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Lefse, fist bumps, and Doctor Who.

25 Nov

That was my weekend – lefse and fist bumps and Doctor Who.  Sounds pretty high on the awesome scale, right?  It was.

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On Saturday, I packed up my lefse griddle and pastry board and drove to Owatonna for a midday lefse adventure.  My gnome friends invited me over to cook rounds of potato goodness.  It was a great way to spend a Saturday.  Laughter and potatoes.  Sabrina wrote about it on her blog and gives a better summary of the day than I could ever muster – check it out here.

On Sunday, there were fist bumps.  So I’m sick.  My cold keeps progressing through different stages and yesterday was the tickle-in-my-throat stage.  Ugh.  Because of my sickness, I try and model germ-free ways to greet each other and share the peace during worship; thus, I did not shake hands.  [I think it’s silly to suspend the passing of the peace in the winter.  Let’s share peace in other ways: wave, elbows, fist bumps, peace sign.  Endless possibilities.]  For the sharing of the peace, I waved.  Then, at the close of service, as I greeted people in the back, I fist bumped everyone.  It was hilarious.  One of the ushers, a twenty-something, said afterwards, That was the funniest thing I’ll see all day.  Old people learning to fist bump.  To their credit, they were all very receptive and fist bumped like pros.  [And, let’s face it, I added to their list.  #49 on their list of Why My Pastor is Crazy and Weird.]

Lastly, Doctor Who.  I get it.  I finally get it.  Doctor Who gets lots of hype these days, especially this past weekend with an anniversary special and all.  I’ve tried for a long time to watch the show.  I want to be in the know; I want to follow the crowd and love the thing that everyone else loves.  [Wait a second …]  Months ago, friends recommended that I start at the beginning.  Okay.  I did … but I didn’t get it.  Turns out that was because they didn’t mean start at the 1960s beginning but the Christopher Eccleston beginning.  That made a difference.  I just made it through his tenure at Doctor and have begun David Tennant’s … and I get it.  I like it.  I’m going to keep watching while I quilt my British flag hexagon quilt.  It feels fitting that most of it be constructed while watching the BBC.

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A perfect fall day.

15 Oct

Not today.  Today is rainy and gloomy.  I shut my alarm off unknowingly in my slumber and went back to sleep this morning because it was so gray.  [Then I showered and served lutefisk at the Lutheran church in Blooming Prairie for a couple hours.  Uffda.]

But Sunday – Sunday was the perfect fall day.  There was a little chill to the morning but the sun came out to play later and stayed around for most of the day.  It was a fall festival afternoon at Red Oak Grove.  Farmer Tom pulled a crowd of us on hayracks to the woods where we had a bonfire and a nature scavenger hunt.  Fun.

The fun continued at Farmer John’s down the road.  Paige, jD, Lauren and Elliot came over and we went in search of the perfect appa.  [That’s Elliot-speak for pumpkin.]  We explored the fields, the silo slide, and then came back to the parsonage for chili and pumpkin dessert.  The perfect fall day all around.

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Lauren captured this photo and I just think it’s the best. Of his own accord, Elliot grabbed both of our hands and we started walking together. For cute times a million.

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Retreat success.

8 Sep

There are a few words I could use to describe how I’m currently feeling:

sleepy, exhausted, delirious, dog-tired, worn out, tuckered, and happily fulfilled.

It was a crazy weekend.  It was overnight-confirmation-retreat weekend.  Seven youth from ROG went along with me to Good Earth Village camp to meet up with six of jD’s youth from his two churches.  Together we were 13 which, wouldn’t you know, is the perfect number with which to reenact the famous Last Supper painting:

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The topic of the retreat revolved around the two Lutheran sacraments – baptism and communion – along with some intentional conversation about grace.  We communed together, baptized a gnome [ … for real.  Kind of.  His parents named him Norman James.], team-built, played life size Jenga, did skits [the creativity of the skits blew me away – the awesomeness of these kids continually exceeds my expectations], and had boatloads of fun.  jD’s kids had fun.  My kids had fun.  We all had fun.  Our churches will have to plan to do more things together throughout the year; it worked out so well.

We shared highs and lows with each other before we left camp.  Every single high from every single confirmation kid was along these lines: My high is making new friends and being here.  At the same time, every single low from every single confirmation kid was along these lines: My low is that we can’t stay another night and we have to go home.

I’ll call that retreat success.  In addition to having fun, we also hope they left with a definition of grace seared in their brains.  Something like … the unconditional love of God that is free, forever, and for all.  That would be good.

With what I’m about to say next, I want you to listen really super closely because I never say things like this.  Ready?  I love confirmation. [Okay.  That was a joke.  I actually say it all the flippin’ time.]   I love my confirmation youth.  I love middle schoolers.  Weekends like this – kids like this – that’s why I love this job.

Pastor Evan officiates a gnome baptism.
“I baptize you …”
Milk and cookies snack.
life size Jenga
marble track teambuilder

Strawberry Festival cakepops.

11 Jun

As I recoup between parts one [noon serving] and two [evening serving] of Red Oak Grove’s 73rd Annual Strawberry Festival, I share with you my bake sale contribution –

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You can see many varieties in the background; it took me quite a few cakepops to decide what kind of sprinkles and leaf-attachment technique worked best.  [Thanks to the one and only Bakerella for the idea!]  I think they turned out pretty dandy but we’ll see if they sell.  I have a feeling that in and among the krumkaka and kringla [Norwegian treats] people might not understand what they even are.

Iced coffee shame.

9 Jun

For me, one of the sure signs of summer is iced coffee.  Granted, in this cool, rainy season we’ve been having, the term summer is pushing it.  But I still have iced coffee in my fridge.

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I’ve probably told you before my process; I’m all too eager to share and talk about it.  I follow the Pioneer Woman’s recipe for cold press coffee.  A half pound of grounds to a gallon of water.  I let it soak overnight and strain it into a large liquid dispenser that lives on the middle shelf of my fridge.  It’s my coffee concentrate in my 20 oz. insulated kleen kanteen to which I add a bit of water, ice, and a generous dose of vanilla almond milk.  Shake it up, add a straw, and that is my perfect morning.

Every day, you will see it in my hand at church.  I never gave much thought to it; I simply am in the habit of always bringing my own coffee.  Sunday morning, Thursday morning, it doesn’t matter.  Me and my kleen kanteen of icy goodness.

I never thought it might look snobby.

I was at WELCA last Wednesday morning.  Before their meeting, they have goodies in the basement.  I sat down next to dear old Verna who asked if I would like coffee.  No thanks.  I have my own.

That’s right, she said.  You don’t like ours.

Oh, snap.  I think I stumbled over some words about how it is just my habit to always bring my own.  It’s part of my morning routine.  Nothing against their coffee.  [Though, if we’re honest, church coffee? Lacks a little something-something.]  And then I said that in the summer, I preferred to drink cold and not hot coffee.

Cold coffee?  Oh, the horror.

I proceeded to tell her that I cold brewed it.  You mean it never gets hot? she asked.

Nope.  I think she lost interest after that, especially since the ladies across the table had picked up on our coffee thread to reminisce about egg coffee.  And, I think, she just wasn’t quite sure what to think.  Cold coffee.  I hear her saying that in my head like I hear Lorraine McFly telling Marty: Calling boys.  Sitting in parked cars with boys.  I never did that when I was your age.  I never called a boy or sat .. in a parked car .. with a boy.  That’s all in my head.  She wasn’t actually shaming me for cold coffee.  I think it was just something new in her world and for her, why change the life guarantee that coffee will always be hot?  Anything else just doesn’t make sense.

End of the year celebrations.

19 May

Confirmation and Sunday School are over until fall.  They have ended and Lindsay is sad.  We concluded the school year of confirmation a week and a half ago with ice cream sundaes and sardines.  [One of those is something we ate.  The other is something we played.  You decide.]  Today we honored our Sunday School kiddos in church and coffee hour.  They all got a mini box of cereal that read you’re CEREAL-sly awesome.  I can’t wait to hang out with all of them at day camp this summer because they are so CEREAL-sly awesome.

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Confirmation youth, post ice cream and sardines, in our bright awesome youth room.

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This is Matthew and Gracie at the table of honor during coffee hour for the Sunday school kids. Matthew decided it would be a great idea to dump his box of cereal on top of his piece of cake. He’s awesome. [See all that red? It’s Pentecost, baby. We were a sea of red today.]

Dear Lindsay of middle school,

24 Apr

As a pastor who loves working with confirmation-aged kids, I catch glimpses of my own past middle school experience as the confirmation kids share their own experiences.  I slightly remember* what it was like to be awkward and a seventh grader.  It wasn’t easy.

I was so incredibly lucky to have awesome friends.  More or less the same awesome friends I still have now.  [Dancing Banana shout-out!]  But there was still drama.  There was judging.  There is terrible shit that goes on in middle schools.  And I can’t imagine it if one doesn’t have awesome friends.

There are a couple gals in my confirmation class that often only have lows to share in the rounds of highs & lows.  A lot of time, those lows are there’s just lots of drama at school.

Ugh.  Drama.

What I want to say to them is much like what I would say to my own middle-school self –

Dear Lindsay of middle school,

Being popular doesn’t matter for shit.  Forget those queen bees.  They suck.  You should just be nice to everyone.  [And probably not say people suck.  That wasn’t nice, future Lindsay.]

Be friends with the people who make you happy and people with whom you can be yourself and silly.  Form a gang.  Call it Oatmeal.  Make cardboard necklaces for everyone in the gang with raw oats glued to them.  Your name as gang leader shall be Raisin. **

The boys are pretty cute, aren’t they?  But don’t worry about them.  Just because they’re eye candy doesn’t mean they’re worth crying over.

School work is important but trying to get straight A’s isn’t worth sick stomachs and sleepless nights.  And hey – good job on that newspaper writing competition.

Please, quit wearing the over-sized flannel shirts and carpenter jeans sooner than later.

That one day, after school, when marching band rehearsal gets out late and everyone sprints back to the band room – hold onto your flute a little tighter.  Trust me.

The drama will end.  It will be okay.

Signed,

Future Lindsay

I started to write this post before confirmation met tonight.  I finish it after confirmation.  After the one confirmand who-never-has-a-high-and-her-low-is-always-drama had a high that the drama has ended.  Hallelujah.  Confirmation was awesome tonight.  Not only did every seventh and eighth grader have a high – if not many – we threw out our lesson for the night because all they wanted to do was ask questions.  About God.  About the Bible.  About doubts.  We tackled a few tonight the best we could and they made a list for next week.  Here’s to the freedom to ask questions and doubt in church.  Important stuff.

* I quite literally remember NOTHING about my seventh grade year.  It’s a blur to me.  I remember some of sixth grade and some of eight but seventh?  Nada.

** True story.

This week –

9 Apr

I’m trying to be a better, healthier, more whole-food eater and trying all sorts of things as a result.  Salads in jars, more Thai chicken quinoa, date-and-peanut-balls, and HOMEMADE GRANOLA BARS.  That’s in caps because – holy shit – they are delicious.  It might be the coconut oil.  And the dried cherries.  And a little bit of sesame.

The other part of my better, healthier being is figuring out my sleep.  Goal: In bed reading at 10.  Lights out at 10:30.  That goal has failed in execution more than it has been successful.  The early bedtime was instated because I can’t. get. out. of. the. bed. in. the. morning.  Ever.  But really I just end up sleeping more because I go to bed early and still stay in bed just as late.  Enter new app.  It’s pretty cool and wakes me up within the best place for waking in my sleep cycle.

The better, healthier Lindsay is also – thanks to awareness from her counselor – becoming aware of her distorted thinking.  Distorted thinking is when I am hard on myself, when I assess situations to be all or nothing, when I discard compliments I receive as not true.  Distorted thinking is basically how my brain works so it’s being aware of my negative thoughts, turning them around, and “telling the negative committee inside my head to shut up.”

That’s my week, along with meetings, two-hour long pastoral visits [I need to work on leaving.], rain, and hanging with confirmation kids.  How’s your week?

I give thanks.

17 Feb

[I give thanks.] A post written in the rhythm of @UnvirtuousAbbey without the awesome humor and retweets. Read mine and then add your own. What do you give thanks for this day?

For a mandoline to quickly and uniformly slice sweet potatoes for the week, I give thanks. It’s like the guillotine. For yams.

For members who one day are seemingly against anything I say and the next day are the ones volunteering to pray and bringing bars of soap for our LWR care kits, I give thanks.

For completely sincere, supportive, and loving emails from a sincere, supportive, and loving friend, I give thanks. [That’s all you, broken mothership.]

For dark chocolate sea salt popcorn, I give thanks. For the P90x cardio dvd to offset the dark chocolate sea salt popcorn, I also give thanks.

For internet that finally works without powering down the router at church every six to eight hours, I give immense thanks.

For a double dose of The Bachelor this week, I will give thanks. [No judging. Sometimes the prospect of trashy tv gets me through my day.]

For Hannah who made me a tissue paper flower and helped me set up for worship, I give thanks. [Hannah -6ish years old- made tissue paper flowers with her grandma. Her grandma asked, “Who do you want to give this to?” certain the answer would be her mother. Unprompted, her response was Pastor Lindsay. I melt.]

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Your turn.

A memo to the Batman.

13 Feb

[A memo to the Batman.]

To: The Batman

From: gnomepreacher [and her friends at Red Oak Grove]

I have two theories, Batman.

1. Bats simply follow you wherever you go.  OR

2. You brought one on purpose.

In my year and a half at Red Oak Grove, I have seen no bats.  I have heard no bats.  I have had no bats swooping at my head.  That all changed last Sunday … conveniently the Sunday AFTER you visited.  Hmmm …

I hadn’t walked into the narthex/sanctuary yet that morning; the organist was the first to do that.  I was in a different hallway, chatting with people who had just arrived when we heard a screech.  I can’t be exactly sure but I think it was something like this: AHHH!  THERE’S A BAT!

Because there was a bat swooping around in the narthex.  A bat, Batman.  Explain that one.  I will mention that because of our lack of bats, we do not have proper bat-catching or bat-fighting tools.  There was a broom involved and a trash can at some point.  I’m sad to say, though they tried, the bat did not make it out alive.  We lack the Batman skill.

[Gail: This is really just me wanting you to make sure Keith knows we have now had a bat!  Pass it on!]

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