Some Thoughts on Moms

Yesterday I enjoyed all the mom posts. People happy to be moms. People praising their moms. And reminders that Mother's Day is not great for everyone.

Two things on my heart today. Some people put on a public front and tell everyone what a good mom they have out of respect, which they should, we are to honor our parents. But inside they have a big hole that should have been filled with parental approval, instead it holds shame.Where confidence and acceptance should blossom, a gaping wound sucks the life out of their soul. 

What they needed growing up lie in simple encouragement, that pat on the back, that, "Keep it up! I can see you're doing your best." That moment of, "OK, so it didn't turn out the way you wanted, you'll figure it out. I believe in you." And that, "Wow! You're amazing! I'm so proud of you."

Instead, many people hear words like, "What? You got a B?" or "You came in second??" or "I was so embarrassed by your behavior." Critiques of clothing, vocabulary, effort, sports success, grades, church behavior, you name it, some parents always have a complaint.

Healthy parents do critique their children. They do guide them when they mess up. They do remind them of the standards they are expecting. They do encourage them to aim high. But they don't shame them, especially when the standard is the parent's, not the child's.

Those folks grow up, and become parents themselves. And then what happens? As the old adage goes, the same fire that melts the butter hardens the egg. Some folks with a lack of positive example, behave the same way, and pass along all the guilt and shame, and especially if abuse existed in their home. If that's you, get help!

Others, rise to the occasion, determine not to be that parent, and figure out how to do better. They won't be perfect, but they offer encouragement not criticism, they make suggestions instead of demanding perfection, they hold up standards but still love and accept their children when they fall short.

My mom wasn't perfect. She was weak and sometimes I had to parent her, but she loved me and showed me that in many ways. She was kind and encouraging. I knew she was rooting for me, no matter what. Having this from both parents gave me a basic belief in myself, that I could build on for my children.

Second thing, parents matter. We see it in ourselves. And if we have our own kids, we need to believe that. We need to remember that how we treat them affects who they grow up to be. God made each of us unique and gifted, and the more we encourage our children, the more they will grow into that miracle creation God intended.

So if you didn't have that example, and you need help, look for it. That's what churches are for, and books on parenting, and even classes. Get support. Those of you out there doing a great job without having had that example, you rock!

And if your children are still small, and you spend your days just trying to keep diapers changed, or if your kids are older and you're trying to stand up to the constant pressure to lower your standards and let them do what "everyone else is doing," hold on! A day will come when they will rise up and call you blessed! They will actually express their gratitude that you kept those standards, and helped them reach their potential.

Most of all, you can never love someone too much, a parent or a child. We can overindulge people with material needs, or look the other way during bad behavior which both cause problems. But our encouragement and kindness cannot possibly be overdone.

So call your mom if you still have one you can call, and say thanks, even if it was rough growing up, for we are to honor our parents. And if you have kids, hug them and hold on. The day will come you'll see the fruit of your labor. Those Mother's Day posts will be about you, and they won't be fake. Be sure to grab a tissue.

My Easter Miracle

Lent aims to provide a space for reflection on the sacrifice and death of Jesus. These weeks prepare us for the full triumph and victory of Easter.

This year my Lent involved a deepened solidarity with suffering. My foot required minor surgery, and although the out patient procedure passed quickly, the recovery did not. Unlike others who found recuperation a minor setback of a week or maybe two, for the next four weeks I could not walk. Two weeks in I tried hobbling around for the weekend, a time frame that most estimates proposed reasonable. That Sunday night I lay in bed trying to sleep with pain throbbing in my foot and wishing I hadn't left my hated yet beloved crutches downstairs.

I returned to my crutches or the knee scooter a friend loaned me, but would still lie in bed each night waiting for the pain to subside and let me sleep. Unlike the sharp pain initially or of the original problem, this felt like pressure, as if someone held my foot and wouldn't let go, squeezing like a pinch between finger and thumb.

During these weeks I kept thinking of those who don't recover, whose surgeries fail, or who even despite an effort at treatment continue to worsen, those for whom time instead of bringing healing continues a downhill march. Crutching to the bathroom in the middle of the night I reminded myself this temporary problem already allowed more independence than those paralyzed.

The fourth weekend I had returned from a trip and found the pain as bad as ever. That Palm Sunday I again preached from a chair, as I had for four weeks. I normally stand in front of the pulpit to preach, close to the people. I told God I would really like to stand to preach on Easter. At that moment such a result seemed unlikely, as slow as my progress had been, that seemed too much for just one week to bring. I also wished I could wear shoes and not my bedroom slipper, but that came from vanity, not purpose.

On Tuesday I began to hobble on my heel. Thursday for the first time I squeezed into a loose clog, not an Easter shoe, but not a house slipper at least.

On this Good Friday I am calling my progress my Easter Miracle. I will stand and preach on Easter, even if my shoes are not white dress shoes. A week ago I didn't really think this was possible, but with God all things are possible. Perhaps it seems ordinary, my foot had to improve at some point. But for me, and how I experienced it, and the trajectory of my healing to this point, it will always be my Easter Miracle.

I pray God steps into your brokenness on this Good Friday and in the days to come and brings resurrection power to bear on your pain. For truly, Christ lives, and that changes everything.

Walking is Underrated

Having a one year old granddaughter I have recently witnessed the advent of walking in a child. She stood, wavering, falling. She soon took a step or two. Later a streak of steps, weaving left and right, before again falling. At first she required an object to pull up on to stand and begin, then later developed the ability to stand from the floor. Her walking at 13 months still wavers on uneven ground, and falling still happens frequently, although she gains speed daily.

When babies learn to walk, we expect such stops and starts. Once we have mastered it, we never think about it. This morning as you awakened, you didn't think about putting your feet on the floor and heading off to the bathroom or wherever you start your day.

Walking is underrated and underappreciated. Until you can't walk.

Two weeks ago before writing this I underwent a foot surgery, a minor out patient procedure to remove a neuroma (a benign tumor) from the ball of my foot. The presence of the neuroma had caused pain while walking for about and year and a half, and to maintain a healthy walking habit, needed to be excised. And in come the crutches.

A few years ago I severely sprained my ankle and required a season of crutching, which I abhorred. My son can travel on crutches and keep up with anyone, even on stairs. I have a stair phobia from falling down a staircase at church as a child and gaining a black eye, so I'm not about to do a staircase on crutches. I scoot down and up on my bottom. So elegant.

Having to crutch to the bathroom in the middle of the night, when I often weave on two good feet, and negotiate all that with one foot, makes me long for healing, yesterday even. So when I was able to again put some weight on my recovering heel, I did so. Finally! No crutches!

After a weekend of that, I returned to my crutches, as the foot pain wouldn't let me sleep. More healing needed, and more patience.

During this season of restriction, I have reminded myself that some people never heal. They live permanently in a wheelchair or have prosthetic limbs. Some folks older and weaker than me can't use crutches for a minor recovery. For some people, the fullness of healing and easy movement won't return until heaven's final healing.

I want to keep my eyes open for those around me battling various obstacles to their daily travel, perhaps I can open a door or at least smile some encouragement. Walking can be more than just physical as well, some folks struggle to progress in other ways, spiritual, developmental, patience can be needed from the rest of us to encourage the strugglers to not give up.

One of my favorite gospel moments happens when the four friends lower the paralyzed man through the roof to get Jesus' attention. Jesus doesn't immediately heal him. It's so obvious they expected this for their friend. But instead Jesus forgives him, clearly more important for the man than walking. To prove he could forgive sins, Jesus tells the man to stand up and walk. No crutches needed, no mat, no friends to carry him, imagine! But the greater gift that day lie in the forgiveness.

So too despite whatever we or others face physically, the greater challenge lies in spiritual wholeness. Even if we can't get out of bed or off that stretcher, our hearts can be healed and cleansed. That's what mattered to Jesus.

Winter Needs Christmas

Recently while waiting in line in a ladies room at a Christmas orchestra concert, I engaged in conversation with the lady in front of me. She noted that this time of year required a lot more work to get dressed to go out due to the weather. She ended with the remark:
"Summer is easier."

In my mind I immediately reacted with, "But summer doesn't have Christmas!"

Know that summer looms large for me as my favorite season, followed closely by spring. I love warm days and easy clothes, as she was remarking about. When fall comes, and the days shorten, I shudder to face the growing darkness and cold. I can distinctly remember feeling this way at least as long ago as college. More recently we learned a label for this aversion, Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD.

Having SAD means I crave light, and as the days shorten, I struggle. I am grateful for my "happy light" which I use for morning devotionals and greatly improves my mood and outlook on life.

But as much as I'd rather it be summer, summer still doesn't have Christmas!

I'm writing this on Winter Solstice. Every year on this day, while people celebrate the end of the days getting shorter, and the beginning tomorrow of more light, a discussion ensues about the origin of the date of Christmas. Many hold that we only celebrate the birth of Jesus in December because we wanted to co-opt the pagan holidays around the solstice.

Others hold December 25 to be the actual date of Jesus' birth.

Whichever proves to be accurate, I'm not concerned about the historical date of Jesus' birth. I'm just grateful it happened. And what's more, I've grateful we celebrate it in winter. God picked the actual date, whenever it was. And I believe God knew we needed to celebrate it, however we got here, in winter. I know I sure do.

Fall unravels me slowly but I hold onto hope, because Christmas is coming. My family will be home, we will have long hours to eat and laugh and talk. After everyone leaves, I definitely suffer a downswing, but the days have already begun to lengthen. Light matters.

One of the myriad of brilliant ideas C.S. Lewis used in his Narnia series involves having the evil White Witch cast a spell putting Narnia into endless winter, and no Christmas. Imagine! The worst of everything! The cold, the inconvenience, the misery, with no hope in sight! No relief, no joy. One of the first indicators that Aslan breaks the spell happens when sleigh bells are heard and Father Christmas appears.

Regardless of the historical events that resulted in our current system, I am grateful that Christmas comes in winter. I am grateful that on this shortest day, I know Christmas happens soon, family returns to the nest, and light wins, again.

What Does Equality in the Church Look Like?

When I married my husband in 1982 and moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, my denomination had no local churches. God had called me to plant one, so I set about my work. To do so I had to convince the annual conference to approve me. This met with interesting responses. On the one hand, no one else was lining up to start a church there, so they had little to lose. They offered me about $50 a month to help…and a mimeograph machine.

On the other hand, they had previously had single women in an earlier era start churches and pastor, and currently had a pastoral couple, but were confused about a married woman whose husband wasn’t ordained. My husband worked in youth para-church ministry, so they tried to ordain him, that would have fit their categories, to make us a clergy couple. But when he discovered the process required a church appointment, my husband left the system and remained a lay person.

Church planting avoided several pitfalls for women in ministry. As I knocked on doors recruiting people to attend our new congregation, many were surprised to hear of a woman pastor. The non-churched folks found it refreshing, they would say things like, “Well women do everything else now.” Or, “I have a woman doctor, why not?” Or more importantly they would have had a negative or even abusive experience with a male pastor, and I didn’t trigger those associations.

The only people with issues were those who had been taught this was unbiblical, and since these were folks of faith with their own church already, I wasn’t trying to recruit them anyway. So I didn’t have to deal with the expectations of a congregation changing from a male to a female pastor.

Not long after starting the church I became pregnant with our first child. So our family grew along with the church. This gave me the option of caring for my children while pastoring, especially because the laypeople had no prior expectation of hours I would spend at the church building or other such conflicts. In fact, I had to beg them to tell me things like they had gone in the hospital. One dear old saint would not tell me this, and I told her to let me know, because I could work it out to visit, and could certainly pray.

One of the most challenging experiences I had came from an already Christian couple who became leaders in the early years. We worked together for ten years but the wife never fully accepted my leadership as she had grown up in a church that taught women could not be pastors. Her husband supported me fully and was one of my key leaders. She had many talents and used them well in the church but could never fully see me as her pastor. After ten years they chose to attend a different church, leaving quite a gap.

For the most part, I have found my role in my local church without much controversy since I started my own congregation. I did fight some battles in the conference, one was an extra year added to the ordination process. As our leadership of the conference changed to a superintendent whose wife pastors (that original clergy couple from when I started) I noticed such a change in attitude in my conference and a corresponding increase in female pastors and leaders.

Not all my women friends experienced a smooth path so I often found myself advocating for women in other conferences and settings. A male pastor friend started the ordination process with me while we were in seminary together. He married a woman from another denomination who worked full-time as an ordained chaplain. When she sought ordination now in her husband’s conference, the leadership feared ordaining her would lead to all the pastors’ wives seeking ordination. Not all of them would want it, but if they could satisfy the requirements, why not? And how did that possibility negate the reality of her being well suited for ministry?  

Meanwhile my own four children grew up with a female pastor as their only experience. One of my favorite stories involves the daughter of a pastor from our conference who lived with us one semester while attending school. My own daughter protested when I explained her father was a pastor. “But daddies can’t be pastors!” Although I knew I had to burst her bubble, for one delicious moment women had the priority in her world.

When those same four grew up and left for college, they had to make their own decisions about faith and issues like drinking or homosexuality. But I realized that the one non-negotiable for me remained women in ministry. To deny that possibility equaled denying my very purpose. I need not fear however. My daughter Junia spent her first weekend at college defending her own name and her namesake’s significance as a woman apostle.

As my children have moved to different cities and searched for churches, I’ve been amazed at the new and relevant church plants, often with racial diversity and the most hip features, that nevertheless deny the possibility of women in leadership. I am grateful for our denomination’s founder who wrote a treatise defending the ordination of women two centuries ago. If only we could all live up to his insights. I look for the day when little girls and little boys and those of all races see people like them represented in all the roles God gives.

Mutual Submission? How Does that Work?

When my husband and I first married almost 35 years ago, we received as a wedding present a book that basically explained to wives how to get husbands to do what you wanted. That’s the tactic many Christian women have taken, loving manipulation. 

We wondered how to address the unavoidable problem: if we both submit, who has the tie breaking vote? In a traditional marriage, the husband always does, even if he chooses the wife’s choice out of love and kindness. But a truly equal marriage requires the possibility of another method, because otherwise the decision making won’t truly be equal, which leads to manipulation and bitterness from the wife.

I proposed the tie-breaking vote when required should come from the person most affected. For example, in our marriage I provided the primary child care, keeping our children and pastoring a church. I had primary responsibility for Nora, Junia, Luke and Wesley, so any decisions regarding their care would fall mostly on me. Roger would be consulted, but the burden of driving Junia to eye therapy would be chiefly mine, so I needed to decide if I was willing. He coached Luke at baseball and Wesley at swimming, so decisions around those sports could favor his choices.

A particularly prime example occurred when a young man from our church needed someplace to live while his mother entered treatment for addiction. He had reached out to my husband, who felt a strong sense of compassion and concern and automatically wanted to take him in. I cared too, but I also saw the implications of taking an older male into my home at the risk of my daughters, and knew that careful supervision would be required. Although my husband would be home in the evenings and able to help and mentor the young man, the majority of the burden of the added responsibility would fall on me. So my approval mattered the most. We did take him in, and at times that definitely caused extra effort on my part. 

When it comes to financial decisions, Roger often gets the last word since he is the primary breadwinner and carries the responsibility for supporting the rest of us. A funny example happened regarding our fourth child. I had always wanted an even number of children, so once we had three, four needed to follow. But Roger changed to a full-time ministry job that included a drastic cut in pay, so taking on another child felt overwhelming. He grudgingly relented. All our other pregnancies required many months to conceive. During that first month, Roger already regretted agreeing, and I told him we would not try again, as I wanted him fully on board. However we were already pregnant, which we both took as God’s clear will that we had a fourth!

Although our marriage often looks traditional since Roger has been the primary bread winner and I did the full-time child rearing, we nonetheless made decisions out of egalitarian principles. Despite keeping my children I also pastored a church throughout their years at home, having planted a church before our first child. 

For couples with a different configuration, the basic principle remains, the person who is most affected should have a greater say, which still never assumes the other person has no input. Ultimately the less selfish both people are the smoother this moves along. If we are keeping score and worried about who is winning, we are unlikely to come to mutually agreeable conclusions. If instead we have the best interests of our spouse at heart, we will be more likely to conclude a happy result.

As a pastor I have definitely seen this in couples I’ve observed. Decisions happen more smoothly with mature, selfless individuals. Those who are out to win and get their way typically lose instead, as their attempts to manipulate the situation either backfire or cause resentment. Certainly being honest and forthright matters too, if we don’t say what we want, it’s hard for the other person to consider our desires. If we hide the truth in the interest of reverse psychology or some other tactic, we often sabotage trust. If we hide the truth out of a mistaken understanding of selflessness, we rob the other person of the privilege of letting us have what we really want. Marriage should be a joyful giving to one another, instead of a battle to negotiate.

Now as the parent of grown children, I’m watching my offspring navigate these waters. They are doing it better than I did, for which I rejoice.

Come or Free

My last blog mentioned part of my dog's obedience training included learning the command Wait. She is released from that with the command Come or Free.

One scenario for this command happens when I open the back door. My dog Roo is told wait to be sure the coast is clear. She is protective of our property, and if an unsuspecting stranger wanders by she is likely to head out with a vengeance. To protect others and herself she is verbally restrained until I ascertain the space is safe. If I'm not going outside, she is then told Free. Free means she is free to go where she pleases, because the fenced in backyard is a safe place for her and away from others.

If we are going together, the gate might be open but I am accompanying her and I say Come. In this case she is coming with me, and I am the gate, the monitor of safety either with a leash or verbal command.

As I spend the year with the word Wait, these other commands also come to mind. When God tells me to wait, I am eager to be released. I want to run free, and at times God releases me, into a safe space, and I am allowed my freedom to explore.

But more often when Wait ends, the alternative is Come. Jesus calls me forward. The privilege of following cannot be overstated. This week I drove to my daughter's house, a familiar trip. Having just driven there two weeks prior, relying on a navigation system seemed unnecessary. While cheerfully talking to a friend, I reached a major change of highways and thought I navigated it correctly. An hour later when I hung up, I realized my mistake.

That particular interchange has caused us problems before, it's counterintuitive and requires attention, which I did not give it. Following the guidance of the Spirit looms even larger than the voice of Siri explaining the correct turn and like in that case can save me wasted time and gas and energy pursuing the wrong route. Come means Jesus and I are traveling together, and although the road may be long and circuitous, I can trust my Guide and the end result.

I love the freedom given to wander on my own in a safe space. But I'd rather hear Come, and know I'm accompanied on the way. One of the most significant uses of that word in Scripture happens when Jesus says in Matthew 11:28-30 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

In my waiting the best call forward springs from the call to Come to Jesus. Come and rest. Come and learn. As a write this on the Lord's Day, I hear those words calling me to center on Christ.

Wait. Come. Free. These words frame my days. Lord give me ears to hear and a heart to obey.