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.)

Dear Ham Balls,

25 Aug
I’m sorry. I was wrong about you. I made a quick judgement call and I now realize I was wrong.
It’s not always easy to admit that you’re wrong. You know this from your spat with Pork Chops. Sometimes we make decisions irrationally and too instantly – without doing further research or realizing that one bad experience shouldn’t make one never want to try something again (except with sky diving).
I met you, Ham Balls, on an off day. You were slimy and swimming in a mysterious pineapple sauce; I was not impressed. But last night I learned that you’re different than I thought. That my first impression was wrong. That you actually can be quite tasty, firm, and pleasing to the stomach. For not realizing that sooner, I’m sorry.
I enjoy you. Really, I do. I hope to have further encounters; perhaps I could even share you with others who have not yet had the pleasure of pig in ball form. I only regret we didn’t begin our relationship sooner.
Drooling,
Lindsay S.
[A shout-out and thank you to Mary O. & Co. (including husband, Sam, who likes to keep Snickers in his fanny pack) who saw an intern pastor in need – in need of a positive ham ball experience. This intern pastor had a grand night of ham balls, peach pie, and great company in her last week in ham ball country. Perfect.]

this week, I’m carried by –

23 Aug
A sleepover with a best friend and her crazy cat.
An out-of-the-blue email from a friend, telling me that he misses me.
A facebook wall post that ends with, “Love you!”
A hug from my favorite five year old girl.
A dinner out, catching up with a friend.
A mom and sister who dealt wonderfully with a crabby daughter/sister while moving.
A staff and community that has become my family away from home.

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.

gnome gnews.

19 Aug

When my friend, Amanda, stopped by for a few nights last week, we – of course – visited the gnome folk at gnome park. There has been some gnew gnome business going on since the last time I was there.
Gladys is back! The old Gladys was presumed gone forever so a new Gladys, complete with her notepad with which to write the gossip column for the Dawson paper, was constructed and placed next to her husband gnome, Harland. You can really tell the difference between the old gnome artist and the new gnome artist. Despite the contrast in colors, shape, and style, I’m just glad Harland has his partner in crime back. (Harland and Gladys, the real life couple, were together constantly and even shared a room together at the care center until the real life Gladys passed away just a few months ago. A for cute couple indeed.)
Other gnew gnomes –
There was a new Harris gnome, next to his wife, Eloise, to replace the one that had been stolen soon after it was first put on display.
The AGP gnome from last year finally made its way to the park to join in all the other gnoman games. He looks like he’s about to run someone down. I knew gnomes were mischievous but he seems downright dangerous. The gnome from this year also found its new home in the park, right next to Gladys and Harland.

overheard.

19 Aug
I’ve been at the care center/assisted living facility in Dawson a fair bit in the past week. I led communion services at both places last Friday and then again had a service at the care center on Sunday morning after regular worship at Grace. It’s always humorous to overhear certain comments from the residents. They either have no idea who you are and thus say these things, or they may think you’re out of earshot when really, you’ve only taken five steps away.
Instance A: We’re preparing for the Friday afternoon communion service at the care center. I’m setting up, getting organized, when I hear a man behind me ask, “Where’s the minister?” Another man answers him, “She’s right there.” First man pauses and then says, “Oh. I was expecting a man.” Of course you were. And probably someone who doesn’t look 16, the age many people tell me they think I am.
Instance B: I have the service at the care center and then I walk the fifty feet to the assisted living facility for the same service once again. After that service, I typically stay for a short lunch before needing to return to the care center to visit/give communion to those who did not attend the earlier service. I stayed for lunch – coffee and bars – and then had to take my leave. I said goodbye to the ladies and began to walk away to gather my things. I was not five steps away when they started to talk about me. I just smirk to myself, thinking, really, ladies? Do you think I can’t hear you? They were all good things so this is not at all a complaint but rather just a humorous episode in my book. (“She’s a good pastor,” “A church will be lucky to have her,” “She’s a sweetheart.” Aww. Ego boost! [which I really don’t need – my head is large enough] I love the assisted living ladies.)
Instance C: This is not an instance of overhearing exactly, but rather something told directly to me. On Sunday, as I mentioned, I was at the care center again to lead the Sunday service. I’ll often announce the hymns we are singing and then walk around the room, helping residents turn pages and find the hymn in their spiral-bound hymnals. I helped one resident over and again, and one of the last times I turned pages for her, she said, in her raspy voice, “Thank you. You’re special.” That’s what my mom always told me. For cute.

Sap.

17 Aug
A portion of an email from a friend and future Luther Sem lunch buddy, in reference to my upcoming departure from Dawson and transition back to city student living –

“You have transformed lives during this past year and that is what God calls us to do. Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Whelp. Now I’m crying.

from my day campers –

16 Aug

worship.

15 Aug
I participate in worship. I lead worship. I plan worship. I preach in worship.
Tonight I was able to just be in worship. I planned zero of the service. I sat in the back row. We worshipped outside in this gorgeous day, the break in the heat. I didn’t need to concentrate on the bulletin and remind myself to say this one part a certain way or be concerned about forgetting this part or that.
It was a worship service at the park to begin a bike fundraiser for our conference of churches to raise money for our sister synod in South Africa. A thoughtful message. Wonderful surroundings. Contemporary music. Focus songs that reminded me of worship at Luther College. I sang my heart out and loved it.

here is my rant.

15 Aug
I leave in two weeks.
I don’t want to leave.
I’ve just found friends.
I feel like I’ve only just completely adjusted.
I certainly don’t want to go to class.
This isn’t new. You’ve heard me say it before. But as I returned home from a social evening of sitting around a campfire with people I’m only just beginning to know, I rant again. As I celebrate the fun that was day camp last week and reflect on the productive, fun weekend I had, I rant. I complain. I start to cry. I start to say goodbye to people I’ve gotten to know … except I’m never great at actually saying goodbye. I’ll put it off for as long as possible. “Oh, well, we might see each other again.” Or, “I’ll try to stop back up again.” I’d rather leave ambiguously than with a strict farewell.
Two weeks.
The two-week motto: Little sleep. Much coffee.
These two weeks will go far too fast.
I don’t want to waste my time sleeping.
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