Friday Five: Meetings, Meetings...

This is my first Friday Five in quite awhile. I've been stuck in meetings! (Okay, not really. But that would have been a very timely excuse, no?)

ReverendMother writes, In honor of a couple of marathon meetings I attended this week:

1. What's your view of meetings? Choose one or more, or make up your own:
a) When they're good, they're good. I love the feeling of people working well together on a common goal.
b) I don't seek them out, but I recognize them as a necessary part of life.
c) The only good meeting is a canceled meeting.
I'm going to chicken out and say that I really could say any of the three, depending on the meeting. I like to get things done, so the meetings that irritate me are the ones where we spend most of the time socializing or discussing way-off-topic stuff. Or where one person (unless it's me, of course, in all my brilliance) dominates the whole thing. If I had to choose one of the above, I'm probably consistently a 'b'.

2. Do you like some amount of community building or conversation, or are you all business?
Sort of answered this one above. I like to socialize, but my preference is to get the work done first and then have the option of hanging around. Some of us want to go home. On the other hand, especially in a new group, you need a certain amount of community building included in order for people to trust one another. So, I guess I like purposeful socializing. I dislike a lot of distract-y gossiping.

3. How do you feel about leading meetings? Share any particular strengths or weaknesses you have in this area.
I like leading meetings because I can get things done. (Can you sense a theme here?) I suppose that my business-like demeanor could be a weakness as well. Maybe. I'm not convinced of this. I think the church generally needs a kick in the butt more than it needs another easy-going committee member. Or my church does, anyway.

4. Have you ever participated in a virtual meeting? (conference call, IM, chat, etc.) What do you think of this format? Conference call. Not a fan. I know it's a necessary evil, but I really miss the body-language bit. I'd rather do email or IM than a conference call, but I'm no giant fan of those either. Nothing replaces the in-person experience.

5. Share a story of a memorable meeting you attended.
Okay, none of my answers above were all that interesting; in fact, I stayed in this particular Friday Five just to be able to answer this one. This is in my top-five favorite moments of ministry, this meeting. And it has everything to do with the lovely image below. Thanks, despair.com.

So we were starting our capital campaign to retire the mortgage. We needed to raise about $320,000 (we can have a separate discussion about why retiring your mortgage is or is not a good idea, but suffice it to say that it wasn't really my choice to make at the time). One of the early steps in the process is to establish an "Advance Gifts" committee, which solicits large or significant gifts before the official kick-off of the campaign, basically so you can announce all this success on the very first day. Sort of like making a list of all the things you have to do this weekend and starting with two or three things you've already done, so you can cross them off and feel good about yourself before you begin (this is a hint from my mother, and it really works).

On this committee were a bunch of guys in the congregation I hardly knew. I knew many of their wives better, and some of their kids. Several were professionals (doctors, lawyers, architects) and several were retired. About a dozen in all. And we had our first meeting with - as he shall be called - Consultant Guy, on a Monday evening. Consultant Guy was one of those particularly smug, slick money-raisers who's probably pretty successful at it, but who makes you want to take a quick shower after spending any amount of time with him. (Fortunately he was only our auxiliary guy and we only had this one meeting with him.)

There's a much longer story behind my previous interactions with Consultant Guy, but that's really for another time. Nothing terrible or inappropriate, just...you know. Icky. So imagine the slickest guy you know and - bing! That's this guy. Consultant Guy wanted to break the ice by having everyone introduce themselves and then tell us what we were doing at 10:00 this morning. "Won't this be fun," he suggests in his peculiarly slimy/jolly manner.

Everyone obliges and we go around the room: someone was mowing the lawn, someone was working, someone was in traffic, someone was on the phone. Etc. Until we get to a man whose family I knew quite well, but who, as an individual, I had spend virtually no time with. This man is a doctor. And he is also the kind of person (as I discovered) who has a very astute slick-detector. He could see right through Consultant Guy. Here is what followed.

Doctor: So you want to know what we were doing at 10:00 this morning?
CG: Yes, that would be great (insert slick chuckle here).
Doctor: Are you sure about that?
CG: (with increased chuckle) Why, yes! Certainly. Of course.
Doctor: Well, I had my head up some guy's ass.

LONG PAUSE.

Then, RAUCOUS LAUGHTER. I thought I was going to bust an internal organ. Doctor continued, "Because I was doing a colonoscopy." More laughter. "So," he continues, "seriously. Up his ass."

Consultant Guy was summarily deflated. And this is still my favorite meeting of all time.

This Side of Heartbreak

A woman came into my office today to think out loud about the direction she ought to take in life. This is fine. This is the sort of thing I ought to be doing, and generally enjoy doing, and feel okay at, and think is helpful and meaningful for people. I can listen pretty well (I don't always, of course, but I can if I try).

Either ministry is strengthened by one's own weaknesses and heartbreak, or it is compromised. Maybe even extinguished. Though I haven't read it, I suspect this is something of what Henri Nouwen suggests in The Wounded Healer - which is, after all, the only sort of healer any of us can ever be. We are all wounded in one way or another, or many, and either we will become strong at the broken places, or we will break altogether and perhaps shatter others along the way.

It's like listening to someone from underwater. As if you are holding your breath, deep down in the pool, watching the blurry forms of people on the surface and hearing the echoes of their voices, but only in the most imprecise way, only in fits and starts of sound.

Boy, I really wanted to tell her to shut up a few times. MY LORD, lady, SUCK IT UP and MAKE A DECISION and MOVE ON because I CANNOT LISTEN to YOU talk about how life is UNFAIR and not tell you RIGHT NOW HOW VERY, VERY, VERY UNFAIR IT IS but I have to sit here and LISTEN and if ONE MORE PERSON tells me that they are trying to follow God's will for their life I will start SCREAMING about how I'm TOTALLY UNCONVINCED at the moment that a lot of things have anything at all to do with GOD'S SUPPOSED WILL and if you say that one more time I will LOSE IT right here in my office.

My goodness. That was a lot of rage, right there.

Yesterday I was in a great deal of despair. Last night I discovered, again, the extraordinary man I married and his grace and love and patience under pressure. So today, on the other side of heartbreak, it is time to start moving on. For some of the day, I have been just fine. For some of the day, I am relieved to know the truth and begin to figure out exactly what we will do from here.

But for some more of the day, I am stuck at the bottom of that pool, holding my breath, hearing only murmurs and echoes and frankly, I am not paying that much attention. The thing about real heartbreak is that you never really get to the other side. It becomes a part of who you are from then on. Either it poisons you or something saves you, redeems you.

I went back to a book my dear blogging friend recommended: Free of Charge, by Miroslav Volf. I went back to find this bit of his own story. Because he knows what yesterday was like, and what it's like to live with that yesterday forever.

Then it dawned on me: Fertility would have robbed me of my boys. From my present vantage point, that would have been a disaster - the disaster of not having what I so passionately love. Infertility was the condition for the possibility of these two indescribable gifts. And understanding that changed my attitude about infertility. Since it gave me what I now can't imagine living without, poison was transmuted into a gift, God's strange gift. The pain of it remains, of course. But the poison is gone. Nine years of desperate trying was like one long painful childbirth, the purpose of which was to give us Nathanael and Aaron. True, had we had biological children of our own, I would have loved and wanted them, and I would have been spared the pain. But that's what would have happened. It didn't. I have Nathanael and Aaron. It's them that I love. It's them that I want. And it's they who redeem the arduous path that led to having them.

Perhaps we will name our first child Nathanael. Or Aaron. Or Miroslav. Someday.

(Okay, okay. Not Miroslav.)

Best. Distraction. Ever.

I have no shame in saying this: I am a huge Simpsons' fan. Huge. As in, can quote hundreds of lines from tons of episodes and love doing so (especially during confirmation).

So, I was very excited to find 'Simpsonize Me,' through the good graces of Real Live Preacher (thanks, Gordon). And thus I proudly present myself, Simpsonized (sadly, clergy gear was not an option).

Please note that in real life I wear cuter shoes. Thank you for your attention. Carry on.

Two Prayers for Today

One I read yesterday afternoon - familiar, but just what I needed:

All shall be well,
and all shall be well,
and all manner of thing shall be well. - Julian of Norwich

And one which came from my parents today:
Everything will be okay in the end.
If it's not okay, that's because it's not the end.

Amen to both.

Punched in the Gut

I put off this doctor's appointment for a long time. I told myself that abnormal sperm analysis results were not the end of the world, that people still have children, that miracles happen. I told myself that we would be fine.

Until the doctor told me today that we would not.

We have a 2-3% chance of ever conceiving a child on our own. And no, that's not nothing - but if someone told you that you had a 2-3% chance of surviving a disease or a surgery, you'd feel like you were punched in the gut. Like you could scream to the skies about how unfair this is, how wrong, how very very very very stupid this all is, how unreal, and none of it would make a difference. None of it would change the numbers. Numbers don't lie.

He wasn't mean, the doctor. But he was realistic. I didn't cry in his office, though I know he could tell my eyes were brighter than they should be. I kept it together until I was in the elevator, and then I lost it. Because I walked in there thinking I could still be a mother just like other people, in the same way other people can, like a normal person, and I walked out knowing that I can't. I won't. I can still be a mother, but it won't be normal. It won't be a surprise. It won't be cheap. It won't be easy.

I've been using movie or television allusions a lot in this blog lately, which could mean a lot of things. But today I have had a scene from Four Weddings and a Funeral in my head. You know, after the guy dies at the wedding, and Hugh Grant and the girl who secretly loves him and their friends have to drag him into a side room while he's having his heart attack, and across the room his lover is completely unaware of the whole thing, totally, blissfully ignorant that his life, as he knows it, is slowly ending on the other side of the party. And then afterward, how Hugh Grant has to walk across that long, long room to tell him, and you see him, the widower, laughing gently at a joke being told, and you know - the way you know what is going to happen to Jackie Kennedy's pink suit in Dallas, the way you know that plane really is going to hit that building six years ago yesterday - you know what is coming. You know, but he doesn't. And you can see in his face that he doesn't, and that it's not real, it hasn't happened for him, until Hugh Grant has to tell him.

And then he does.

Beloved does not know what the doctor told me, because he was teaching all day and this is not the kind of thing you share over the phone. So all day, I am walking across that Scottish wedding reception, looking at his face - his blissfully ignorant face - and knowing that I have to tell him this, I have to tell him that we can't have a child the way most people do, and that the reason for this is because of him. I don't blame him. None of this is his fault. What happens to one of us happens to both of us, and I love him and I wouldn't trade him for a guy who could get me pregnant every nine months for ten years. (Good God, what a nightmare that would be.)

But this is hell to tell someone, and hell to hear, and I can hardly bear the fact that pretty soon I will have to leave work and drive home and all the way I will be walking across that room. And tomorrow we will have had this conversation, this horrible conversation, and we will not be the same as we are, as we were when I was waiting in that doctor's office this morning. And nothing I can say will solve it or take away from the fact that he is not fine. He is not okay. I am. He is not. I just don't want that to be the only thing he hears.

Surely this is a nightmare and I will wake up. All babies are miracles. I just never thought that ours would have to be a medical one.

Now it's getting interesting.

One of my favorite television shows of all time is Mad About You. I think Paul Reiser is hilarious, and I always loved the relationship he and Helen Hunt had on the show. Their marriage was the one I wanted, especially on those long days of singledom when it seemed like everyone was paired up and just Bridget Jones and I were on our own.

I loved the show so much that I even bought the soundtrack which, to my delight, was filled not only with really great songs (including one that never fails to make me cry - The Things We've Handed Down, by Marc Cohn) but also with clips of dialogue from the show. When Beloved and I were putting together the bulletin for our marriage service, I dreamt of including little words of wisdom about marriage here and there, like clip art, and if I had been able to pull that off and if the word "crap" was not - well, a little inappropriate for worship - then I would have included this gem from the show:

Jamie: I just don't know why this is always so hard!
Paul: What?
Jamie: This...everything! Marriage...it's supposed to be different than this.
Paul: Says who?
Jamie: Everyone!
Paul: Well, they're wrong. It's just like this. It's exactly like this.
Jamie: According to WHO?
Paul: Everybody. I asked around.
Look, there's always going to be...stuff, you know? But I put up with your crap, and you put up with my crap.
Jamie: That's marriage?
Paul: This is what I'm thinking.

It's been a little Mad About You (which is different than Mad At You) in our house this week. I put up with your crap and you put up with mine - and some days, that's marriage. But most of all, it's been a week of "I thought it was supposed to different than this - easier than this." And it's not.

Don't get me wrong: it's been a good marriage week in our house, but a hard one. The idea of moving has usurped almost all other discussion topics. And we have had some hard, emotional, complicated, teary conversations about it. At the end of the day, we both had to make some confessions to each other: primarily, that this is a lot harder than you think going in. It's one thing to imagine that you might have this conversation one day; it's a whole other thing actually to have it, and to face the hard facts of I-want-one-thing and I-want-another, and figure out how to land somewhere inbetween. When there really is no inbetween: there's one thing or the other, and you can't have them both.

I don't know what will happen. I know that for the first time ever in the relatively short life of our marriage (not quite three years), I actually thought to myself in the darkest moment, "maybe this isn't going to work out. Maybe we won't make it." And that scared the shit out of me. We got through that place and to a much better one, and for that I am tremendously thankful - to the good Lord for watching over us, and to my astonishingly patient husband who can remain calm when I am, well, not.

I do know we are facing this together. I do know that there are a lot more hard conversations to come. I do know that I am still really, really loving my yoga class and that its emphasis on calm, peace, and breathing is exactly what I need right now.

I do know that my very favorite prayer is the one that I will hang onto:

Lord God, you have called us, your servants, to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Amen, maranatha, Amen.

Of Changes and Yoga.

Beloved and I had another conversation last night about this new call possibility. I think he is coming more around to the idea in general - even if this particular situation doesn't work out - of moving someplace else for awhile. Which I could tell by the fact that his sentences changed from solely, "but what about this...what if we couldn't afford that..." to "if we moved..." That was a big step for him. We had had a long discussion about some of the details he had asked me to research, and then there was a long pause, and then we started cooking dinner, and right in the middle of slicing the tomatoes he said, "If we moved over there, I would have a greenhouse." (He loves gardening.)

I have never, ever heard him say the phrase, "If we moved over there." So that was huge.

Then I left him with the dishes because last night I went to my very first yoga class. A friend and I had walked past this little yoga studio just a block from my house a few months ago, but I had summarily forgotten its existence until a few weeks ago when someone else was talking about how much they enjoy yoga, and I thought, "Hey! Yoga! That studio!"

To make a long story short, I used to do Pilates before we were married, with a teacher I really liked at a gym near my house. When I moved into Beloved's house 30 miles away, that gym was no longer a reasonable option, and I never did find another Pilates class. But I missed it a lot (which is saying something because frankly, I really hate exercising).

But last night was really great, and very hard. It's about 85 degrees in there, and yoga is just as hard as it looks. Harder, actually. It's an introductory class, so there were a lot of us with puzzled looks on our faces trying to make our bodies do things they haven't done since we were in diapers.

Early on, the teacher talked about the importance of breathing well. I can't remember her words exactly, but a paraphrase would go something like this: "your body will be doing all kinds of difficult and strenuous things. You need to learn how to breathe calmly so that you can keep your focus and not be overwhelmed by the physical demands you will put on yourself. Breathing deeply will help you do this."

Now there's a good lesson for this particular week in my life. Breathe. Breathe deeply. Do not become overwhelmed by your circumstances. Breathe. Breathe again.

I am sore today in places I didn't even think had muscles of their own. But I am breathing. And will try to continue.

Update to Yesterday's Surprising Phone Call

I think you could describe my current state of mind as the perfect balance of thrilled and terrified.

So I went home last night to discuss with my beloved the idea of this new call. Let me be clear: Beloved has very, very little desire to leave our current location. He likes this city, and there are some very legitimate reasons for that. He has a good job with seniority. His family is here, especially his three nieces and nephew, whom he adores (I quite like them myself). He likes the climate. The family cabin is here. He has tons of friends here. The cost of living here is very reasonable. All of these are legitimate reasons to stay.

And, while he was definitely skeptical about the possibility of going elsewhere, he did not rule it out as entirely as I had feared. My greatest fear in this situation - or any future call possibility which might come my way - is that I will feel absolutely called to go, and he will refuse to leave, and I will then resent him. And I told him that last night, in the most honest but gentle way I could.

I know he understands, in theory, that I probably cannot spend my entire working life here. There are not many options for me. He, on the other hand, could probably work another ten years and then retire from his current job - though he'd have to work somewhere or it's Top Ramen for us. When we started dating, I was in the midst of discussions similar to this one, with another congregation in the same area. And he said he just couldn't go, couldn't leave then. And I felt more called to pursue a life with him than I did a life with that congregation, so I pulled the plug on that conversation and have never looked back.

But this is different. We had a good talk. He has a lot of questions. He is also the kind of person who does a lot of research and who needs a lot of information before making a decision (it took him two years to pick out a barbeque. Seriously. It's a wonder he married me as quickly as he did). So I think now is the time to let him think for himself for awhile.

But I did call the pastor back today, and got both some answers to Beloved's questions (the man didn't teach economics for nothing) and a very lovely word. To paraphrase the conversation:

Mystery Pastor: "If it's okay, I'd like to give you a little advice as you discern this."

Me: "That would be great. Sure."

MP: "I hear in your voice a little bit of, well, fear. And I tend to be that way when I make decisions myself, to focus on all the obstacles because I'm comfortable where I am, and if I can throw up a lot of obstacles and reasons NOT to go, then I can stay. But I encourage you, in the midst of figuring out the obstacles, also to do some dreaming and visioning about what could be. If you want to come here and it's the right thing for all of us, we will make it work. We will figure out all that other stuff."

That was a great word for me. He just kept saying that last bit in different versions: "we will figure it out. We will be creative. We want you, and we will figure it out."

I'm not used to that. It's obviously quite flattering, for one, but I think he might actually mean it. And that congregation is in a financial position to make the economic part happen, I believe.

So now I will go home to a little more conversation. And a whole lot of prayer. Thanks for yours. Keep em' coming - we'll need them. For the obstacles, but also for the dreams.

Huh. Didn't see that coming.

In the middle of the potluck today, I answered the phone (since the secretary is off today at her husband's surgery). And it was a pastor I have never met, calling from a large and growing congregation, to say that my name had been mentioned to him - twice - as a possibility for associate pastor.

Huh.

I've been trying to discern how to leave for awhile now, and I haven't been very good at it. Maybe because this is my first call, and though I've been here for eight years, it's still difficult to know when to go. I've asked the good Lord, from time to time, to be more direct, but the good Lord has largely not obliged me in this, which is understandable.

But at this call (which I moved upstairs, away from the parishioners, to field more appropriately), my heart did this little leaping thing that it hasn't done about church for awhile. This little skipped beat, like a spark. I wonder if that's something to pay attention to.

What made my heart leap even higher was how he finished this sentence: "this congregation is theologically..." and I was waiting for "conservative," because although I happen to know the city where this congregation is, I don't know anything about this church, and what I know about its location might lead toward - well, more red than blue, if you get my drift.

But - oh, miracle of miracles - he said, "...progressive." Which made me smile. And then he said, "in fact we are the only church in our area which is Reconciled in Christ," which, if you are Lutheran or know the lingo, means it is openly a welcoming place for gay and lesbian folk. Which really made me smile. Because trust me, that attitude ain't happenin' where I am in the foreseeable future.

So now I will need to go home and talk with my beloved about this. Which should be interesting (and I mean this in the way that Midwestern people use this word, like, "That tattooed, pierced boyfriend my daughter brought home sure is interesting"). My beloved is quite attached to our current geographical location. And I am too, to be honest. But my possibilities for new call around here are very limited. And he knows that too. It's not the best time to be thinking about moving from the perspective of his job. And I know that too.

See, good Lord? Here I am, still asking for something more direct than an actual phone call. I might be getting close to "too demanding," I think.

Huh. Some thinking and praying to do. If you read this and have time to pray for me and my beloved, I would appreciate it very much.

Friday Five: Seasons Change...

From Rev Gals...

It's Labor Day weekend here in the United States, also known as Summer's Last Hurrah. So let's say goodbye to summer and hello to the autumn.

1. Share a highlight from this summer. (If you please, don't just say "our vacation to the Canadian Rockies." Give us a little detail or image. Help us live vicariously through you!)
We had a fantastic time visiting my brother and sister-in-law in New York. To live vicariously, see my post below on that trip. Two highlights: one, seeing Avenue Q on Broadway - Funniest. Show. Ever. And two, spending time with my brother and his wife. I realized during the trip that this is the most time I have ever spent with him as an adult; after I left for college 16 years ago, when he was 12, our lives have been in different cities and the time we've spent together has been with other family around. It was so great to see his life and his marriage and how amazing he is as a grown-up.

2. Are you glad to see this summer end? Why or why not?
I'm always glad to see summer end, mostly because fall is my favorite season. I'm not really a hot-weather girl, though I have adapted to it over the the past eight years of living in a location with a real summer (as opposed to my childhood in Seattle, where summer is a pretty sporadic thing).

3. Name one or two things you're looking forward to this fall.
My two standards: cooking and sweaters. Honestly. I'm so sick of grilling things - I want to make soups and casseroles and roasts and breads and all those yummy oven-required recipes that make the kitchen way too freaking hot in the summer. And I have a sweater fetish (only slightly surpassed by my inordinate love for shoes and purses). I am sick of shorts and t-shirts. Time to move on.

4. Do you have any special preparations or activities to mark the transition from one season to another? (Cleaning of house, putting away summer clothes, one last trip to the beach)
In October, I switch some home-decorating things: wool pillow covers in the living room, different duvet covers in the bedrooms, leaves and candles and gourds replace flowers in vases. I put t-shirts away and bring out the sweaters. Buy mums and put them on the porch. Fall stuff.

5. I'll know that fall is really here when __________________________________.
I'm wearing a sweater and cooking spaghetti sauce and we turn the pilot light back on for the gas fireplace. Can hardly wait.

A Random Post About Advent

More Cows' thoughts about the ancient "Why can't we sing Christmas carols during Advent" dilemma - which must have started immediately after Paul stopped writing to the early church because frankly, it's a tug-of-war which feels about that old - got me thinking about the reasons why I am an unabashed Advent nazi. I am willing to bend pretty far on a lot of things, but this is not one of them. And, in an attempt to explain 'why' to my congregation, I wrote the following newsletter article a few years ago. It preceded one particular Advent when we didn't (insert horrified gasp here) put up the Christmas tree in the sanctuary until Christmas Eve.

This is not quite as random as you might otherwise think, given that the Worship Committee is starting to plan our Advent season in a few weeks. But I freely admit that it's a topic about which I have some passionate opinions, and I'll take just about any opportunity to spout them off. Thus, the following...

August 11. That’s the first day I noticed Christmas merchandise for sale. Every year it finds its way into stores just a little earlier, pouncing on you when you’ve turned the corner from the toiletries aisle or the pet food. Trees! Elves! Dancing Santas! Icicle lights and neon sleds! And by September, news broadcasts already start to anticipate whether retailers expect a good holiday season. By Christmas itself, the whole thing may start to feel like it’s been dragging on forever.

Make no mistake: Christmas is an economic reality. Christmas is big business in lots of places, and the church is not entirely an exception. Church budgets tend to run in certain patterns: lower giving during January and the summer months, higher giving during Lent, Easter, and Christmas. And yet we know that the truest Word about Christmas has nothing to do with money. How do we reconcile these two realities? How do we manage lives which pressure us to spend a lot, to earn a lot, to be successful, and yet live from a faith which tells us that we are called to be a light to the nations?

“Practice, practice, practice,” parents tell their children. Practice the piano, your spelling list, sports skills, vocabulary flashcards, math problems. Practice makes…if not perfect, at least improvement. Advent is our time to practice waiting. And waiting, for most of us, is a skill which requires some deep and thoughtful practice. The church year follows patterns of all kinds, including patterns of color: Advent submerges us in blues, purples, and pinks, colors which remind us of the night sky over Bethlehem, the richness of royal robes, the hint of sunrise. Advent is a season of waiting, of anticipation, of hope.

For children, the four weeks of Advent may feel like an eternity; when I was a child, time itself seemed to slow down during December, days stretching out like months before us, always leading to the Christmas celebration. But that kind of anticipation can make the celebration itself even more joyful. Our Advent worship needs to create a space, a time, music and word for us to practice that anticipation. We live, after all, in joyful expectation of Jesus’ return, and Advent gives us four weeks to rehearse our skills in patience.

Which brings us to the question you may well have during Advent at Trinity: where’s the tree? As part of our focus on waiting and anticipation, this year the worship committee has decided not to put a Christmas tree in the sanctuary until the Christmas celebration itself. If that seems a bit drastic, consider these words: “would you place a birthday cake on your dining room table weeks before your child’s birthday? Would you expect a new bride to walk around wearing her wedding dress three weeks before the wedding? Out of strong desires for our churches to feel like our homes, and out of convenience, we rob the season of Advent of its purpose when we place the very strong symbol of a Christmas tree in our worship space before the Christmas season begins.” These words come from a worship resource called Sundays and Seasons, used by many Lutheran churches, including our own. And, perhaps, it is right! Perhaps we are not good at waiting because we so seldom practice it. But in our rush to get to the celebration, we miss the joy of anticipating it.

So there will be no Christmas tree in our sanctuary (though there will be one in the narthex) until Christmas Eve. Perhaps this will feel strange, disconcerting, even a bit uncomfortable to you. It probably should. And when it feels odd, remember Mary, a teenage girl pregnant with God’s own Son, waiting for her child’s birth. Remember the words of John the Baptist, announcing Jesus’ ministry: “Prepare the way of the Lord!” Remember Simeon and Anna, two elderly servants of the Lord who had waited all their lives to see and touch the Messiah, and who held the baby Jesus in their arms. Remember those who waited, waited, waited, and us who still wait for Jesus’ return, trusting in God’s promise that one day, the whole world will be made new.

Practice your waiting. Practice, practice, practice. We are a people born of this waiting, and when we lose sight of the One for whom we wait, we lose our hope as well. Most of us will have Christmas trees in our homes sometime before Christmas Eve; there will be Christmas concerts and television specials and carols on the radio. But in the sanctuary, we will practice waiting. We will hear words about hope and expectation. We will sing “O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.” And we will pray:
In the mighty name of God,
In the saving name of Jesus,
In the strong name of the Spirit,
we come
we cry
we watch
we wait
we long
for you.

Back in the Saddle

Well, my vacation is over. We had a great time - lots of fun, lots of relaxation, a few house projects finished (yippee!) - and now it's time to be serious again.

I'm still in the vacation frame of mind, partly because my brain is still switching back over to the pacific time zone after seven days on the east coast, and partly because the glow of vacation is a bit like the afternoon of Christmas Day: you just have to sit and marvel for awhile that you have had this lovely experience, and you can't quite peel yourself off the couch. Not quite yet.

We started with some days at home, which I always appreciate. Time to read (a whole stack from the library in less than a week - oh, the joy). Time to relax with a cup of coffee and the newspaper in the morning. Time to attend worship without having to do anything but listen. Time to work in the backyard and help put a fence together and paint the porch railing, which I have been meaning to do since we moved in a year ago, and deadhead my roses, and eat ice cream sandwiches in the afternoon, and drink lemonade, and sleep in.

And then seven days in New York City, just about as far from home as we can get and still stay in the country. Where we did lots of kitchsy-touristy things: the Empire State Building (where I discovered my beloved's heretofore unknown mild fear of heights), Rockefeller Center, the United Nations, Ground Zero (since the last time I was in NYC I went to the top of those buildings), a Reuben sandwich at Katz's Deli (home of a scene in When Harry Met Sally), amazing soul food in Harlem (check out Amy Ruth's restaurant here).

And a Broadway show, which requires its own little paragraph. I've wanted to see Avenue Q for years, since I read about it one day in Newsweek. And if Sesame Street has ever been a part of your life, as it has been in mine, then this is the show for you. As they state repeatedly: it's not for kids. (Nor could any show be with songs like Everyone's a Little Bit Racist and It Sucks to be Me). One song in particular is begging for its own post, so I'll work on that for later. But oh - to laugh until you cry, that's good vacation.

It was good to get out of dodge, but after 10 days of "huh...I thought I packed more clean shirts. And where is my last pair of underwear?" living, we were also ready to get back home. Back to work for both of us; back to life.

Hopefully also, a small step for me back to vitality and energy and out of, well, not depression exactly, but certainly sluggishness. Ennui. A certain apathy. (Thesaurus, anyone?) After my last post about prayer, I have started to feel something growing again, some small buds of hope and reconnection to God. I am only a few steps along what I believe will be a long road. I need to make some commitments of my own, to prayer and scripture reading. But to be honest, I also need God to make some steps toward me - or, in more accurate theological language, to make God's already-closeness more known. I am hoping for that. I am ready for that. I might even be praying for it.

Vacation is good. Life is good. Time to work.

Numb, Again

Like clockwork. Again. Period arrives exactly on schedule, even perhaps one day early. For the...oh, wait, let me count...21st time. In a row. Not pregnant. Again.

Among the many feelings which arrive - also, like clockwork - is an increasing sense of numbness in my prayer life. (Funny enough, I just mistyped that last sentence 'prayer lie,' although it may have been more than a typo.) Prayer life or prayer lie? I can't really pray anymore. I don't know how to ask for something for the five thousandth time in a way that is meaningful to myself or, I suppose, to God. Does God not know how badly we want this child? Does God not hear me? Does God not care?

I preach about these things. I say all the right things when I do that, and there is no way for me to tell the truth about this particular prayer crisis in my preaching. It would only call attention to myself, and do no one - including me - any good. Not from the pulpit, anyway.

But here, I can tell you the truth. Yes, I know there are much bigger problems in the world. I know there are people dying of cancer and children starving and women being raped and unjust wars raging.

But I am angry and hurt and totally bewildered. I do believe in the existence of God, but I don't know how to reach God anymore. I am numb. I have tried to pray and I can't. Should I give up? How can you have a conversation with someone who doesn't listen, who appears not to care, who does nothing in the face of your heartbreak? Are you not there? Have you forgotten me? Us?

Sounds like a psalm, but that's not my point. What do you do when you can't pray anymore?

Can you spell p-r-o-c-r-a-s-t-i-n-a-t-i-o-n?

I can: INFJ.



There it is. Thanks to Mrs.M for the distraction.

This is the same result I got from taking Myers-Briggs pre-seminary...maybe the internet is more trustworthy than I thought.

Yes, I'm bitter. Got a problem with that? DO YA?

Everybody has a secret shame. Mine (or the one I'll admit here) is that I read People's website. Because it's a shame, in more ways than one, I'm not going to link to it here - I don't want anyone else to get hooked. Not that I'm hooked, exactly, but I do check it a few times a week. Or once a day. Sometimes twice. Whatever.

Which is how I found out that Nicole Richie - who weighs as much as I did in the fourth grade - is pregnant. Four months. With the child of some guy she's been dating since, oh, January. She's also facing jail time for a DUI charge.

Intellectually, I understand that people don't have children because they deserve them - that system, though it has its attractions, would only end up in a serious mess. How could someone who preaches grace be so cruel as to say that someone does not deserve her child?

But in what twisted world does Nicole Richie get pregnant when I - and thousands of other fertility-impaired women - can't?

You know, some days I have quite thoughtful responses to things. But today, at the end of a long day, in the midst of month 23 of trying to get pregnant, all I can muster up is this. Fuck it.

Over my Head

Every once in awhile, I feel the need to comment on a situation whose depth is far beyond my understanding. I have no idea if anyone will ever read this, nor does it particularly matter to me at the moment, since I am working this out for myself more than anyone else - but, over at RevGals, a storm has been brewing, and I've been thinking about what my response might be.

I don't really understand the facts of the whole situation, so this rumination is not as much a comment directly to that event as it has caused me to think about the larger issues at stake. (For a wonderful commentary from someone who is more knowledgeable, even though I don't completely agree with her, read this from More Cows.) To summarize how I understand it: a blogger was removed from the ring because content on her blog could cause problems, by association, for others on the ring. The primary issue at stake is the question of her polyamory - a committed relationship with more than one person. Bluntly, that is a way of life that I do not understand, and with which I have some problems (again, admitting that I don't really understand it). The presumption was that her inclusion in the blog could be problematic for those whose congregations know they are connected to RevGals. And it's that last part which seems to have caused the most controversy.

A few preliminary things: first, I found out about this the way you find out about things in high school, which is to hear rumors (in this case, through comments on a completely different post) and then to try and track down the truth. I find that irritating. I'm sure the ring and the blogger in question did not particularly want this issue publicized in the manner it was, though once you're in a public blog ring, it's pretty hard to keep the lid on. But I disliked the feeling I got from the whole thing: that the people who were really important knew about the controversy, and I was just standing on the sidelines trying to understand what the hell was going on. That's never pleasant. And my initial irritation was not the best entry into the discussion.

Second: as I have read a bit here and there, I do believe that the decision-makers in question did their best in a difficult situation. And the blogger in question has been tremendously gracious under impossible circumstances. But here's the question for me: where are the boundaries? This raises tremendously complicated problems. It seems to me no accident that even the earliest church struggled with questions of inclusion and exclusion, and certainly we haven't come all that far since, when you think about it.

I serve in a denomination - and a congregation, come to think of it - where ordination of gay and lesbian persons in committed relationships has not yet been approved. I pray that one day it will be - in fact, I trust and believe that one day, that will come to be. I believe my denomination and my congregation are wrong not to move forward. I have, honestly, not been particularly vocal about my opinion in my congregation (denominationally is a bit different). Am I protecting my job? Yes. Do I believe that I am doing some folks a disservice by not being more vocal? Yes. Do I know exactly how to deal with that? No. I do believe that I can preach and live the gospel without commenting directly on this question and still do my level best to help others live out the radical gospel - which, I pray, may lead them one day to the same conviction I have on this matter. I am sure that is not enough for some people, and I can understand why. But it is the uneasy truce with which I live.

So I have very little interest in exclusion from the church, or any organization representing the church, and RevGals could be called such an organization. On the other hand, there is some value in a community of people whose struggles and joys are quite unique - the value of finding one another, even in cyberspace, and knowing you are not alone. The shape of clergy life, and of life as a clergy woman, is not inherently more difficult than other ways of life. It is not better than, or more important than, any other calling. I detest the clergy attitude I hear too often: that this life is so much harder than anything else, that no one understands, that the congregation just doesn't get it. Maybe they don't - but, then again, I don't get what it is like to be a teacher, or a parent, or a real estate agent, or unemployed, or retired. So it's a basic human failure of empathy, not the triumph of clergy-dom as the career of martyrs. We ought to get over ourselves.

But one of the things I appreciate so much about RevGals, frankly, is its exclusionary nature - not that it seeks to exclude, but that it is, by definition, a blog ring for people connected to a certain sort of vocation. And that means that, by definition, we are excluding some people from participation. Again - not exclusion for its own sake, and not as a general practice, but so that it might be a safe and unique community for those who need support from one another.

I don't think, insofar as my fairly meager understanding of it would lead, that I can support polyamory as a way of life. But frankly, that's not the question for me. I have intentionally chosen to remain anonymous on this blog - and you can call me chicken for that, or you can appreciate that there are some things better left unsaid in congregations, and that my releasing of those things here makes me a better pastor in my context. So I have no risk here. No one will tar me with the brush of association - and that slippery slope is highly problematic to me. We are not going to agree on everything. Some of us in this ring would not be eligible for ordination in another blogger's denomination, and sadly, that's the truth.

But what we do have in common is a way of life that is hard to explain, and a need for collegial support. I appreciate that support. And I think it might (oh, fear and trembling here) require a bit of exclusion to be genuine. The problem, of course, is where that exclusion starts and ends. I have not yet figured that out for myself. So I will pray for those affected, including all those at RevGals, those who have left by choice or otherwise, and those who remain. May we learn to live together in honesty and in love - a balance nearly impossible to maintain.

For nothing will be impossible with God.

Page 357 and Counting

That's how far I have gotten in Harry Potter 7 - page 357. Much to my chagrin, as I was hoping to be done by now. And, until I finish (tonight! We hope!), I'm avoiding most online chatter - including blogs and non-mainline news organizations - in the fear of finding out the ending before I get there.

Oh, how I wanted to bring the book to work today, but I knew it would be too distracting, so I managed to leave it at home. To which I have been waiting to return since I got here at 9:00am...

Accio Friday Five!

I, like ReverendMother of RevGals, am a Harry Potter fan(atic) - saw Order of the Phoenix last night, as a matter of fact. So I'm delighted to accio my keyboard and produce my patronus...er, blog.

1. Which Harry Potter book is your favorite and why?
Oh, hard to pick - but I'd say six. I love the relationship between Dumbledore and Harry. (As an aside - I have to say that Richard Harris' death and the subsequent portrayals of Dumbledore by Michael Gambon are my only beef with movies three through five...I just miss Harris. He was perfect.)

2. Which character do you most resemble? Which character would you most like to get to know?
I'm Hermione, right down to the unruly curly hair and the oft-obnoxious school smarts. But I'd love to know Ginny - the whole Weasley crew, actually.

3. How careful are you about spoilers?
a) bring 'em on--even if I know the destination, the journey's still good
b) eh, I'd rather not know what happens, but I'm not going to commit Avada Kedavra if someone makes a slip
c) I will sequester myself in a geodesic dome to avoid finding anything out.
Definitely the last. I'm such a dork (see comment about Hermione above) that I seriously considered ordering my book shipped to the hotel out of town at which I will be attending a family wedding on July 21. I decided to stick with the house - but I will do my best to avoid any and all dropped hints between now and then.

4. Make one prediction/share one hope about book 7.
I hope Harry doesn't die. I also hope and suspect that Dumbledore is not dead...yet. I suspect the power of love given by Harry's parents will win out in the end, but somebody's going to die for sure. I'm guessing Ron. But then who will Hermione end up with?

5. Rowling has said she's not planning any prequels or sequels, but are there characters or storylines (past or future) that you would like to see pursued?
Nothing I hate more than an unnecessary sequel (see Gone With the Wind). It may not be the most Christian thing to say, but in this case - the end is the end. No more. I'll be happy to end it with book seven and call it a day.

She Laughed

I've been thinking about the fact that the bible has a lot of stories about barren women. Well, not a lot in comparison to how many Psalms there are or how many times Jesus talks about money, but a fair number - it seems to have been a common problem among God's chosen women. And I find this intriguing.

So I've also been thinking about writing a series of meditations on my own experience with infertility and the experiences of these biblical women. I'd like to take pieces of their stories and reflect with them - there could be a number of meditations for each woman. The first one, below, is called "She Laughed" (you can guess who the subject is, I'm sure). It's not complete - when I re-read it now, after writing it several months ago, it sounds more bitter than I had intended - but I'd appreciate feedback, or at least a potential audience. These are not intended for preaching, by the way, but more as written material to ponder with.

Here goes.

She Laughed

They said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And he said, “There, in the tent.” Then one said, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. – Genesis 18:9-10

I wonder what Sarah was thinking when she heard that. Who knows if the bible counts days and years the same way we do now – maybe Sarah wasn’t quite 90 when the angels showed up at their tent – but she was old, too old, and she knew that, and Abraham knew it too. And then she stands eavesdropping on the conversation between her husband and these three strangers, and hears the words she must have found completely, totally, utterly unbelievable.

In spite of the raging availability of angels nowadays – in ceramic, plasticine, or quilted form at least – I would have absolutely no idea what to do if three guys showed up at my door and one of them mentioned to my husband that I was going to have a son. This is part of the trick that infertility plays on your mind. Over and over again, like a terrible loop in your head, runs the phrase whispered as a chorus: I’m never going to have a baby. However old Sarah actually was, and however long she had waited to get pregnant, I’m sure it was a lot longer than I’ve been waiting at this point. I’m also quite sure that peeing on a stick, in bible times, was much less helpful than it is now for predicting ovulation and possible pregnancy. Though that whole striped-reeds thing worked well for Jacob…I might have to check that out.

But there’s also the divine-visitor aspect of it. I’m a bit jealous of Sarah over that one. Much better than an EPT. Gender prediction, even! I don’t anticipate angels arriving at my door with such an announcement. Doctors can be angelic, in the original sense: the idea of serving as messengers, as proclaimers of good news. But this is not the same thing.

I wonder how long it took before Sarah gave up hope. Was it after Ishmael? Was it even before that? Was it when her sisters had children, and her neighbors, and that girl down the street who got pregnant by accident? Did she cry herself to sleep at night? Did she rage against the totally unfair nature of it all? Because I feel sure that she had given up hope by the time the angels arrived. That’s why she laughed – because the idea was beyond ridiculous. If she had still been praying for a baby, still been secretly, even in the deepest part of her heart, hoping for one, she would not have laughed. She would have cried then, tears of relief and joy. You only laugh when a thing is so inconceivable as to be a joke.

Friday Five: Hasty Edition

From RevGals...

Whoops! I have been in a family-induced haze these few days, with the July 4 holiday and taking time off while relatives are visiting. So I literally lost track of what day it was!

So rather than make you guys wait even one minute longer for the five, I'll dig up an oldie:

Today, what are you:

1. Wearing
A new shirt! And some shorts (work-appropriate), because it's bloody hot here. 103 yesterday, which is on the very high end of the mercury for us. And cute shoes: my weakness.

2. Reading
As usual, more than one thing. I'm frantically trying to finish Harry Potter 5 before the movie comes out next Wednesday; then I'll have to start 6 in time to finish before 7 is released in a few weeks. But I'm also reading Three Cups of Tea, a fantastic and true story of a man who starts a school in Pakistan. The charity which supports that now network of schools is linked on my blog on the right - check out The Central Asia Institute. Amazing stuff.

3. Eating
Nothing, at the moment, though I am pondering what treats I might find in the church freezer. Hang on a second.

Oh, lovely. I found a square of lemon cake with white frosting. So now I'm eating that.

4. Doing
Blogging. But I should be working on the sermon.

5. Pondering
Also, as usual, more than one thing: what the sermon will be; how the installation of cabinets is going in our house and whether my husband will be satisfied with them (happily, he's home to supervise as he is a raging perfectionist); a beautiful poem I heard on Morning Edition today, from an Iraqi-American poet; what I'm going to wear to a wedding we are attending tomorrow, and whether it will cover last week's brutal sunburn (oops); and now, how many calories are in this square of cake.

*runs in to post something...at least a sermon*

I will repeat this to myself: "Life will slow down. Life will slow down." Or, more importantly, "I will slow my life down." And "I will blog more often."

In the spirit of that last one, I'm posting last Sunday's sermon. No time to write more at the moment, though I'm working on something about today's funeral.

Dear friends in Christ, grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

This Wednesday, of course, is the 4th of July. Like most Americans, you are likely to watch fireworks someplace and eat hamburgers, maybe go to the lake or to a parade, hoist the flag at your house and listen to somebody playing the 1812 Overture or the Star-Spangled Banner.

When I was a kid, my favorite part of the 4th of July was the sparklers. Have you tried those? They’re like tiny little fireworks that you hold in your hand, and you light them and they shoot off sparks, and if you wave them around in the dark you can see the patterns of light they leave behind them. I like the sparklers but I was also a little afraid of them – they fascinated me, but I was always worried that they would catch me on fire or burn my hand. They were irresistible and terrifying at the same time.

Which is fairly appropriate when it comes to thinking about the real point of July 4th. One preacher says, “we call it Independence Day but sometimes I wish we would call it Freedom Day, so we could spend a little more time wondering what that word means. What are we free from? What are we free for? How do I know I am really free? Is my sweet liberty strictly a political thing – my freedom to speak, my freedom to vote – or is it a larger concept?”* What does it really mean to be free?

Americans are famous for loving and promoting a few things: freedom is one of them, maybe the primary one, and family is another. Perhaps by sheer coincidence but perhaps not, our biblical readings today address exactly those topics and, as the bible usually does, it gives both a twist you might not expect. It’s a good week to be thinking about what it really means to be free – freed from something, and freed for something. It’s also a good week to think about family, given that holidays of any sort are often a time when we are around family whether we want to be or not.

What comes to your mind first when you hear the word freedom? Chances are, there are as many answers to that as there are people in this room. It may be a symbol, like the flag or the Statue of Liberty. It may be an action on your part, like voting or saying the pledge of allegiance or singing the national anthem. It may be a person or group – veterans or those serving in the armed forces right now. It may be an emotion or a feeling, something hard to put into words. What does it really mean to be free?

Some 1900 years ago, St. Paul wrote a letter to the Christians of Galatia, a region in modern-day Turkey. His letter survives as the biblical book of Galatians, from which we read this morning. As with any biblical book and especially Paul’s letters, we are not entirely sure what was happening in the community to prompt the correspondence, but from what we can tell, Paul was concerned that the Christians in Galatia were being told that they had to observe Jewish laws and rituals in order to be really Christian.

So it makes a fair amount of sense that, when Paul writes to them about their freedom in Christ, he says this: “For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” That’s exactly how we think of freedom most of the time: freedom from something; from slavery, from oppression, from dictatorships, from war, from being told what to do with life.

But, while Paul wants the Galatians to be freed from some things, he is more concerned about what they do afterward – what they will do once they realize that Christ has set them free. And so he makes a jump that sounds he’s going backward: “for you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters,” he writes, “but do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another.” Wait a minute, Paul. Are we free? Or are we slaves? Once you’re free, why would you go back to being anything else?

Martin Luther picked up on Paul’s paradox in Galatians in an essay he wrote called, “The Freedom of a Christian.” “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none,” he wrote, and, “A Christians is a perfectly dutiful slave to all, subject to all.”

Obviously, neither Paul nor Martin Luther were Americans – not by nationality and neither, it would seem, in spirit. We are proud of freedom. We throw that word around a lot, especially around the 4th of July. The question is whether we really know what we mean when we say it.

Most of our American use of ‘freedom’ comes from talking about what we are freed from. Freed from taxation without representation; freed from being told how to worship; freed from unjust or cruel imprisonment; freed from monarchy. It’s much trickier to decide what we are freed for.

Which brings us to Jesus’ rather odd words about family – another discussion familiar to Americans, and another time that the bible puts quite a different spin on the topic. The real problem at issue is the cost of discipleship; the expense of following Jesus and his way into life. One potential disciple says with great fervor to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go.” Jesus warns him that this path has its complications, but he indeed invites him to follow, right now: and the man says he has only one thing left to do. “First let me go and bury my father,” he says, and if Jesus were really about family values the way we normally talk about them, we would expect Jesus to say something like, “yes, that’s appropriate, honor your father by burying him well, and then come and follow me.” But instead, Jesus bluntly tells them all that there is no turning back, even to honor parents or bid farewell to family – “no one who puts a hand to the plow and turns back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

We have claimed for many years that the United States is a Christian nation, but although many of the founding families were Christian, making such a claim is much more complicated than we might think. What would it mean for us, as a nation, to say that freedom means becoming a slave to all? What would it mean for us, as a nation, to say that Jesus’ vision of family has very little to do with mom, dad, two kids and a dog, and almost everything to do with obedience in faith? This is a lot harder than flying a flag at the church or singing “God Bless America” at a baseball game. The bible asks us hard questions about freedom, and what it’s really for. And Jesus asks us hard questions about family, and what it really means. There are no easy answers here. Freedom and family are like the sparklers you hold in your hand: beautiful and dangerous, irresistible and terrifying. Scripture warns about both, perhaps because God knows how quick we all are to make idols out of almost anything we can find.

What it comes down to in the end is a question of who we really are. You are an American, this is true. Whatever ethnic background your family comes from, however many nations are represented in your family tree, I am assuming that at least most, if not all, people in this room are citizens of this country.

And you are part of at least one family, if not two or three. You are sister, brother, husband, wife, cousin, uncle, child, parent. You are all of those things and each of them has shaped your life, but none of them contains the whole of you. You are Christian. You are a child of God. That is your truest identity, and it takes precedent over all others – over nationality and ethnicity and even family itself. You will not grow out of it. You can try your best to leave it behind, but even if you are the one to walk away, God still will not abandon you.

The freedom we find in Christ allows us to keep all our other roles in perspective. The call to love Jesus above everything else is a hard thing, but once we are tied to him, we find a freedom nothing and no one else can give. It is an irresistible and terrifying demand, and we afraid it will burn us, but following it will light up everything else. For if loving Jesus means losing something along the way – or even losing everything, should it come to that, even including nation and family and everything in-between - we are not to fear, because "buried in Jesus’ demand is also his promise"*: that true freedom does not belong to any flag, that Christ’s family is more diverse and far-reaching than we could ever have imagined, and that binding ourselves to him and enslaving ourselves to one another, is the only real freedom we will ever find. Amen.

*Two quotations taken from Barbara Brown Taylor: the first from "The Cheap Cure," in Home by Another Way; and the second from "Learning to Hate Your Family," in Teaching Sermons on Suffering: God in Pain.

Friday Five: Books, Books, Books

From RevGals...

I've just returned from a meeting in Cambridge so I'm posting this late here in the UK (it is 3:45pm).. because I took the opportunity of a free afternoon in Cambridge's wonderful book shops... I only bought a few- and they were on sale- very restrained for me!!!


So with my head full of books I've seen and a long wish list in my mind, I bring you a Friday Five on books!!!


1. Fiction: what kind? Detective novels, historical stuff, thrillers, romance...
It's easier to identify what I don't read: science fiction, super-gory mysteries (Patricia Cornwell is too bloody for me), and romance. Other than that, I'll read anything with a good story. I love mysteries and, for some reason, I have a thing for books that take place in the UK.


2. When you get a really good book do you read it all in one chunk or savour it slowly?
Depends on how much time I have. Mysteries I tend to devour as quickly as I can; other books take a bit longer. During the school year, I read at night before bed, so it can take me awhile to finish something. In the summer, I have a bit more time and can read for longer stretches. Those public library summer book clubs had a real impact on me!


3. Is there a book you keep returning to and why?
Not so much a book as certain authors. They're like tuna noodle casserole; comforting, if not great cuisine. I always enjoy Rosamunde Pilcher and Maeve Binchy for light fiction. Every few years I re-read the whole Anne of Green Gables series, probably still my favorite of all time. (Along with Emily of New Moon, by the same author.) I also love to re-read the Bridget Jones' Diaries and Agatha Christie mysteries.
And yes, I'm reading Harry Potter again, in preparation for the final installment.


4. Apart from the Bible which non-fiction book has influenced you the most?
I'm not a big reader of non-fiction, honestly. But in college I was assigned a book called Number Our Days, about a Jewish retirement community, and it was fantastic. I believe it was also an Oscar-winning documentary, which I would love to see. Such an amazing story of growing old and the struggles which accompany that journey. I highly recommend it.


5. Describe a perfect place to read. ( could be anywhere!!!)
Exactly as the parentheses says: anywhere. Quiet. My current favorite place in the winter is our living room, with a fire going. In the summer, it's on the deck of the lake cabin (minus the inevitable jet skis).

And I'll throw in two bonuses (boni?) of my own - my two favorite quotes about books and reading.

I have always loved winter, because in winter you get to stay inside, and inside is where the books are. - Garrison Keillor.

The buying of more books than one can read is nothing less than the soul reaching toward infinity, and it is this passion alone which separates us from the beasts that perish. - A. E. Newton

On More Time Into the Fray

This week is Vacation Bible School EXTRAVAGANZA (a word I always believe requires capital letters) at our church. We've turned the sanctuary into a barn and we're singing, talking, and shouting that we need to "Listen Up!" to God the farmer.

I love Vacation Bible School. I love 100 elementary school kids filling the church building with songs and clapping and skits and snacks. I love that, in spite of all the technological changes in this world, we are still making crafts out of popsicle sticks. I love that these kids think VBS is the greatest thing ever and that they want us to do this every week. I love that they are loved by the volunteers and I believe they will remember that, even if they never remember any of the bible lessons.

This year we're also hosting our local church camp counselors, all of whom are here to lead our VBS as their way of practicing to go out this summer and lead day camps at churches all over the area. 60 college kids, so enthusiastic about life and ministry and kids and faith, with energy levels I can hardly believe. They are practicing, so they're not perfect - not all of them ought to play the guitar, it turns out - but what they might lack in some skills, they more than make up for in devotion.

Our local camp is one of the few co-owned by the ELCA and LCMS. If you are not Lutheran, those abbreviations probably mean nothing to you. If you are, you might know that this is something like divorced parents trying to share custody of a child. The ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) is the liberal one. The LCMS (Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod) is the conservative one. Those are both vast and not entirely accurate generalizations, but you get the drift.

I've been leading a few one-hour theology sessions for the counselors in the afternoon. Some of them are ELCA; some are LCMS. Some are not Lutheran, though all are Christian. And this year, like almost every year, the thorny issue of women's ordination has arisen. Again.

That's the most divisive issue between the ELCA and LCMS; it's why the LCMS didn't join other Lutheran bodies in forming the ELCA in 1988. Missouri Lutherans do not ordain women. In some very conservative congregations, women don't even vote. Some Missouri churches, of course, are so liberal that they probably don't care and would ordain women if they could, but for the most part, this issue is still a live one - even though we celebrated the 35th anniversary of women's ordination two years ago. That means that women have been ordained in the Lutheran church since before any of these counselors were born. Even before I was.

Part of me welcomes the opportunity to talk about this issue. I believe myself to be quite open and non-defensive, and I don't mind engaging difficult issues as long as I am not being attacked. I don't mind showing you my interpretation of Luther's writings on ordained ministry, or my reading of those few passages in scripture that have been used to forbid women from this work.

But another part of me - and this part is getting slightly larger each year that I get asked the question - is tired of defending my existence as an ordained clergy person. Part of me gets so discouraged that people are still arguing about this, because if they're doing that, how much longer will it take for us to bless and welcome the ordained ministry of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters?

I see so many gifted young women in this group and they ask eagerly about my sense of call, and I am delighted that they might sense that in themselves. It's not the most mature reaction, but I do get a bit pissed off when a few of their male colleagues question whether God could so call a woman. Have you not read the Magnificat? Do you not know Deborah and Lydia and Mary of Bethany? Do you remember who it was that Jesus first trusted to share the resurrection news?

Why do we think that restricting the ministry to a chosen few is a faithful interpretation of the scriptures? Or of Luther, for that matter, who sought to remind us that we are all called to be 'little Christs' in the world, and that no one ministry is more important than any other?

My goodness. I might need a nap. But those elementary school kids make it worthwhile. A few years ago, a mother of one of our 2nd graders told me that she and her son had been to visit a friend's church on Sunday. After worship, her son whispered to her, "Hey mom - I didn't know that boys could be pastors."

The Lord who sits in heaven laughs...

Insert Sigh of Relief Here...

You know the Bible 100%!

 

Wow! You are awesome! You are a true Biblical scholar, not just a hearer but a personal reader! The books, the characters, the events, the verses - you know it all! You are fantastic!

Ultimate Bible Quiz
Create MySpace Quizzes

Always glad to be considered a true bible scholar. Even by a total stranger on the internet.

However, although I know you are dead impressed with my vast biblical knowledge, you must also consider that the answers to "In Jesus' parable, who stopped to help a man in need?" were, "a.)Donald Trump; b.) Donald Duck; c.) Don Knotts; d.)A Samaritan." So I wouldn't run out and buy up my commentaries quite yet.

Actually Thinking About the Sermon Before Friday Afternoon...

We're in the middle of the church-induced craziness known as Vacation Bible School this week, so there isn't a lot of extra time to think, but a colleague and I were visiting about the Sunday texts this morning and I've actually had some coherent sermon thoughts. And it's only Tuesday!

Everybody loves the story of David and Bathsheba. It has all the things you want from good reading (not to mention a soap opera) - intrigue, betrayal, sex, power, and the twist at the end. It's fun to preach on, because you can play around with the whole idea of "biblical family values." This is a phrase which, when used, causes me to think that the speaker has never actually read the bible. Most biblical families are effed up. (That line won't preach; don't worry, I won't try.)

And the way Nathan stings David! Great stuff. Speaking truth to power - don't we all wish we could do the same, at one point or another?

Then this great story is paired with the is-she-or-isn't-she-Mary-Magdalene passage in Luke (I'll tip my hand; she's not) about sin and forgiveness. Which, in it's own right, has overtones of sensuality, if not strictly sexuality, and certainly of sin.

So you could definitely focus on human sexuality if you're reading these two stories. Heaven knows that my own denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, has been completely entranced by such discussions for the last ten years.

Except that it occurs to me that the vast majority of the "gotcha!" stories about morality in both Old and New Testaments are not about sex: they're about money. And heaven also knows that most of us would rather talk about sex than money any day, especially from the pulpit.

I think Jim Wallis once wrote that he cut out of his bible all the passages where Jesus talks about money, and he hardly had anything left. If you tried that exercise with all the passages where Jesus talks about sex, you'd still have tons of decent reading material. What does that tell us? How we treat each other as human beings is certainly important, and sex is part of that. But nothing gets people's ire up as much as someone having an affair. Would we have been half so interested in Bill Clinton's sin if it had been revealed that he didn't tithe? Would Ken Starr have been able to spend forty million dollars dragging that out into the courts?

And what does it say about us that the very prospect of that last suggestion is completely, utterly ridiculous?

These stories are a little bit about sex. But they are mostly about power. And the way Jesus addressed those in power most often was not to talk about their sex lives; it was to talk about whether they were loving the widow and the orphan with their checkbooks.

This could either be the greatest sermon ever, or it could get me fired. Or possibly both, which seems exactly the point.

Friday Five: Getaway Island Edition

From RevGals...

We snitched a bit of time on an quiet island nearby this week. It was a last minute plan, escaping with a minimal amount of preparation. One must have essentials that make it a relaxing time. Perhaps you have had this opportunity to escape, or maybe it's only been a thought to get away. However, suppose you were told to pack some essentials for a trip to get away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

Describe your location, in general or specific terms and....

1) What book(s) will you bring?
Right now, I'm reading (as usual) several books: summer mind candy (Whitethorn Woods by Maeve Binchy); a more serious novel (The Good German); and, also as usual, at least one church-related book (The Practicing Congregation, by Diana Butler Bass). For island reading, I'd probably add another novel and leave the church book at home.

2) What music accompanies you?
I'll take my ipod full o' stuff (I guess that's an answer to the fourth question) - but my favorite vacation music is usually in the soundtrack genre. I love good soundtracks since you can get a variety of music in one album. Some favorites, both old and new: Grey's Anatomy, seasons 1 & 2; SIiding Doors; The Truth About Cats & Dogs; In Good Company. And, as long as I have the ipod, I can also listen to my very favorite podcasts: "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me," and "This American Life."

3) What essentials of everyday living must you take (as in the health and beauty aids aisle variety)?
I definitely require sunscreen. My ethnic background sun-formula goes like this: British paternal side + Swedish maternal side = girl who burns in 5 minutes.
I'd also need to bring coffee. Frankly, my very naturally curly hair would do its own thing anyway, so other beauty aids are unnecessary.

4) What technological gadgets if any, will you take with you or do you leave it all behind?
See #2 - I'm takin' the ipod. Everything else can stay at home. Especially the alarm clock.

5) What culinary delights will you partake in while there?
I love guava juice. And pineapple. (Obviously I'm going for 'tropical island' here.) And good fish: mahi mahi or tuna, maybe. But hey - anything I don't have to cook always tastes just fine!

As a bonus question, what makes for a perfect day on vacation for you?
I get up, get a cup of coffee, find my book, and sit on the couch to read. Twelve hours later, I go back to bed. That's about it.
I might knit, eat lunch and dinner, and do a few other things. But truthfully, I could read all day.

Friday Five: Hopes, Visions and Dreams

From Sally at Rev Gals...
My house has been full of young people all week, young people who have just left school, young people with an eye on the future. Their laughter energy, and hope are infectious, so with that in mind- this Friday 5 is about hopes, visions and dreams...

1. Think back to the time you left High School, what were your hopes visions and dreams for your life/for the world?
For my life? I really don't remember, except that I was delighted to get out of high school and head to college. High school was not my favorite time of life. Funny, I was just thinking about that this morning before I saw the Friday Five: our niece is particularly unhappy in high school at the moment, and I remember so well some of that heartache and confusion.

2. Have those hopes visions and dreams changed a lot, or are some of them still alive and kicking? (share one if you can)
Well, I did in fact go to college, and it was every bit as great as I hoped it would be. One of my 'dreams,' if you could call it that, in high school, was to make a lot of money and come to my 10th reunion happy, wealthy, and totally unlike my high school self - and rub it in to all those people who made high school less than fun. But I got over that a long time ago, thankfully, and I'm quite embarrassed that I ever had such a desire. I'm glad that one changed.

3. Hebrews 11:1 " Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. " Comforting, challenging or frustrating?
Oh, all three. The comfort is knowing, trusting, that there is more than we can see, both personally and in the life of the world. The challenging bit is waiting patiently for it, or working diligently for it, depending on the circumstance. And boy, is it frustrating when you spend so much time waiting for something that seems to have absolutely no discernible reason for delay. (Can you hear the question in-between these lines? "Why I am not pregnant yet???")

4. If resources were unlimited, and you had free reign to pursue a vision what would it be?
Here's the thing about that question: I don't really find it very helpful. (No offense, Sally.) In one way, God promises that resources are unlimited; we just have to find a way to distribute them more equitably. But on the other hand, keeping a huge vision on hold just because you don't have enough resources may be a reality - and simultaneously betrays the whole nature of dreams and visions. So I'd rather think about what visions I have for the life and resources I have right now.

5. Finally with summer upon us- and not to make this too heavy- share your dream holiday....where, when and who with...
Okay, now I'm going to completely contradict my whole earlier statement about thinking beyond your resources! Coming out of a long and grey winter, I'd pick someplace completely tropical - a secluded island, the kind with that perfect white sand and sky blue ocean that you see in magazines. I'll take my husband, and maybe a few other friends. And we will lay around, read books, eat great food, drink good wine, and sleep in.

Friday Five: Hard Habit to Break

From Rev Gals...

As many of you know, I have been experimenting with some severely curtailed Internet usage. I realized that I had gotten into some bad habits, which got me thinking about habits in general. I understand that a habits/random facts meme has already been going around. In the hopes that it hasn't hit too many of us yet, be as lighthearted or as serious as you'd like with the following:

1. Have you ever successfully quit a bad habit, or gotten a good habit established? Tell us about how you did it.
This year I quit visiting a certain website for Lent. This is not a bad site - in fact, it's a message board for newly married women, and the particular page I am, okay, obsessed with, is the page for women having trouble conceiving. I find a lot of support there, which is good. But I can also spend WAY too much time there, which is bad. Giving it up for Lent worked remarkably well. I have gone back since Easter, and I need to give it up again - at least at work. I usually break bad habits by giving myself a specific time in which I can indulge: for example, I have a latte every Tuesday morning on my way to work. Because I know I can have one on Tuesday, I don't crave one the rest of the week. Putting something entirely off-limits generally doesn't work for me - it just makes the forbidden even more attractive. I go for moderation. So I think I'll repeat the Lenten pattern with my problem website: visit only at home.

2. "If only there were a 12-step program for _________________!"
Being superstitious. Seriously. I have a problem with this.

3. Share one of your healthy "obsessions" with us.
I have become a knitting freak. I love it. I have no shame about it.

4. Share the habit of a spouse, friend or loved one that drives you C-R-A-Z-Y.
I love my husband, but he does this thing to clear his throat - this kind of HRAKK sound - that drives me insane. And then he spits this crap in the sink, which bugs me even more. I realize this is a stupid and petty peeve, but there you have it.

5. "I'd love to get into the habit of ___________________."
Walking every day. I've been working on it, but I think I might be fundamentally lazy when it comes to physical activity.

Bonus: What is one small action you might take immediately to make #5 a reality?
I really am working on it: I've been wearing a pedometer since May 1 and it keeps me cognizant of days when I sit still for too long. But I think this is going to be a long-term thing.

Still Here...

So I haven't written in a few weeks, because May has turned into a month of insanity. To top it off, today marks the fourth funeral in ten days for our congregation (and yes, I feel petty complaining about doing funerals since, after all, I'm not the one in the coffin - but four funerals is hard work).

The fourth reception is going on as I type. Just time for my random observation of this morning.

Is it odd for a formally dressed pastor, in suit and clergy collar, to drive down the road with a latte, singing "Are You Going to Go My Way" with Lenny Kravitz, on her way to a funeral?

Yes. But that was me this morning. And from the looks I got on the freeway (I only do this sort of thing on the freeway - it's not like I sing along in the funeral procession itself), other people think it's odd too.

But sometimes you just need to blow off a little steam. Hopefully I'll have time for more blogging after this week is over.

Friday Five: Potato, Po-tah-to Edition

From Rev Gals...

There are two types of people in the world, morning people and night owls. Or Red Sox fans and Yankees fans. Or boxers and briefs. Or people who divide the world into two types of people and those who don't. Let your preferences be known here. And if you're feeling verbose, defend your choices!


1. Mac? (woo-hoo!) or PC? (boo!)
Why yes, the Friday Five author reserves the right to editorialize!
I used to be a PC person. But then I married a Mac person, and he converted me to the Steve Jobs cult. And I'm stuck with a PC laptop that I insisted on buying when we were first dating and I didn't trust him yet...woe is me!

2. Pizza: Chicago style luscious hearty goodness, or New York floppy and flaccid?
Definitely Chicago: the crust is the best part of pizza.

3. Brownies/fudge containing nuts:
a) Good. I like the variation in texture.
b) An abomination unto the Lord. The nuts take up valuable chocolate space.

"If with Christ you died to the elemental spirits of the universe, why do you live as if nuts belonged in brownies?" (A slightly less known translation of Colossians 3:20.) No nuts. Only chocolate.

4. Do you hang your toilet paper so that the "tail" hangs flush with the wall, or over the top of the roll like normal people do?
Over the top. This is a very judgmental list, but I'm okay with that, since I agree with all the judgments.

5. Toothpaste: Do you squeeze the tube wantonly in the middle, or squeeze from the bottom and flatten as you go just like the tube instructs?

I happily disregard the directions to "squeeze from the bottom," at least until I get to the very last bit of toothpaste in the tube. Everybody needs a little chaos in their lives.

For a bonus, I'll add these dichotomies:
...black coffee, never with cream and sugar.
...dark chocolate, not milk (with a few exceptions)
...red wine, not white (except with salmon in the summer)
...CNN, never Fox news (though NPR is best of all)

Hang On

Today I have a dentist appointment, which reminds me of my childhood dentist experiences. (I actually like going to the dentist, by the way.)

But germane to this particular post is that my childhood dentist always had posters on the ceiling, so you had something to look at while your mouth was wide open and being worked on by people in white coats. One poster, I remember, was the classic "cute kitten holding on to edge of some surface by claws," with the caption, "Hang On, Baby."

That's this week: preach last Sunday morning, tear out of church to make it to the airport for a flight to L.A. for conference, return today to plan frantically for this Sunday's sermon and the youth service, happily discover that we have canceled the scheduled lock-in for Friday night since I have two funerals on Saturday, and then weddings the next Saturdays of May...

It's one of those months. So posts may be few and far between. I'm hanging on, baby.

Duck, Duck, Goose

(Disclaimer: it turns out that my midwestern friends, from seminary, all played "Duck, Duck, Grey Duck" in childhood. "Goose" is apparently a west coast thing. So you can substitute your choice of water fowl at will.)

We used to play this game as children. You sat nervously in a circle, waiting for the tagger to touch your head, waiting expectantly to see who would be the "goose" and have to chase around the circle, trying to be the first to sit in the empty spot. I never wanted to be the goose, because a.) I don't really like to run, and b.) as a child, I preferred to be in the background most of the time. Shy Lutheran kid, I guess. "Don't pick me, don't pick me," would run through my head as the tagger approached. She touched my head..."not me not me not me not me"...and moved on to the next kid in the circle. "GOOSE!" Away they ran. I was relieved.

You think this game ends with childhood, but it's been back with a vengeance lately. Whose body is more likely the culprit for our non-pregnancy? Post-coital test, duck. Acupuncture, duck. Pre-natal vitamins, duck. Try not to stress, try to relax, duck. But the hand is approaching, someone coming near. Someone is getting tagged this time. Semen analysis. GOOSE.

So the hand seems to have passed me by. But I am not relieved this time. I can understand why infertility tends to create such problems for couples; when you're frustrated that something you "should" be able to do naturally - something other people seem to do with little time, lots of tequila, or total carelessness - doesn't happen, it's easy to place blame. And the first person I blamed was myself.

I don't know why, really. Statistics say that about 40% of fertility problems are female, about 40% are male, and the rest are either a combination of both, or a total mystery. It was easier to blame myself, I suppose, because I could try to do something about it. I could take vitamins, try to relax, take my basal body temperature, stop using the hot tub, pray like Hannah, stop drinking wine (okay, that lasted about three months), try acupuncture, go to the doctor. It seemed like it should be me, since my body was the one not getting pregnant. But it turns out that I might be the duck.

And my beloved may be the goose. Which comes as absolutely no relief. One bad number in the whole lot does not hopelessness make, but it sure feels that way. Apparently there's quite a ton of the little buggers, and they swim like champs, but not enough of them are the right shape. Come on, people! Aren't we supposed to be all about diversity these days? God doesn't care what shape, size, or color you are - why should your eggs? But eggs persist in being quite choosy, it would seem. Damn.

Deep down, there is a bit of relief that I'm the duck. Not because I can blame him, but because it means that there's still hope. And it turns out that the only way I can envision carrying a child, at this point, is if it were my husband's. I completely understand why women choose donor sperm, and it might be that we will get to that point, but for now, even the distant possibility that there might not ever be a baby with his piercing blue eyes and stubbornness and kindness and cowlick is too much to bear.

Any doubt you ever had about your marriage rears its ugly head when things like this happen. I've never had any serious doubts, but still - who hasn't, in the midst of a crummy day, wondered if there could have been someone else? If you had married that ex-boyfriend, met someone different...would there be a baby now? Believe me, this is not a train of thought I'm eager to get on, but denying that it exists would be a falsehood. I love my husband. I don't want to be married to anyone else. And yet, even I wonder.

So now we head to a different set of doctors than the ones I thought we'd be seeing. Probably less testing for me and more for him - and maybe we'll send him to the acupuncturist for awhile.

It all makes me want to say...well, for the purposes of this post, we'll go with "Mother Ducker." Seems appropriate.

What's On YOUR Desk?

I found this in another blog and thought it was a simultaneously fun and depressing exercise. Fun: the variety of things on my desk reflect the variety in ministry. Depressing: the permanently chaotic state of my desk.

I have a very large desk. So, to keep this from being too long (and warning - it's going to be long enough anyway), I'll stick with what's on the main section...

A pile of papers, on top of which is last night's Pentecost Quiz for confirmation; another pile, which has a Prepare/Enrich inventory on the top; my LBW; a digital camera with which I am supposed to be taking pictures, right now; Free of Charge by Miroslav Volf, just recommended to me; Grace (Eventually) by Anne Lamott, open to page 135.

Yet another pile of papers with an article called "Ethical Decisions About War" on top; a box of sketches from an artist we are commissioning to do a painting in our entryway; a fax; my lunchbox; my confirmation bible; a clipboard with the sign ups to help provide new hymnals for the sanctuary; scissors, a ruler, and a pencil which I was using to do a little craft project for the Relay for Life sign-up; the omnipresent coffee mug; a lovely picture of the church given to me by a parishioner.

I vacillate between reveling in the chaos of my desk and really, really wanting to clean it. But the cleaning isn't happening today, that's for sure.

I Do, I Don't

I swore, upon entering the ordained ministry, that I would NEVER become one of those cynical pastors who said, "I'd much rather do a funeral than a wedding."

It took about six months to change my mind. As one colleague says, "at least at a funeral the guest of honor never argues with you." Have I introduced myself? I'm Pastor Cynical.

Truthfully, a good wedding can be wonderful. Working with a reasonably healthy couple who want a marriage, not just a wedding, is a lot of fun. I've presided at a few weddings that were fantastic, and not necessarily in the Martha Stewart way - some of the most memorable involved very little from the "wedding industrial complex," as one friend puts it. Those weddings are great.

But for every one of those there are a few less-than-healthy couples, with dysfunctional families, where people argue about the processional music and the mother of the bride asks me, in clipped tones, to make sure I sweep the sidewalk clear of grass bits before the ceremony tomorrow. I am not making this up.

Or brides whose cleavage distracts even me, or groomsmen who keep ducking out of the building for a smoke, a friend designated to push the "start" button on the CD player who says, "Is this going to be over quick? Because I've got to tap the keg," or mothers of the groom who insist that their child doesn't need premarital counseling. I am not making any of these up.

And those can be kind of funny - it's more difficult when the couple has tremendous issues, and I feel like they maybe shouldn't be doing this, but...

A couple was in my office this afternoon. She comes from a previous, abusive marriage. She has two sons, and they have a daughter together. He is pretty damn controlling and doesn't understand why his yelling scares her. She doesn't really want much structure for the kids and he thinks they should straighten up. His dad was a loud alcoholic, but he doesn't think that really affects him at all. Her parents split years ago and she's never had a healthy relationship in her life. I have never seen a couple score lower on the Prepare-Enrich Inventory.

Marriage seems like a really good idea here.

Over the past eight years, I've done three weddings about which I had serious, serious concerns. This one will make four. Out of fifty-some weddings, that's not a high number, but one of those is too many. I pray for these couples. They need serious counseling, and all I can do is give them the name and phone number of a decent therapist (which, believe me, I have done with the current couple).

It's not a good feeling. I hope and pray they will be okay, and maybe they will be. I hope and pray that he will not beat the life out of her, that she will find her own voice, that their kids will not grow up and repeat all these crappy patterns.

Today I know exactly what Anne Lamott was talking about:
I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish. It drove me to my knees. I prayed about it...I prayed for a miracle. I wrote her name down on a slip of paper, folded it up, and put it in the box that I use as God's In box. "Help," I said to God. (from Traveling Mercies)

Help, I said to God.