literary creation.

5 Aug
How in love am I with this idea?
Very.
Thank you, npr.
“… the world [is] more than a place.  
Life [is] more than an event.  
It [is] all one thing, and that thing [is]: story.”
photo credit due here.
The author continues to write that if life is all a story, then we are the narrators.  But in order to be narrators, we must be attentive.  We have to wake up and listen.  To look for a story in unlikely places and then take the time to share what we saw.  He compares the world to a library, lending and sharing stories to those who take the time to check them out.
That’s one thing this blog does for me.  I see stories and deliberately take the time to narrate them.  It’s my virtual scrapbook and journal.  I take note of the things that happen and write them down to share.  I find joy in rereading the stories from weeks, months, and years past but also find happiness in knowing that these stories are shared and enjoyed by others – by you.  But now I must ask – how are you being attentive and sharing your stories?  Blogs, raps, haikus, letters, napkin notes and posters on the wall.  Be creative in your sharing and live your own life as an act of literary creation.  Eyes open and pen at the ready … ready? set? live.

wedding frustrations.

4 Aug
Weddings have me frustrated these days.  Theologically, culturally, socially … I’m confused and not quite sure about a lot of things.  This is in no regard to myself having a wedding [loooong way off, folks] but rather in regards to doing weddings.  Recall with me [least you forget after my million+one blog posts about it] that I was ordained a few weeks ago.  Pastor Lindsay here.  With the office of pastor is the state recognizing that I can perform wedding ceremonies legally.  Perfect, because I have one to perform this coming Saturday.
I’m finding it to be a fine line – a fine line with complicated turns and steep confusion.  I love it that family and friends ask me to be a part of their weddings in this way as an officiant or preacher.  I love being involved in their day, especially when it does not require me purchasing a $200 dress, $60 shoes, and paying for $80 alterations on an outfit I’ll never wear again.  [Been there, done that and it was fun.  But in my current unemployed state, not purchasing a dress is fine by me!]  But sometimes I wonder if I’m asked to do the ceremony because I’m the easy route and likely the cheap route.  That’s one complication but then theology and culture begin to meld together in interesting ways – ways that, frankly, make me uncomfortable as a pastor.  
I’m called to be a pastor and feel strongly that to marry people is done in a service of praise.  We praise God for the love that He first gives to us, and for the love the we are called to share with others.  We praise God and we make promises before God.  Not only the wedding couple, either, is responsible to uphold their promises to each other, but the assembly gathered promises to lift up the couple in support and prayer.  A wedding is a service of praise and thanksgiving; it is a worship service.  
I’m not quite sure what to do when the couples that I marry – those whom are friends and in my family and whom I love dearly – don’t agree with this approach to the wedding ceremony.  I’m not quite sure what to do when they ask for God language to be removed and for prayers to be few or even completely absent.  I don’t know what to suggest when they don’t want the readings to come from Scripture or how to address the urgency to just get the ceremony over because the party is to follow.  And just because I can doesn’t mean I feel it’s right to just go out and marry people – I think that pre-marital counseling and thoughtful planning [other than just the dress and menu] needs to be considered.  I never dreamed I would feel so conflicted when I agreed [happily and readily!] to do these weddings.
I’m just confused.  Like I said, I’m honored that they asked me to be a part of their day and I’m happy to help them in this way.  But I’m torn between pleasing them and their wants in a wedding service to my convictions in faith of what a wedding really is and my call as a pastor.  Is my job to help them plan the ceremony they want?  That’s where I’ve landed right now, and I think I’ve landed there because, well, it’s easiest.  Not being a part of a church quite yet and with the couples being close friends/family, I feel it’s my duty to go along with whatever they desire.  But to me, that kinda feels like cheating.  Cheating God, cheating the office of pastor, or cheating the couple – I’m not sure.  Likely a bit of all of those.
Culture is no help in this regard.  It’s the show of the wedding and then the reception that is the focus.  The wedding industry makes little profit on the religiosity, order of service, or anything else that directly deals with the details of the actual service.  The focus is on the dress, the decor, and the cake.  I’m all for pretty weddings and fancy receptions if you really want to pay for it, but the ceremony and the promises made before God and the loved ones gathered is the reason for it all.  Can’t we put a little more thought, energy, and time into the meaning of the day?  [It’s like the fight over Christmas all over again …]
If anything, this wedding planning and officiating is making me more aware and prepared as I will come up against this year after year when doing weddings.  [But I also feel I will have more authority to address it as a pastor in a church.]  It is also helping me think about my own far-far-off wedding that may perhaps happen someday.  Wedding industry be damned – I vow to not buy into it when it’s my turn.  It’s not for me, and, honestly, the whole of it makes me angry.  It also helps me to understand what I’ve heard muttered from many pastor’s lips and why many would say they’d rather do a funeral than a wedding.  [Not that funerals are good or happy that someone has died … but you know what I mean.  Right?]

[AAA] Companions.

3 Aug
Thus begins the blogging of the August Alaskan Adventure.
I toyed with the idea of starting a new blog simply to chronicle the hours of driving and sitting in a car but then landed on keeping just the one blog.  You all stop here already; no sense redirecting you elsewhere.  My August Alaskan Adventure blogs will be identified henceforth by the acronym [AAA].
It’s the real deal now.  I bought my return flight ticket last night.  I fly from Anchorage to Long Beach to Chicago in the course of 14 hours beginning in the wee hours of Saturday, August 20th.  But first, I must to get to Alaska.
I’ll explain once more the reason for this adventure.  My brother, Ben, moved to Valdez, AK a few months ago.  As he moved, he drove his diesel truck and pulled his camper.  Since arriving in AK and loving his new location, he has sold his camper.  While he was home oh-so-briefly for the auction this past weekend, he mentioned how he wished he had his car with him in Valdez.  [He had left his car at home and actually tried to sell it with no luck.]  Diesel is expensive and without a camper to pull, he doesn’t need such a big truck.  He doesn’t have the time off to drive his car back and so I raised my hand.  I have the month of August and as long as he is paying the gas, I’m game for an adventure.  And so [AAA] began to be planned.
Just as Frodo set off from Rivendale with seven [seven?] companions, so I will be leaving Edgerton at the end of next week with a few of my own.  
First, meet Betty.  That’s what I’ll call the Subaru Outback that will be my constant companion and ride.  We think Betty is in pretty good mechanical order, but we might get her in for a check-up before departure just to be sure.  Betty already has a hatchback full of things that Ben wants in AK, including old [we’re talking like antique old] skis and rowboat paddles that extend up past the middle console and near the shifter.  Betty might need some packing readjustments before we spend a week together.
Second, the Milepost.  You likely can’t read the header at the top of this hefty guide so please, allow me.  “Since 1949, the bible of north country travel.”  This will tell me where to find gas, when to watch out for moose, and where I can stop and have a photo op with a t-rex.  [Milk River, Alberta, Canada]  This hefty book will be my friend and guide for the next couple weeks as I plan my route, my stays, and actually make the drive.
My cousin, Paul, might tag along too but haven’t heard back from him for certain.  I’ll likely bring a gnome too.  It will be nice to have someone to talk to when cell service fails me and I need a break from Josh Groban.  I’m excited and nervous to take the trip; I honestly think I’m a bit in denial about what 60 hours of driving really means.  Here’s hoping I find places to stay with wifi along the way so you can be with me as I slowly go crazy amidst the mountains and mounty men of Canada.

speaking of letters –

2 Aug
I learned a trick today.  Not juggling or magic, but nearly as thrilling.
I’ve frequented the Edgerton Post Office since returning home as it meets all my postage and mailing needs.  Mr.Bill behind the window has become my friend.  He often asks me how I am and then compliments my sister’s latest photo in the paper.  [Or so it seems happens often enough.]  
Today, Mr.Bill let me into the inside.  The inner workings of the USPS.  To what’s behind the blue uniforms.
I went to mail a 5×7 manilla envelope.  Maybe it was 6×9.  Anyways, he said it fell within the dimensions of a letter and it wasn’t stuffed thick enough that it needed to go as a package.  He saved me nearly fifty cents by telling me the secret.
In order for it to be considered a letter and not a package, those metal clasp tong separator things – you following me? – had to be pressed down underneath the flap and then the flap is taped/sealed shut.  If those metal clasp tong separator things are put through the punched hole and then pressed down, it is considered a package and thus, more money to send.
I fixed that sucker right there, Mr.Bill hooked me up with packaging tape, and I was out the door, fifty cents richer.
Let us all thank Mr. Postmaster Bill.

write a letter.

2 Aug
Last month I challenged myself to send a piece of snail mail for every day of that month.  I sent balloons, old knitting magazines, a magical wand, lots of ordination information, a letter accepting a call to a church, and pictures I cut into a puzzle.  Oh, and wooden chickens.  I didn’t walk to the mailbox or go to the post office everyday, but there were many days when I put in two, three, or forty pieces of mail.  I easily used thirty-one forty-four cent stamps.  Plus some.  
I’ll admit though – some days it felt like a chore.  Some days I dragged my feet or made myself get up extra early to write a postcard to get in the mail.  I think I’m happy to return to the casual sending of snail mail.  [Not that any of the mail I sent was void of care and love.  Not true.]
I wrote a letter tonight.  A real letter.  I sat down at my sewing table, pushed the sewing machine to the side, and filled a lovely piece of textured cardstock front and back.  I love writing letters.  I think there is something so sacred about snail mail.  Not about the bills we put stamps on or the invitations where will fill in the party information – but true letters.  There’s something special about the words crafted and the person who reads them upon arrival, hopefully sensing the love and care and time that went into the letter.  A letter has to be pre-meditated.  It takes supplies and a little thought.  I think it takes me more time to actually write than to type; many times I fight the urge to type and print a letter, signing only my name.  I fight it because handwriting and handwritten letters are just that much cooler in my eyes.
Write a letter to someone you love.  Put a stamp on it and put it in the mail.  Go 1980s on your communication.  Do it.  I think you’ll like it, and I think the person on the receiving end will love it.

cakepop challenge III.

1 Aug
The video that was filmed over two weeks ago has finally been edited and ready for your viewing pleasure.  This concludes this cooking pastor series, but I’m certain more will follow.  [Maybe one with qie on a stick, according to a text I received from Kendall this morning.  … his ‘p’ key doesn’t work.]
Missed the first installments in this series?  I’ve added a “cooking pastor” tab at the top of the blog – right under the header.  Click there to catch up!

in other news –

31 Jul
Molly and I made an impromptu tie blanket with fleece I had laying around.  She loves it.  Can’t you tell by her facial expression?

I babysat for cousins Drew, Logan, and Kennedy.  Besides not having the motherly touch to put Kennedy to sleep, we had fun.  Kennedy, like EVERY other baby that age, has discovered my mole.  The huge mole that’s next to my nose.  Babies always find it and touch it and then it looks like they are putting their fingers up my nose.  [which sometimes happens too.]   Drew, Logan and I played catch.  Drew throws hard; I think my wrist might be swollen.

I like her onesie – “I still live at home.”  I should get that in a tshirt.

this is right before she lost her balance and fell over.  both legs on the floor, babe!

goodbye. hello.

30 Jul
to my first ever bike.  i think someone paid $1 for it.

geeps speaks with the new deere owner after the auction.

I scored a few things at the auction too.  [pre-auction.  bid I did not.]  Funky metal drawers and – wait for it – A CARD CATALOG!  A mini-card catalog.  We’re talking twelve drawers.  It held screws and things in the shop and it’s in pretty rough shape.  I will refinish it, clean it up, and love it as my own.  [It’s a secret dream of mine to have a card catalog.  This one is on a small scale but I’m still thrilled.  Photos/perhaps a before/after series to follow!]

holy auction, batman.

30 Jul
This was the third auction my family has hosted in my lifetime.  The first, when I was 16 and we were moving off the farm.  The second, four years ago at my grandpa’s, selling the gas engines and gas pumps that my grandfather and dad had refinished as a hobby for so many years.  Now today, the third.  My mom was looking to downsize and now that my brother does not live here, there was a shop filled with tools and tidbits to sell.  [I had no idea how much stuff was in that shop until it was emptied.]

the one holding the gun?  he slapped my butt.
tobacco lathe.
grandpa with cousins mike and brent.
It was a hot sticky day but the crowds filled our yard and our driveway beginning at 8am this morning.  The gas pumps [that my grandpa has refinished since the previous auction four years ago], the gun collection that has lived in the gun closet in my mom’s bedroom for years and years, and a couple tractors on the bill, in addition to furniture, a few lawn mowers, and tobacco lathes, brought the people.  The people included lots of my dad’s family, Einstein [or a man who greatly resembled this scientist], and the amish.
amish!
It was a stressful and crazy couple of days preparing for my mom and my brother, but once the day arrived, things fell into place nicely.  The auctioneer and auction specialist ran things in an orderly fashion, and the head of the auction company only slapped my butt once.  [And I’m pretty serious about that.  Yeah, he’s like 60.]  I teared up only at one point, when Ben climbed onto the John Deere to start it for the crowds.  It was a tractor that we used each year in tobacco harvest, and that would be the last time someone in our family started it.  Sad story.  But such is life.  The tractor must continue on to make another farmer a happy tractor driver, as is every tractor’s dream.  Go, John Deere, fulfill your tractor destiny.

the three gnomes.

29 Jul
It’s a tale much like that of the deathly hallows – of an elder wand, a resurrection stone, and a cloak of invisibility.*  But this tale is one of three gnomes with three lessons for ministry.  These three gnomes magically appeared in the pulpit at my ordination, traveling long distances with Pastor Kendall as their guide.
Gnomes are certainly wise creatures despite the bad reputation they seem to gain.  [Something about stealing socks and pulling pranks from within the weeds.]  These gnomes are theologically wise, having much knowledge of ministry and how to be a non-anxious presence in pastoral care and other situations.  As they shared their perfect three tips at my ordination, so they wish to share with you.

The first gnome, on the left, with his finger to his lips, reminds us that to listen is golden.  In ministry – as in all important conversations and in every relationship – it is important to listen.  Listening, often more than talking, is why we have two ears and only one mouth; use them proportionately.  
The middle gnome, with his hands and arms in a gentle shrug, reminds us that no one has the answers.  Not I, not you.  Sometimes – likely more often than we do – it’s okay to say, “I don’t know.”  I don’t know why bad things happen.  I don’t know why there is so much pain in the world.  I don’t know where your other black sock went.  shrug.  I don’t know.  And that’s okay.  It’s honest and it’s true and sometimes it’s the best answer to say that you don’t have the answer.  
The gnome on the right, with hands in a prayerful grasp, seek to show us to pray first and speak after.  If you pray before speaking, the prayer is one of guidance and asking for God’s presence within a conversation.  But, if you pray after speaking, the prayer is one of seeking forgiveness and questions of “why did I just say that?!”  Pray first, speak later.  Pray first.
There we have it.  The three gnomes and the tales of wisdom they came to East Koshkonong to share.  Thanks to the three wise gnomes for their tips for ministry and the ways in which they share the life lessons they have learned.  And thanks to Pastor Kendall for bringing them to me and to live forever in my church office.  [Which they totally will.  They will live on a shelf, occasionally on my desk, and be a conversation piece for all who visit.  Major, major creativity points to KLS.  Awesome sermon to bring home the ordination.  Awesome.]

* Harry Potter reference.  Catch up, folks!

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →