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bite me, transitions.

30 Aug
Let us first note that this is my 200th post on this blog. Sorry to say it’s not going to be a very nice one. I considered waiting … not writing what is on my mind … including something pleasure-filled like yesterday’s celebratory moments. But what did I decide? Bite me, transitions. This is where tonight finds me; thus this is the blog posting #200. (I promise posting #201 will be all things magnificent and not depressing.)
I hate transitions – this one most specifically. To get you up to date, yesterday was my last day in Dawson. My last Sunday at Grace. Despite the fact that I had to leave, the morning was all things wonderful. The staff, internship committee, and congregation gave me the most thoughtful and perfect send-off. It included many things gnome, many things written, and so many joyful moments. Honestly, it made leaving all the more difficult because of how perfect the morning was … hrmph. I promise more about that, the inclusion of literary pieces (stories, odes, songs and sermon), and the tale of an attic tour is soon to come. Cross my heart. But right now –
Bite me, transitions. I left Dawson yesterday afternoon, arrived in St.Paul in the early evening, and then home to Edgerton by midafternoon today. It’s been a lot of packing, unpacking, and traveling for this short gnome. (That wheelbarrow gets exhausting to push. Too many books, boxes, and baking supplies!) I feel like I’m in between. Like I’m not quite sure where I belong. Dawson has been my home for the past year. St.Paul will become my home … but right now my apartment is the most chaotic pile of boxes ever. It feels nothing like home. Edgerton is always my home … but not ever in the same way when I live out of a clothesbasket while here.
I think back to other big transitions in my life. I moved to Decorah, three hours away from home, for college and mildly freaked out. In all honesty, as an eighteen year old, Decorah never felt like home. It wasn’t until I was 21 – my junior year – that I remember feeling like I belonged there. But I was there with 600 other students who were in the midst of the same transition. After college, after my stint substitute teaching at home, I moved to Stillwater. Big transition. Hard transition. But once I adjusted, I loved it … and I stayed there for a couple years. Even once I was in St.Paul, I was never too far from my Stillwater life. The transition to Dawson was not an easy one either; it took many months for me to adjust and have Dawson feel like home.
Eventually, it did. Then it was time to leave. Yesterday. I think what really bothers me about this transition is that I’m not a part of a mass-group of people undergoing the same change. Sure, other interns are filing back to campus from internship but we all had such different experiences. I feel there are many ways that I cannot even share what I experienced at Grace because it seems like I’m bragging. Dawson folk – you’re just too dang awesome. I feel very restless and very alone in the transition. I’m not sure where to go with it. And then I’m back on campus, transitioning, while I know that business at Grace continues … and I’m no longer there to be a part of it. The further bothersome point? Grace became my family … and I don’t know when the next reunion will be. It’s always helpful to know a date, an event, something that will bring us back together and right now, that’s unknown. I can only hope sometime in the somewhat near future.
I know it will get better but right now it’s just icky. I start to tear up when I think about it. It wasn’t much fun getting on I-94 and driving east instead of west. My heart wanted to lead me in a different direction. Bite me, transitions. I don’t like you much at all right now.
(I forewarned you that it would be a bit of a pity-post. That’s where I am, having my own little pity party. It will get better but for now, when I’m stuck in the in between, I cry. I mope. And I have to write/proof/finalize a twenty page paper tomorrow. That doesn’t help matters much either. I hrmph again.)

formative.

28 Aug
I guess this is it?
The day I’ve been dreading for months has almost arrived. I’ll use the naughty word again – this sucks. (And I’ll throw in a ‘horse apples!’ for effect.)
The more I think about it, the more I understand why this is so hard. I came to Dawson twelve months ago, completely alone. I knew no one. I had no connection. Those first months were extremely hard for me. Adjusting. Figuring out how things worked. Feeling lonely. I would go to work and come home to my apartment by myself.
After Christmas, something clicked. I had adjusted. I had found my niche at work. I began to know people. This became home. Staff meetings were like family dinners. I began to let people into my life. (It takes me awhile.) I had found my rhythm and routine. I had figured out who I was in this new place and I was happy.
This year has been so formative for me. Formative to my call to ministry, formative to my independence, and formative to learning more about who I am and who I remain though factors around me continue to change. I struggle to think that the year has made me a bit more of an introvert; the thought of not having so much “Lindsay time” back in St.Paul scares me in the tiniest degree. But I also think of the strong feet I have found beneath me. That I can stand in the midst of uncertainty, when I’m not prepared, and when the unexpected comes.
Even though I pack up my car tomorrow and leave this place behind me (until I visit, of course), Dawson will always be a part of who I am and who I have become.
(… that was a little too sentimental. A bit over the top. I think I threw up in my mouth a little. But it’s still true.)

a little perspective.

21 Aug
Life has a way of keeping you in line, showing you a little perspective in the midst of your own trials and struggles that seem like mountains too tall and rivers too wide.
In honesty – today has sucked. I’m not a fan of writing that word (in my blog or elsewhere) but if you were to talk to me, that would be the word I use. Sucked.
My mom and sister arrived in Dawson last night. That part is all good – visitors are grand. However, one of the main purposes of their visit was to help me pack, load, and move my things back to seminary in St.Paul. Dislike. (See a number of previous posts to understand my distain of moving and leaving Dawson.)
It’s been a crabby, crying kind of day. I don’t like moving to begin with; add in the dislike of leaving Dawson to return to classes and homework, and you’ve got a pretty cranky Lindsay. Someone who is not very much fun to be around. Just ask the mom and little sister.
Needing to put the finishing touches on my sermon for the morning, I head into the office for a little while to focus. I end up sobbing in the sanctuary for fifteen minutes because of all my woes before receiving a phone call from the funeral home. There’s a family there. Their father has just died. They would like to have a short service of prayer.
I slap myself. And I’m crying about moving? Seriously, Lindsay.
[Side note: So I tell the funeral director that I need to make myself presentable and I’ll be over. I’ve been moving all day and I didn’t particularly want to walk in with my jeans and tie-dyed tshirt. I run home, change, and as I am introduced to some of the family, one of the brothers of the deceased says to me, “Well, you clean up pretty nice!” Um, so you heard I was a mess earlier?]
As much as I hope the short service of prayer and scripture was part of what they needed to hear and be a part of as a grieving family, it spoke to me too. I continued to work on my sermon after the short gathering and came across these words regarding worship –
“Bath, table, prayer and word are important to every seeking soul because God is there, wiping away tears, giving life.”
God was there in the midst of the prayer service. God is here, wiping away tears – the grieving family’s tears, my tears – and giving us life. Amen.

ordination affairs.

17 Jun
I crashed an ordination last Friday night. The former intern at Grace – the intern before last year’s Lori (whose ordination I attended and participated in earlier this year) – was being ordained in Hector, MN. I’d never met Dale before, our paths hadn’t crossed on campus so I was a crasher. I was up for a road trip and social time so Keith, Gail and Karen picked me up and we were off on our 1.5 hour journey east. We met up with Tammy and Jon at the church and took over a pew; Kendall was there too but participating in the service.
I left the ordination with two main thoughts:
One. That will be me soon! The service was two hours long but you would have never glanced at your watch because it was so wonderful. The music was splendid and the entire service so engaging. It made me begin to wonder who will preach at my ordination. Who will I ask to participate? What kind of high-quality paper/font will I use for the bulletins? It’s hard to believe that after this long journey through seminary, as of next May, the scholastic portion will be complete. Then the first-call process. Whoa.
Two. I love my coworkers. Now, I knew this before but this night it was just super reinforced. A mini road trip with coworkers was a fun Friday night; I’m so glad I went. I loved sitting in a pew with them, enjoying the service together. Coffee and cake afterwards was a riot. I loved hearing them dream of the road trip they will take to my ordination (which I would guess will be at East in Cambridge). It’s an eight hour trip and I will expect none of them to make the journey … but will wholeheartedly love it if they make it. Maybe I can bribe them with cake pops.

control issues.

10 Jun
June is a busy month at Grace. Someone once told me that things would slow down after Easter. That person lied.
As I tend to do with my overly confident and zealous ambition, I think I bit off more than I can chew. Crafts at VBS? Great, I would love to lead those! Opening of VBS? Sure, I’d love to be in charge of the skits. Co-captain a summer of stewardship preaching series and other activities? Sounds like fun!
But then there is also the unexpected. A funeral/prayer service to lead in my supervisor’s out-of-town absence. A needed trip to Willmar for more VBS supplies. Projects taking longer than planned. Making brown paper vines to hang in the rainforest with a cordless drill and masking paper that spans the length of the hallway. (Okay, that was not unexpected but totally necessary.)
Today, as my preparation and role in the funeral/prayer service was made known, I started to stress. I was ready to curl up on the floor, rock back and forth, and cry. I don’t think I hid my hyperventilating very well; Kendall offered to switch Sundays so I would not have to preach this Sunday. I denied that I needed to do that. Tammy offered to have our Christian Education board help me set up for crafts. I said, eh, well, I would do it myself.
“Lindsay’s having a hard time giving up control,” Kendall surmised.
Oh my. So true. It was like a CPE revelation.
I have a hard time giving up control.
Something to work on. Sharing control. Not maintaining control of things that I don’t need to control.
I ended up accepting Kendall’s help. Giving up control of Sunday’s sermon in exchange for control of next week’s. A trade but a step in the right direction. One that helps muchisimo for the current stress level. I will, however, continue to use the cordless drill to make vines for the rainforest. Very necessary.

a prayer service and psalm 100.

1 Jun

A psalm. For giving thanks.

1 Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth.

2 Worship the LORD with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.

3 Know that the LORD is God.
It is he who made us, and we are his;
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
give thanks to him and praise his name.

5 For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.

I read this psalm today at a funeral. It’s part of my role in funerals – I’m the lesson reader. I looked the lessons up before the funeral, just to read through them once, and when I turned to this psalm and began reading, I made an audible “aw.” I like this psalm as a funeral text. A lot. It’s not always the easiest to proclaim and praise God following a sudden death of someone we love but the promise contained within the psalm is central to our reliance and strength in God amidst such suffering. I like-y.

It was Dorothy’s funeral. Dorothy who I was just supposed to visit last Thursday only to find out she had been flown to the hospital in a nearby large city following a heart attack. Dorothy who was the very first to show up the intern meet-and-greet when I first arrived in September. Dorothy who was half of the “cozy couple.”

I led the prayer service for Dorothy last night at the funeral home. As a part of the prayer service, there is a time of sharing. With some services, the sharing will last twenty minutes – twenty minutes of friends and families sharing stories and memories of the one who has passed away. Some services, no one speaks. When no one stands to share, it’s a little awkward … and I thought that was where last night’s service was going.

Then Jake marched forward and stood in front of the gathered group. Jake was one of my third graders when teaching Wednesday release time. A boy with a sweet heart and great sense of humor. Jake told of how Dorothy would give him candy in church. She would pull pieces out of her purse and hand them to the children sitting around her. He told of how, at Halloween, his friends would go to her house and get little pieces of candy but when he stopped by, he would get a Mountain Dew and a big Butterfinger. Then he told of how Dorothy was like another grandma to him and he started to cry a bit.

So then I started to tear up. I’m a social crier. If other people around me are crying, I’ll cry and can’t help it. I teared up because Jake was hurting at the death of his “third grandma.” (Children hurting and in emotional pain make Lindsay a puddle.) I also teared up in thanksgiving of Dorothy and the effect she had on Jake. Dorothy didn’t need to carry candy around with her to give to kids in church. Dorothy didn’t need to give Jake a big candy bar or take an interest in his life. But she did and look at the relationship that grew between her and a ten year old boy.

Further proof that the smallest of actions or the simplest words of kindness can make a difference and foster a relationship.

Go do that today.

wilted.

27 May

I feel a bit wilted today, like the flower I forgot to water.
First thing. I’m tired as all get-out. It has been a l.o.n.g. week of hours at work. A week of late nights. Lots of preparation for the Women of Grace event and other large upcoming projects that have required my attention and seemingly snuck up on me. Visits. Preaching on Sunday. Please don’t hear this as complaining – I’m not – I loved (nearly) every minute of my work this week – but I think I’m trying to prove to myself that I have reason to be tired. This week has flown by so quickly because I’ve been so busy and slept so little; if this is any indication of the rest of the summer, my last three months here will feel like a week and a half.
Second thing. The next intern, who will arrive in September after I leave in August, came to visit yesterday. He’s great; I think he will be a great addition to Grace and will fit in well. But my emotions were on edge as he came to see where he would be and I began to understand what it will feel like to leave. August 22/29-ish will be a sad day indeed. (I thought my last Sunday would probably be Aug. 22nd; my coworkers have decided to change that date to the 29th. Can’t say I protested too much.)
Third thing. I’m working through the emotions of being a pastor and today they seem to be quite heavy with little outlet. Being a pastor is built on relationships; you’re invited into people’s lives to share in their joys and their struggles. I’ve been in Dawson for nine months now; I’ve built relationships. They are short-term relationships, not even a year or two long yet, but I still feel involved and invited in. When a woman I have come to know through quilting mornings at church and home visits is in the hospital for the week and pretty darn sick, it hits me. When I hear that the woman I had planned on visiting this morning for a communion visit was transported to a near-by large city because she had a heart attack, my heart sinks. Later, when doing visits at the hospital, I meet a member of Grace for the first time; she is very best friends with the woman who had the heart attack and begins to cry at the thought of her friend fighting for her life. I’m invited in to share with people in their sickness and in their pain. I do my best to be the non-anxious-listening-presence that CPE taught me to be … but it still makes me cry. I hold their hand as we pray together and I empathize with their sadness, anger, and grief. I can’t leave my work at the office; the emotions, the prayers, the relationships are with me even when I come home at night.
But these relationships are the key. Relationships with people (and, well, sharing the promise of relationship with Christ) are the reason I want to be a pastor. Relationships are why it will be so difficult to leave Grace in three short months. I will have only been here for one year; I can’t imagine what it will be like to leave a church after a three year, ten, or fifteen year call. I am so thankful for the relationships in my life; the short-term and the long-term, the best friends and the acquaintances. I am thankful for the relationships that I have gained as a pastor, being invited into people’s lives, to celebrate with them the joys and to be near them in times of sorrow.
I don’t feel so entirely wilted anymore. (Writing is my therapy when I live alone.) The flowers don’t either. I watered them when I got home and the daisies have now sprung back to life. I don’t have enough energy to spring back to life quite like that but I will curl up on the couch and be in bed by 10.

meditation.

24 Apr

[The local pastors have a meditation column in the Dawson paper each week. Last week was my week to contribute so I wrote about one of my favorite events of late – taffy making with some of my favorite kids!]

I made taffy with fourteen third graders. I thought it would be a fun adventure, something a bit out of the ordinary. Have you pulled taffy before? I never had so I put on my brave face and decided we would try it together.

It was sticky. It was messy. It got really noisy. At some points I heard at least five kids calling my name. “I need help!” “Mine is stuck to the table!” There were times when I needed to collect myself or else I risked responding, in true fashion like my own mother, “One person at a time!” [Note: Sorry, Mom. Just a funny anecdote for humor purposes, not really a comment on your temper. I love you.] Over and over, I heard, “I need more butter!” Oh my goodness – the butter. To pull taffy, you have to butter your hands really well, otherwise the taffy sticks. It gets slimy, drippy, and slippery.

Taffy is a lot like life. Life gets sticky. Sometimes, life is a mess. We have five different projects calling for our attention at once. Or five different people – children, spouses, parents, bosses, teachers. Sometimes we want to scream for silence, for relief from what’s going on outside of ourselves. It’s chaotic. There are slippery situations. Just as the taffy can fall to the floor and get stomped into the carpet, so our lives feel like they fall apart at the death of someone we love, the surprise diagnosis, or the knowledge of an affair that comes to light.

When we finished pulling and packaging our taffy, I sent the third graders off with bags of their own taffy and a sheet of paper. It reminded them that when life gets sticky to remember this:

“God showed how much he loved us by sending his one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him. This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other.” (1 John 4:9-11)

God loves us. God loves you and is with you when things get sticky and messy. God asks us to love others when their lives are sticky and icky. God is love. Eat some taffy (or make some and share it!) and be reminded that God is love even (and especially!) when things are sticky and messy and chaotic!

growing up.

24 Apr
A woman at the assisted living facility in Dawson requested a communion visit so after a local pastors’ meeting on Thursday, I made my way to Prairie Meadows, my communion kit in hand. I know I’ve mentioned before how much I enjoy spending time with people at the assisted living/care center in Dawson; this woman is no exception. This particular day she paid me compliment after compliment, telling me that she thought the meditation I wrote for the Dawson paper was so great that she just had to cut it out and save it. For cute. But me feeling good about myself was not the object of the visit. She was so appreciative of the time taken, for communion, and we just had a lovely conversation about how wonderful the people of Grace are.
After our visit, she invited me out to the dining area for coffee. Coffee and bars of course. We joined another woman enjoying her mid-afternoon lunch. (This is turning into a really long story for a small point. Stay with me.) In describing someone else, the other woman we were sitting with said, “She was a teacher when she was growing up.” Not “she was a teacher as an adult.” Not “when she grew up, she taught school” but “she was a teacher when she was growing up.”
Probably not an intentional statement but it struck me. I hope people say that about me – “She was a pastor when she was growing up.” I love the idea of not being a pastor when I’m grown up because I love the idea of not growing up – I’m not ready to be grown up. I realize that responsibilities will still increase, bills grow in number and I’ve been told life will only grow more busy – but I still hope to always be in the process of growing up. I know I still have a lot of growing up to do and it will never be complete – but nor do I want it to be complete. Being a grown-up sounds stuffy … so let’s not go there.

internship cruelty.

12 Apr
April. Month eight of internship. How is that even possible?
I feel like the beginning, uncertain Lindsay was just yesterday. That I was only recently unpacking, settling in, and feeling lonely in Dawson. It seems so close but this is the eighth month of my time in Dawson. Over halfway complete.
Eight of twelve. I suspect that these last four months will fly by faster than I ever want them to fly. Once summer hits, I will blink and it will be time to pack my apartment and move back to St.Paul.
It hit me last week when Grace received the paperwork on the new intern. New intern. I will soon be the old intern who once taught confirmation. The past intern who quilted with the ladies. The intern who baked for staff meetings. I found myself feeling a bit possessive of Grace, of my role as the intern. I don’t want someone else to be in my place … I love my place too much.
Internship is a cruel process in this regard. ‘Here,’ internship says. ‘Move to this town. Form relationships. Get to know the community, the church, the people. But in twelve months I’m going to take you away whether you want to leave or not.’ Internship is mean.
I love it here. Knowing that it is month eight, I am beginning to grow sad. I realize that this week is my last release time class. Soon it will be my last confirmation class. Last Monday afternoon Bible study. I’m not ready for lasts. I don’t want to be kicked out and plopped in a classroom again. But, I suppose, whether I’m ready or not, it will happen and I will enjoy my last four months as much as I can.
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