If I Weren't a Pastor...

I'd be a hairdresser. Wow, what am I, 70? Hairdresser? Surely, nobody in the business calls herself that anymore. Unless she's doing perms and beehives. Ahem, I would be a hair stylist, hair designer, even. Yes, hair designer. That sounds fancy and fun and creative. Except for one teensy little itty bitty almost not even important enough to mention detail: I am a perfectionist. A friend of mine who is a hair designer tells me that you cannot be a perfectionist and do good hair. Good hair, she says, is not perfect. It is not M'Lynn's brown football helmet ala Steel Magnolias. It moves; it has life; it is real. Real hair does not have perfectly placed streaks and straight across bangs. I did try my hand at hair design once: I decided I would paint blond highlights through my own hair. They turned out pumpkin orange and about 5 inches wide. Because I kept painting over the spots I had already done in attempts to create the perfect streaks. And I was so anxious about ending up with the perfect color, I didn't wait for the process to be complete and the color to change from orange to blond. There are no logical reasons to affirm me as a hair designer. I have no gifts or skills in this area. But it sounds really fun...it sounds like a job that doesn't require me to be perfect or appear to be. It is a way I could honor my creative streak--that part of me that begs to be freed of perfectionist woman, the part of me that wants to break up with do-it-all-for-everybody-all-the-time lady, the part of me that wants to create something beautiful, the part of me that knows that making and doing with my hands is important but often forgets how to do that or remembers but doesn't take the time to do or make with my hands. I don't give in to hair designer wanna be, artist in disguise (very heavily disguised) girl very often, but when I do, all kinds of crazy, unplanned, imperfect, beautiful things happen. The reality is I am a preacher girl, but I think preacher girl and quirky artsy girl could be better friends.

Some Things Just Don't Get Old

"I really love my pit crew, and I sometimes love my work. Sometimes it feels like God has reached down and touched me, blessed me a thousand times over, and sometimes it all feels like a mean joke, like God's advisors are Muammar Qaddafi and Phyllis Schlafly." --Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions


There are parts and pieces to every occupation that are monotonous, aspects that get old, and some scenarios that just plain suck the very life out of you. Ministry has these parts and pieces, aspects, and scenarios, too. There are days that I wonder, "Are you sure you want me for this work, Lord?" But then, there are moments and glimpses and even whole days that leave me boggled--that God would use me--and bursting with joy that he does. Yesterday was one of those days. Yesterday, I gave the sacrament of baptism to my littlest baby girl. I baptized bigger baby girl when she was 8 months old, and it was such a God-saturated time. So, I was expecting baptism #2 to be just as awesome. And God did not disappoint. I wonder how the early Christians ever sat down to write their experiences with the Holy Spirit? It's just so hard to put into words. What can I say about feeling the water drip through my fingers, feeling different than ordinary water? What can I say about touching the forehead of a child, knowing and feeling that it's a different kind of touch? What can I say about God actually showing up when I ask God to show up? I can say it doesn't get old. It isn't a routine I know like the back of my hand. It's an experience with God that is never the same twice. It is always powerful beyond measure. It never fails to move me in the deepest place of my soul. And it even blows back into me the life that gets sucked out at other not-so-moving times. "Sometimes it feels as if God has reached down and touched me."

Re-Think Food

I have been on a new adventure of late. (I have been dying to work "of late" into a sentence...sounds sort-of European, no?) I digress--back to the adventure. Baby girl has a confirmed allergy to dairy, and since she is feasting on mommy's milk, that means no milk or dairy products for me, either. Those who know me well know I love cows. Literally. I once collected all cow decor like it was my part-time job. I don't do that anymore, but I still love cows. Bigger baby girl has a cow carseat to prove it. I love milk...and cheese...and chocolately, milky creations...and tiramisu...and CHEESECAKE!! When the pediatrician first mentioned me going on a dairy fast, I snickered and said, "Nah, I don't think so." When she later told me it wasn't an option, I groaned and but-but-but-ed to no avail. "Looks like we are going dairy-free," I told the hubbers. To which I received the following reply: "Yeah, right. You can do it, but I am not giving up milk. If I was going to be stranded on an island and could only bring one thing, I would bring milk. You can't live without milk. Look it up." One dreadful and small fortune extracting visit to Whole Foods, and I came home in tears. There must be something we can do. It cannot be this difficult to find things without milk products. Oh, but it is. Milk products are in bread, chicken broth, NON-dairy creamer, cereal. Even McDonald's fries are cooked in a concoction that contains milk! At first, I began by replacing my highly processed foods with dairy free options--dairy-free Oreo-like cookies, dairy-free crackers, and you know I found dairy-free burritos. But then, I began to do research, and I kept stumbling into Kosher. That's right, kosher, as in the Jewish food laws (kashrut). I was reminded how aware of what they are eating Kosher-keeping people are. Everything is scrutinized and examined. Everything that goes into a food matters. And Kosher tracks what has dairy and what does not--so that the laws of cross-contamination are kept (milk products cannot be in foods with certain other products). So, I've been reading up on Kosher and the various symbols that mark foods, and it has me thinking...What has happened to us as a society when we no longer notice what is going into our bodies? Sure, we're aware of fat and calories and recently, trans fat and whole grains. But most of this is out of a sense of protection--protecting our bodies from fat and disease. What I have found in looking at Kosher foods is that food becomes a way to honor God through the way we nourish ourselves. It is a reminder of the basic supplication, "Give us this day our daily bread." The word "kosher" comes from the Hebrew for "appropriate." Being conscious of what I have been eating has been a way of testing food's appropriateness. Is the order of fries from McD's really appropriate? Is the pizza I ordered out because I was too tired to cook appropriate? Is it fitting to eat? Is it fitting for me to eat? We Methodists have been on an appropriateness kick with re-thinking church. Is how we have been doing church appropriate to nourish the souls of people in a changing world? Is it fitting for the ones we've been called to reach, or just for ourselves?
Through this adventure, there are some who have offered their unsolicited opinion of the appropriateness of what I am eating--or not: "Just put the baby on formula. It is fine." As a mom, I know I can do better than just fine. I can be aware of what I am eating and make sure baby girl is nourished in the best way possible.
There are those in the church adventure who offer their opinions of appropriate nourishment, too: "Feed your soul in whatever way you want, but don't do it in my church. That's just not--ahem--'kosher' here." I'm just wondering if we all might benefit from some old school kosher education?

Skin

During those difficult teenage years when I was blessed with acne, my mother would tell me I was beautiful and lucky. Lucky? "Lucky," she said, "because when you are old, the bad stuff will be gone, and you won't get wrinkles." So, I hoped and hoped for the day I would get "old" and the skin would work itself out: acne-free and wrinkle-free. I'm old-er, and I do have wrinkles--on my belly from the stretching of skin as my children grew within me--and around my eyes from days of squinting at a computer--and on my forehead from thinking too hard and worrying too much. What does my skin say about me? Does it say that I am perfect, that my body is free from flaw? Does it say that I have had nothing hard to deal with in life? If it's either perfection or wrinkles that I have to choose between, I choose wrinkles. People with wrinkles are interesting. They have lived. They have experienced joy and sorrow and somehow made it through both. Wrinkles are a badge of honor for a life that didn't overcome the liver. When faced with harsh realities of life, the liver, absorbed them, dug in, and held on. The very best kind of wrinkles are those at the corners of the mouth--lines that etch the good memories and laughter. These lines keep the beautiful moments alive.

Toward Newness

I started this blog as a way to connect with people in the pews during the week. Since that time, I have found other ways to meet that need, I think. Lately, God has been prompting me to change the purpose and format of this blog somewhat. It has been a struggle to find things to write about at times because I have tried to make this a min-sermon type of blog. I feel now God is leading me in a different direction... and here's why... I have never had a good relationship with numbers. They mock me; the elude me; I do not like them. The written word, on the other hand, inspires me, fills me, brings me joy. And I have been neglecting that burning need within me to write--I have made this about forming the right words rather than letting the words that are already there come through me. Also, for me, writing is a spiritual discipline. Much as people sit in a quiet room and pray, I find sitting in a noisy room and finding my center through a few meaningful words to be a very prayer-filled exercise. Writing is a way I ground myself in the whirlwind of thoughts that fill my mind. On another note...for several years, I have been toying with the idea of writing a book. I haven't yet figured out the definitive form of this book--and I'm not even sure it happens that way (setting out with an idea in mind and making that idea come to life). So, this blog will now be my personal reflections, musings, ideas, thoughts, prayers, poems, maybe even some images that I find inspiring. I will not be speaking in any particular role: pastor, wife, friend, daughter. I will just be myself, speaking whatever comes to mind. I will not "censor" my thoughts to see if they are mini-sermon worthy. I will simply let the words flow through me and see where God leads me. You are welcome to come along for the ride, to eavesdrop, to ponder, to comment, but know that this is now primarily about how I feed myself. If you are able to find a morsel, as well, that's a bonus, but not my goal. Thank you for following and reading, and I invite you to continue. May you, too, find that something that burns within you and draws you closer to the divine.

If you are looking for that spiritual food, you are welcome to join the discussion group on Facebook (Center-Salem SermonTalkBack).

She

This video captures what I think we all know but need reminding from time to time. God is neither male nor female, yet has characteristics we associate with being male and female. I know this, but still, I find myself picturing that old white guy with a beard. I guess I found it comforting to think of God like a protective grandfatherly figure. This God seemed safe and approachable. This God seemed knowable. But this God(the one I had created in my mind), became harder to relate to. How could I ask this old Grandfather to help me raise my children, balance my life, find rest and Sabbath, relate to my husband, enjoy my girlfriends? How could this God actually know what it is like to be stressed out in the way women are often stressed out? How could this God possibly understand all the demands on me as a wife, a mother,a woman in ministry? I found myself thinking, "Yeah, I know you are there for me. But you are one of them. You're not like me. I know you feel for me, but you've never actually been here, so I guess there's nothing to say about this." I didn't, I couldn't see God as a woman, because that would be just as bad as seeing God with a beard. So, that's where I stopped for a while. But then, I began to make some important connections. That unconditional love you have for a child who just looked at you defiantly and did something you told her was bad for her. I could see God scooping me up and embracing me even though I had broken his trust. That gut wrenching feeling when you see someone you care about in pain. I could see God weeping and wailing, frustrated and feeling helpless. The moments when your heart gets ripped open by a harsh word, an argument, someone's judgments about you, or any of the other ways people let us down or go out of their way to break us down. I can see God's disappointment, agony, feelings of betrayal. Compassion, healing, comforting, patience, trust, hope, unconditional love. Gifts we women get from the God who created us in God's image.

This Blog is On Hold...

....until after baby arrives! See you in January! In the meantime, you might check out the blogs in my list to the left. They are good ones!