Having left town for three days to take my youngest son college visiting, I had only two days to prepare for Sunday. Since Saturday my husband Roger and I had to teach a workshop, getting that planned with him became the priority before I left. We finished that, and I got worship planned, but no sermon.
That sermon, normally done by Thursday at the latest, didn't come together until Sunday.
So this morning, unlike my usual Sunday morning, I had to finish the sermon. Print a retreat application for a parishioner. Practice a ministry in music which I rarely do. Play not just the opening choruses, but also the other songs as our pianist was elsewhere. Do the children's moment at the last moment instead of the youth pastor. After worship practice special music for next week .
Then I walked in the bathroom and discovered a paper towel in the toilet. Our septic system doesn't need that kind of challenge. So I had to fish it out.
It was the perfect cap to the morning. Not that the day is over. My son needs clothes washed (normally a Sabbath off limits task) for his school trip to Costa Rica that leaves about 4 a.m. Monday. And I have to plan our evening youth experience.
The joys of ministry! Truly it is a privilege and I am grateful. As we enter Holy Week, I cannot begin to show my gratitude to Christ for His sacrifice. The least I can do is fish a paper towel out of the toilet.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Pain and Progress
My status update on Facebook caused some thinking. I started with Passion plus purpose equals progress but through pain. My friend David suggested this formula: "think you're missing something ... the impetus that gets us actually moving. i propose that (Passion + Purpose) * movement = progress - (pain / n) where n is obedience to the Word of God."
To which I countered: Passion + Purpose x Power (Holy Spirit) equals Progress...but I don't think the Pain is divided by obedience. Ask Jesus in the garden. Obedience makes pain worthwhile, but it still hurts. And I don't think pain necessarily subtracts from progress either, but often is required. Again, think of Jesus in the Garden.
Does all good progress have to be filtered by pain? I wish it were not so, but I'm not sure painless progress exists. Even happy things are fraught with the pain of change. A child walks and we rejoice, but we are also letting go of that child a little bit.
Not all pain is debilitating. And it can achieve a purpose itself, and usually does. Referencing Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane again, the greatest pain ever experienced brought the greatest progress ever made, victory over sin and death. Well worthwhile pain.
Some pain seems pointless. In the middle of suffering we often can't see past the tears on our pillow. But the same God who never misses a tear drop does not allow those tears to fall to the ground without refining our character, the salt in those very tears etching away at our selfishness, our pride, our resistance to God's ultimate purposes.
O Lord, that it would not be so, that we could walk the upward way without pain, but thank You that You go with us as we travel, and that every pain we feel in our steps forward You sense the echoes of from centuries ago. We walk no path that You have not already trod.
God does seem to allow us seasons without suffering. We rest and recuperate. But I can't say we are making much progress in those times. So at some point, we reenter the fray, if we really want to live, and not just mark time.
As I write this, I wonder if I have a warped view of life. This has been my experience, living on the front lines as I do, which is why Roger and I choose comedies when we watch a movie, too much pain in the real life we experience. That doesn't mean the pain is all my own, I am grateful for the unscathed life I live, no great illness, no children in tragedy, no relational heartbreak. But I cannot watch the world around me with an unfeeling heart.
So I hurt. And I grow. It must cause some "pain" for a young plant to break out of its seed pod. And someday, we will truly break free, and finally arrive where there is no more crying or pain. And that will be real progress.
To which I countered: Passion + Purpose x Power (Holy Spirit) equals Progress...but I don't think the Pain is divided by obedience. Ask Jesus in the garden. Obedience makes pain worthwhile, but it still hurts. And I don't think pain necessarily subtracts from progress either, but often is required. Again, think of Jesus in the Garden.
Does all good progress have to be filtered by pain? I wish it were not so, but I'm not sure painless progress exists. Even happy things are fraught with the pain of change. A child walks and we rejoice, but we are also letting go of that child a little bit.
Not all pain is debilitating. And it can achieve a purpose itself, and usually does. Referencing Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane again, the greatest pain ever experienced brought the greatest progress ever made, victory over sin and death. Well worthwhile pain.
Some pain seems pointless. In the middle of suffering we often can't see past the tears on our pillow. But the same God who never misses a tear drop does not allow those tears to fall to the ground without refining our character, the salt in those very tears etching away at our selfishness, our pride, our resistance to God's ultimate purposes.
O Lord, that it would not be so, that we could walk the upward way without pain, but thank You that You go with us as we travel, and that every pain we feel in our steps forward You sense the echoes of from centuries ago. We walk no path that You have not already trod.
God does seem to allow us seasons without suffering. We rest and recuperate. But I can't say we are making much progress in those times. So at some point, we reenter the fray, if we really want to live, and not just mark time.
As I write this, I wonder if I have a warped view of life. This has been my experience, living on the front lines as I do, which is why Roger and I choose comedies when we watch a movie, too much pain in the real life we experience. That doesn't mean the pain is all my own, I am grateful for the unscathed life I live, no great illness, no children in tragedy, no relational heartbreak. But I cannot watch the world around me with an unfeeling heart.
So I hurt. And I grow. It must cause some "pain" for a young plant to break out of its seed pod. And someday, we will truly break free, and finally arrive where there is no more crying or pain. And that will be real progress.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Mothers are Professionals.
After 23 years of parenting, putting four children through school, I am ready for some official recognition of my credentials. I would love to create an official licensing service for parents, to recognize their expertise. I might not be an expert in all children, but I sure am about mine.
My kids struggle to overcome dyslexia. This gift and disability means their full potential which is sky high finds itself earthbound by their struggles to communicate what they understand and know.
Those professional educators who have the privilege of teaching my children know a lot about education and teaching techniques. I appreciate their knowledge and training. But they do not understand how dyslexia functions and how to best unlock it.
In a nutshell, they believe if my kids would just try harder, practice more, do more exercises and learn more tricks, they could perform like everyone else, which quite frankly, is actually less than they are capable of given the right opportunity.
Our high school desperately needs a workshop to educate the teachers on this issue, as do colleges, especially where my girls attended. But when I discussed this yesterday, one of the advocates for this said, "We'd have to bring in professionals."
Makes sense, and I hope they do it. But just once I'd love to stand before them all and give them my parent's perspective, tell them what its like to watch a kid not be able to read an assignment, even a prompt for one, to not be able to tell one homonym from another, to misspell things so extremely that the spell checker can't figure it out, or even worse, supplies a different word that does not fit, and worst of all, to watch them sit frozen unable to unleash the torrent of ideas in their brilliant minds in a fashion that the verbal world can understand.
I won't get to do that, so forgive me for taking it out on you, kind reader, who bother to come here and see what I have to say.
My kids struggle to overcome dyslexia. This gift and disability means their full potential which is sky high finds itself earthbound by their struggles to communicate what they understand and know.
Those professional educators who have the privilege of teaching my children know a lot about education and teaching techniques. I appreciate their knowledge and training. But they do not understand how dyslexia functions and how to best unlock it.
In a nutshell, they believe if my kids would just try harder, practice more, do more exercises and learn more tricks, they could perform like everyone else, which quite frankly, is actually less than they are capable of given the right opportunity.
Our high school desperately needs a workshop to educate the teachers on this issue, as do colleges, especially where my girls attended. But when I discussed this yesterday, one of the advocates for this said, "We'd have to bring in professionals."
Makes sense, and I hope they do it. But just once I'd love to stand before them all and give them my parent's perspective, tell them what its like to watch a kid not be able to read an assignment, even a prompt for one, to not be able to tell one homonym from another, to misspell things so extremely that the spell checker can't figure it out, or even worse, supplies a different word that does not fit, and worst of all, to watch them sit frozen unable to unleash the torrent of ideas in their brilliant minds in a fashion that the verbal world can understand.
I won't get to do that, so forgive me for taking it out on you, kind reader, who bother to come here and see what I have to say.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
To Be Known
This week I had two interactions with classmates of my children, now grown or almost. The first encounter occurred at the grocery store. I thought I recognized a young woman the age of my oldest, 23. Her maturity took me aback, having not seen her for so long, but I decided that indeed she must be who I thought she was.
When she ended up next to me in line I said her name and she acknowledged that she had recognized me, even though she remained reticent to talk to me until I persisted. We compared notes on the latest on our families.
Later that night after a swim meet at a local private school I was standing in the hall and a young man I did not recognize said to me, "I'm Jermaine" (not his real name). We began to talk and he remembered not only Wesley, his kindergarten classmate and friend, but Junia who broke her arm on a bike ride when Jermaine was present.
The attitude of the first young woman seems more typical, to respond when approached, but not to initiate a conversation with a mother of one of your contemporaries you haven't seen in years.
I am still intrigued by this young man's statement to me, "I'm Jermaine," obviously wanting to be known, saying his name and expecting that would call up my memory and I would know him.
Beyond our school connection Jermaine and his family had briefly participated in our church, which is how he was present on that bike ride. I felt sad when they drifted away, and encountering him so many years later renews that longing to connect with this family spiritually.
And I think his statement also reminds me of our innermost longing, to be known. To be recognized. To be remembered. And expecting that the stating of our name would awaken that recognition in others.
I anticipate the day when not only will I meet Jesus face to face and he will know me by name, but he will give me a new name, which no one else knows, and in that moment of renaming I will become more fully myself than I have ever been.
Meanwhile, I am looking for those I know, to acknowledge and validate their existence. Thank you, Jermaine.
When she ended up next to me in line I said her name and she acknowledged that she had recognized me, even though she remained reticent to talk to me until I persisted. We compared notes on the latest on our families.
Later that night after a swim meet at a local private school I was standing in the hall and a young man I did not recognize said to me, "I'm Jermaine" (not his real name). We began to talk and he remembered not only Wesley, his kindergarten classmate and friend, but Junia who broke her arm on a bike ride when Jermaine was present.
The attitude of the first young woman seems more typical, to respond when approached, but not to initiate a conversation with a mother of one of your contemporaries you haven't seen in years.
I am still intrigued by this young man's statement to me, "I'm Jermaine," obviously wanting to be known, saying his name and expecting that would call up my memory and I would know him.
Beyond our school connection Jermaine and his family had briefly participated in our church, which is how he was present on that bike ride. I felt sad when they drifted away, and encountering him so many years later renews that longing to connect with this family spiritually.
And I think his statement also reminds me of our innermost longing, to be known. To be recognized. To be remembered. And expecting that the stating of our name would awaken that recognition in others.
I anticipate the day when not only will I meet Jesus face to face and he will know me by name, but he will give me a new name, which no one else knows, and in that moment of renaming I will become more fully myself than I have ever been.
Meanwhile, I am looking for those I know, to acknowledge and validate their existence. Thank you, Jermaine.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Night Before Bliss
Twenty-three years ago tonight I went to bed totally unaware of the bliss to dawn the next morning. I was 10 days away from my expected due date for my first-born child. I awoke that morning with my water breaking. I went to my computer and put finishing touches on church work so I could be off for the next 6 weeks.
Later on February 4 I held in my arms a healthy daughter we named Nora after my mother, who was there to witness her birth. I figured by the time my six weeks of maternity leave ended, I'd be chomping at the bit to get back to work.
When that day came, I would have walked away from my job had I not felt as responsible for my new church as I felt for my new child. So I juggled both parenting jobs together, the pastorate and the baby.
I loved that first edition so much, we had three more. People used to say to me when they saw me dragging around four children born within six years of each other, "You've got your hands full." My comeback became, "Joyfully so." I wrote a song about it later that asked, "Who wants empty hands?"
My hands are becoming empty these days. Nora attends grad school in Baltimore, Junia is graduating from Wheaton this year, Luke is now a freshman at UK, and Wesley will launch to college in less than two years. I'm losing my favorite job.
On this eve of the day I became a mother 23 years ago, I praise God for the blessing of four amazing children. They challenge me daily with their wisdom, compassion and capacity for growth.
This week also holds other memories. Saturday will be nine years since my mother died. Her only ambition in life was to be a mother, and I didn't really grasp until she was gone how grateful I was for her legacy in that vein.
So Nora, as you reach a new milestone, thank you for who you are. And to the rest of my children, for being more of a good thing. And Roger, you've been a great partner in parenting.
I'll miss seeing my girl tomorrow. But I am glad she is happily occupied in her own world. Keep it up beautiful daughter!
Later on February 4 I held in my arms a healthy daughter we named Nora after my mother, who was there to witness her birth. I figured by the time my six weeks of maternity leave ended, I'd be chomping at the bit to get back to work.
When that day came, I would have walked away from my job had I not felt as responsible for my new church as I felt for my new child. So I juggled both parenting jobs together, the pastorate and the baby.
I loved that first edition so much, we had three more. People used to say to me when they saw me dragging around four children born within six years of each other, "You've got your hands full." My comeback became, "Joyfully so." I wrote a song about it later that asked, "Who wants empty hands?"
My hands are becoming empty these days. Nora attends grad school in Baltimore, Junia is graduating from Wheaton this year, Luke is now a freshman at UK, and Wesley will launch to college in less than two years. I'm losing my favorite job.
On this eve of the day I became a mother 23 years ago, I praise God for the blessing of four amazing children. They challenge me daily with their wisdom, compassion and capacity for growth.
This week also holds other memories. Saturday will be nine years since my mother died. Her only ambition in life was to be a mother, and I didn't really grasp until she was gone how grateful I was for her legacy in that vein.
So Nora, as you reach a new milestone, thank you for who you are. And to the rest of my children, for being more of a good thing. And Roger, you've been a great partner in parenting.
I'll miss seeing my girl tomorrow. But I am glad she is happily occupied in her own world. Keep it up beautiful daughter!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Haiti Three Weeks In
Yesterday I felt drained from all the crises of my week, three deaths (see previous blog), a very ill friend in the hospital, another whose husband left her. I knew I needed Holy Spirit help to be able to preach this morning.
Then I got an email asking for prayer for our superintendents and pastors in Haiti, who were at the breaking point from shepherding their people in such pain and grief. Death and disease multiplied many times over what I had experienced this week.
This morning when I didn't want to get out of my comfortable bed to get started, I remembered my Haitian brothers again, and realized they didn't have this problem. They didn't have a bed to get out of, so it was easy to get up in the morning, as soon as the sun peeked under their tarp, they might as well get off the hard concrete and start their day.
When I had trouble turning off the warm soothing shower, I knew they didn't have that problem either, no showers much less warm ones, not even adequate water to drink. So getting ready for church would be much simpler than my experience here.
Our family enjoys backpacking because we like to get out into the wilderness where cars do not intrude, where few humans enjoy that bit of God's creation. But I don't especially like the deprivations of camping, even though we have a nice tent, sleeping bags, pads and soft ground to sleep on. I am always glad to get home to my warm bed and modern bathroom.
In Haiti right now a whole city of people are sleeping on concrete with only tarps to shade the sun, no beds, no adequate protection from rain, no bathroom facilities, not even adequate water to drink. And no end in sight.
Rescue attempts are still focused on basic needs, building new houses remains far in the future.
We must keep praying and supporting our brothers and sisters there, not just when the news is full of the disaster, but in the weeks and years to come. The physical situation alone would drain anyone's energy, much less the great sense of loss for those who didn't survive.
Lord, pour out your grace on Haiti. Keep us alert to their needs. Don't allow our comfort to become complacency.
Then I got an email asking for prayer for our superintendents and pastors in Haiti, who were at the breaking point from shepherding their people in such pain and grief. Death and disease multiplied many times over what I had experienced this week.
This morning when I didn't want to get out of my comfortable bed to get started, I remembered my Haitian brothers again, and realized they didn't have this problem. They didn't have a bed to get out of, so it was easy to get up in the morning, as soon as the sun peeked under their tarp, they might as well get off the hard concrete and start their day.
When I had trouble turning off the warm soothing shower, I knew they didn't have that problem either, no showers much less warm ones, not even adequate water to drink. So getting ready for church would be much simpler than my experience here.
Our family enjoys backpacking because we like to get out into the wilderness where cars do not intrude, where few humans enjoy that bit of God's creation. But I don't especially like the deprivations of camping, even though we have a nice tent, sleeping bags, pads and soft ground to sleep on. I am always glad to get home to my warm bed and modern bathroom.
In Haiti right now a whole city of people are sleeping on concrete with only tarps to shade the sun, no beds, no adequate protection from rain, no bathroom facilities, not even adequate water to drink. And no end in sight.
Rescue attempts are still focused on basic needs, building new houses remains far in the future.
We must keep praying and supporting our brothers and sisters there, not just when the news is full of the disaster, but in the weeks and years to come. The physical situation alone would drain anyone's energy, much less the great sense of loss for those who didn't survive.
Lord, pour out your grace on Haiti. Keep us alert to their needs. Don't allow our comfort to become complacency.
Friday, January 29, 2010
You Give and Take Away
Monday the elderly father of one of our church folks died peacefully ending his long life. His daughter and son-in-law were by his bed while he slowly slipped into his eternal rest. He left behind family and friends who dearly loved him but were ready to release him to a fuller life.
That same day the brother of my dear friend ended his life with a bad combination of alcohol and meds, ending his struggles with bipolar disease and alcoholism. He left behind waves of guilt and pain as his family has to ask what they might have done to avoid this outcome.
Wednesday night one of my son's college friends returned to his dorm room after Bible study to find his roommate unconscious on the floor, and his attempts at resuscitation and the subsequent attempts at the hospital could not revive him. He left behind his roommate wishing he had stayed back from Bible study to be there when his roommate needed him, and his parents wondered what could have happened, and many friends missing him.
The elderly man had suffered for years from Alzheimer's, so his death was truly a ticket to healing. It's still sad to lose your dad and grandfather though.
The middle aged man had suffered for years from addiction and mental illness, so his death was also an end to much pain, yet left his family with deep layers of guilt and pain to unravel.
The young man had not been ill, and was not abusing substances, the autopsy will give the last word on what caused his untimely death. His death seems unwarranted, untimely, and unnecessary, leaving behind great grief and a sense of his lost potential.
I don't know if they have orientation in heaven, but if so perhaps these three met up having arrived in close succession. They certainly had different stories to tell of their lives on earth, and different experiences in dying. Yet they have this in common, I'm guessing even the college student wouldn't trade his current setting to return to his dorm room.
That just leaves the rest of us missing them. That leaves us wondering why at different levels. That can even leave those still here questioning how God could allow such.
This has been a week I won't soon forget, and not a good one. But for those three men, if you look at it from their perspective, it's their first week of eternity, and that gives it a whole new twist.
Our church loves to sing Blessed Be Your Name, which borrows words from Job, "You give and take away, blessed be Your name." I have always marveled at Job being able to say that about God taking away his children. However God may take folks to heaven, and we think of it as a subtraction, but for those who arrive in God's presence, it's an addition. They are receiving. And when we allow God to help us with the pain of being left behind, he will take that away too. He truly does give and take away, we just feel a bit mixed up sometimes about the blessing part.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
That same day the brother of my dear friend ended his life with a bad combination of alcohol and meds, ending his struggles with bipolar disease and alcoholism. He left behind waves of guilt and pain as his family has to ask what they might have done to avoid this outcome.
Wednesday night one of my son's college friends returned to his dorm room after Bible study to find his roommate unconscious on the floor, and his attempts at resuscitation and the subsequent attempts at the hospital could not revive him. He left behind his roommate wishing he had stayed back from Bible study to be there when his roommate needed him, and his parents wondered what could have happened, and many friends missing him.
The elderly man had suffered for years from Alzheimer's, so his death was truly a ticket to healing. It's still sad to lose your dad and grandfather though.
The middle aged man had suffered for years from addiction and mental illness, so his death was also an end to much pain, yet left his family with deep layers of guilt and pain to unravel.
The young man had not been ill, and was not abusing substances, the autopsy will give the last word on what caused his untimely death. His death seems unwarranted, untimely, and unnecessary, leaving behind great grief and a sense of his lost potential.
I don't know if they have orientation in heaven, but if so perhaps these three met up having arrived in close succession. They certainly had different stories to tell of their lives on earth, and different experiences in dying. Yet they have this in common, I'm guessing even the college student wouldn't trade his current setting to return to his dorm room.
That just leaves the rest of us missing them. That leaves us wondering why at different levels. That can even leave those still here questioning how God could allow such.
This has been a week I won't soon forget, and not a good one. But for those three men, if you look at it from their perspective, it's their first week of eternity, and that gives it a whole new twist.
Our church loves to sing Blessed Be Your Name, which borrows words from Job, "You give and take away, blessed be Your name." I have always marveled at Job being able to say that about God taking away his children. However God may take folks to heaven, and we think of it as a subtraction, but for those who arrive in God's presence, it's an addition. They are receiving. And when we allow God to help us with the pain of being left behind, he will take that away too. He truly does give and take away, we just feel a bit mixed up sometimes about the blessing part.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
