, girls.]
— bonding with the ROG youth.
— seeing seminary and synod friends!
— flashlight hellos.  I never did run into the Dawson group but twice they gestured hello across the superdome by waving their flashlights and phones in my general direction.  I waved my bright orange hat in return.  For cute.
— worshipping with no leadership role.
— a service project day that took us to a local Boy’s and Girl’s club to read with them.  What a great experience.
— It’s estimated that 38,000 Lutherans each doing four hours of service will be of value to the city of New Orleans worth more than $2million.  How awesome is that?
— a ride in a streetcar through the garden district.  [with crabby kids.  but we’ll forget that detail.]
— great music.  dancing.
— the openness with which sexual orientation and bullying topics were addressed.  It needed to be said; I’m glad they took the opportunity.
The not-so-awesome:
— the bus ride home.  We were part of three buses which caravanned together.  Basically our group and a group from Mankato.  Note to self: If ever a large trip like this is organized again, go with one bus and only one bus.  Three was not so much fun.  Whenever we stopped – be it bathroom or meal stops – the lines were long.  Communication between leaders was not great.  I will say – with my nose in the air – that our group was so well behaved.  It was the other group that, well, had attitude.  The other group also had a child that decided not to eat anything all week and only drink Mt. Dew and Red Bull, which led to a four hour layover in the middle of Sunday night at a hosptial in Memphis.  Our trip home went from an expected 22 hours to a horribly long 29 hours.  It was miserable.
— little sleep.
— having a diet consisting of Subway and fast food for a week.  I went to the store tonight and my cart was mostly fruits and veggies.
— little to no Lindsay time.  Things were tense there for a day or two.
— swollen ankles.  Last night, they looked like they were drawn by a cartoonist.  Swelling is going down but they’ll be elevated again tonight as I go to bed.  
— we depart from the First Lutheran parking lot and we wave to all the family gathered.  One of my youth says to me, Aww.  You have no one here to say goodbye to you.  Thanks for reminding me I’m all alone.
Trust me when I say the awesome outweigh the not-so-awesome, even if the lists seems pretty even at first glance.  It was a good trip.  And now I can say I’ve been to New Orleans and – if I’m honest – I can say that I don’t ever need to go back.  [Unless it were to be to a b&b in the garden district.]  Bourbon Street has no appeal for this girl.  No thank you.  The next gathering: Detroit in 2015.  I’m thankful it won’t require an overnight bus trip!

a wedding story.

7 Jul
Reason #147 it would be awesome to have a boyfriend/be married: A built-in date to wedding receptions.
I had a wedding to do today – the one I told you about ages ago.  They’re not members and their pastor refused to do the wedding because they have a son.  [A mighty cute one.  He’s nearly three and walked down the aisle in a tux and with a sign that said, “Daddy, here comes our girl!”]  Anyways, I said I would do it and though things were slightly unorganized [as any good wedding is], we got through it – microphone, weather, and unity sand all cooperating.
Ceremony?  Check.  
Wine reception at the winery?  Check.  
Pastor Lindsay stopped at the Old Navy outlet briefly because it was on the way to the dinner?  Check.
Then it was reception/dinner time at the Holiday Inn – the time I dread as a single introverted pastor.  Luckily, I was assigned a table and a seat so I didn’t need to awkwardly find one.  The plan was to pray for the meal, eat the meal, and then hit the road.  It pretty much worked, though the prayer was proceeded by the bride swearing profusely about some relative or other at the head table as I asked her about the schedule of things.  And then during the prayer I could hear the bride sobbing in the background.  The table I was seated at was with spouses of wedding party people.  Most of them had been on the party bus between the ceremony and the reception.  Many of them were very drunk.  I was seated between ladies and gents giving the middle finger, cursing, and then covering their mouth and pointing to me and whispering, “We’re sitting with the pastor!  Who would put the pastor at our table?”
Yup.
That’s the story. 

read it in your baby voice.

5 Jul
The best part of my day?

Following @HonestToddler on twitter.

Cracks me up every time.

[There was a really great pastoral visit in there too.  I was there for over an hour but it was great, insightful, and fun conversation.  They asked me how things were going for me – these are people I feel like I can be honest with – so I mentioned how sometimes the hardest part is living in the big house by myself.  Mark – who is also the custodian at church – said he’d be my friend.  He invited me over to watch cooking shows and play cards.  He’s 65.  His wife gave me garden green beans.  Deal.]

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!

this week –

21 May
The name of this week is balance.  And joy.  And sanity.
After a really crappy Saturday night of loathing my job and hating myself for my procrastination talent, I need a recovery week.  Balance.  Joy.  Sanity.
How will that happen?
. No evening meetings equals home at five every night. 
. Fresh strawberries and fresh pineapple.
. Designated DEAR time during the work day.
. Iced coffee in the fridge.
. The beginnings of a container garden and spreading mulch.  And I moved a hosta.  I hope I didn’t kill it.
. Booking a b&b and kayak trip in Grand Marais for vacation.  Maybe a pottery class too?
. A new quilt pieced together on the dining room table.
. A list of enjoyable tasks at church that include large sheets of paper and a staff meeting.
Do you hear that?  It’s me breathing a sigh of relief.  This week will be awesome.

first call reTREAT.

16 May
From Sunday evening to Tuesday afternoon, I lived at Gustavus Adolphus College in St.Peter, MN with ten other first call pastors.*
ca-ray-zee.
We talked about anxiety.  I know what that is.  A speaker came in to present a day of family systems theory.  Interesting stuff.  We all walk around as pseudo-selves, and need to consistently try to differentiate ourselves from that person.  [Psycho babble?  A bit.  But it totally makes sense.]  It was great to know that I am never alone in psycho babble and anxious pastoral stuff.
We ate a lot at the Gustavus cafeteria, though I still marvel at the lack of hard boiled eggs at breakfast, and spent time with the Bishop.  It was all good but also a lot of people time.  I realized I’m an introvert who wants to be invited into conversation but also an introvert who doesn’t want to be put on the spot for conversation.  I’m an introvert that can’t win.
We drank wine, snacked, and stayed up late telling stories.  We turned Lindsay on.
wait.  what?
Ready for a story?  Every year the synod hosts an assembly.  The assembly this year was the same weekend as I had a wedding here at ROG.  Paige, jD, and I couldn’t be together at a synod event for the first time nearly ever.  Tragic, really.  And so, to be connected ever so distantly, Paige named the wi-fi hotspot on her phone Lindsay.  That way, as jD and Paige used internet on their iPads at the assembly, they were connected to Lindsay.  To me.  [aww.]
Some people at the retreat wanted to use me, er, the internet.  And so they asked Paige if I could be turned on.  insert dirty joke and lindsay-the-person blushing.  This used to be a compliment! I exclaimed at one point as it went a bit extreme.
It still is, said Charlie.
Aww.  Thanks, Charlie.

* Pastors in their first three years of ministry are part of a first-call theological education.  That includes various meetings, a monthly colleague group, and a yearly retreat.  It’s quite fun.

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.  

the curse of two.

11 Nov
Number two.
[no.  not that.]
Enneagram number two.
The enneagram is a personality system.  Nine numbers, each with different manners of thinking, living, and acting in life. I find both comfort and challenge in knowing my enneagram and being able to see the ways I feel and live through that lens. 
I’m a two.  A giver/helper.  And one cursed to always feel like I’m disappointing other people and foregoing my own needs to be in service to others.
In ministry, this has its place.  Definitely.  But lately, I’m feeling more how it drains and consumes me.
I hit a certain low today.  It’s my day off and I can’t help but feel all the ways I’ve failed/let people down this week.  It didn’t help any that work called me away to a conference for two of my workdays [which was a good thing until the stress of today].  I didn’t return the rake to the proper custodian closet and he had to go get it himself.  I should have called about the microphone issues we’re having earlier in the week instead of scrambling to fix it on Thursday, perhaps now facing a Sunday without my microphone in working order.  I didn’t make any visits this week and upon discovery of the previous pastor’s milage reports in the file cabinet today, I find he visited at least one person a day.  Things that have been on my to-do list for weeks still remain, consistently being pushed further back.  It’s my day off but I’m spending it doing everything I think I should have done earlier so I won’t let anyone else down.
And really – have I let anyone down?  No one has told me such.  But that’s what I sense.  That’s what I feel I know.  I have this fear that I’m not living up to the congregation’s expectations of a pastor.  I need counseling.  [Seriously.  I will be exploring the avenue of counseling as soon as I figure out how to find someone in my health care network.  The synod encourages us as pastors to find a counselor.]  I don’t hear much positive feedback [except that I have great children’s sermons] so I’m always wondering where I really stand.  [So, naturally, I think they don’t like me when in actuality, maybe they’re simply not vocalizing what they’re thinking.  Apparently I crave feedback.]
I’ve heard again and again from other new pastors that in the first year I must be patient with myself.  I need to give myself grace and remind myself that I’m always learning.  But do I really need to face a whole first year of feelings like this?  I sure hope not because that would suck.  [I should also add that I realize this is not an exclusive number two issue, but it’s how I can easily put into words my own issues.]
*over-exaggerated sigh*  So that’s my current emotional state.  Please excuse me now while I eat a bowl of chili [mmm.  with noodles.  comfort food.], begin a Harry Potter night of both Deathly Hallows films [#2 was released today.], and exercise the self-care I have lacked so far today.  [Another facet of the two: two’s will often care for others and their own needs remain unmet.  That’s not good either.]  
I’m trying and trying to do my best.  That’s all I can do.  [Right?]

ps. I blogged here again today.  And I’m thankful for you.

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →