family – Page 6 – Salvaged Faith

Batteries

Posted on January 1, 20132 Comments

I hopped in my car last night to go get some chinese food for our quiet little new year’s eve. We had movies and the first season of Spartacus to keep us company until the ball dropped and it was a new year.

I turned the key in the ignition….

Nothing.

No little sputters.

No noises.

Just my car radio reading “ERR” and then flickering off.

My battery was dead. Past dead. Kaput.

Which… in all actuality… was kind of good news.

It meant that when I said I wasn’t going to work over the holiday break, that I kept my promise.

It meant that my car had not been driven for 5 days.

I wasn’t driving all across the state. I wasn’t in meetings. I wasn’t commuting to Des Moines for a day in my cubical.

Instead, that dead battery means days full of time with my husband and family, days when we were home instead of out and about in the crazy rush of the season. Nights of carpooling with my brother-in-law to dinner with the rest of the family. I was baking and playing Guild Wars 2 and singing Christmas carols very loudly.

Now, I should have probably gone and started my car a few times. We have a bit of a headache on our hands today, because it is not taking a charge and needs to be replaced. But I’m going to look at the bright side.

I was home, recharging my batteries while my car’s was draining.

Christmas, The Grinch, and a Heart

Posted on December 23, 2012Leave a comment

My step-mother-in-law, Sue, is a nurse. Not a floor nurse, but someone who works with cardiac cases to determine and support best practices for the hospital… if I’m explaining that right.

In any case, she noticed when her husband was starting to get pale while working out. She pushed him to get a stress test. And her colleagues saw that the test was abnormal and scheduled the heart cath on Thursday morning that led to an urgent need for open heart surgery.

Bill hasn’t had any symptoms of heart disease that he (and we) weren’t explaining away. He didn’t have a heart attack or even a severe episode of anything that would have pushed him to get the tests done. As I talked with him on Friday, he was fully aware that either of the two 90% blockages could have closed at anytime and he would have been gone.

Today, he is on the other side of a triple bypass, he is doing excellent, and everything went as good as expected.

It is weird to be on the family side of a hospital visit when I have been there so many times as a pastor and as a chaplain in Clinical Pastoral Education. I know the right things to say, but also the things not to say… the times to just keep my mouth shut. I’m okay with simply being there, not saying anything, and know that presence is a gift.

And yet, I also have a very different relationship with these guys. We share meals. We exchange gifts. We boat on the weekends in the summer and play cards and laugh and drink together and make inappropriate jokes. I’m rarely wearing my “pastor hat” with the family… I can be myself. Figuring out how to be in a familiar place with very familiar people and in a very different role was hard. I brought along a deck of cards, stuffed some snacks in my bag, and prepared to settle in and “be present” for the long haul. It was easy before surgery while we waited. Bill kicked my butt in cribbage and I made sure Sue got some decent food and I felt like I could wear both my daughter-in-law hat and pastor hat at the same time.

But last night in the ICU, with my husband and brother-in-law, we were all in a different place. It is hard seeing someone you love in pain… even if we knew it was healing pain. We started trying to crack the jokes and little playful verbal jabs we are used to and Bill tried to send them back in return… but it quickly stopped. It wasn’t that we felt awkward – it was that the laughing brought pain, so the very thing we knew how to do, the way that we as kids (and daughter-in-law) knew how to relate, was physically painful. So we stood there, by the bed, talking quietly, listening to Bill’s gruff voice (from the breathing tube), and simply being present…

A week or two ago, I shared in worship at the Conference Center and our preacher reminded us the story of the Grinch who stole Christmas. The grinch’s heart was two times to small. And he didn’t want Christmas to happen at all. Everything he could think of, he did, to ruin that day. But what the grinch didn’t realize is that it’s not the glitter and presents and food that makes Christmas what it is – it is simply the spirit of the people.

In many ways, this is a really awful time of year for this to have happened. One family member joked in response “does this mean Bill’s not bringing the turkey for our Christmas Day meal?” My neice thinks it is just so sad that “Bumpa” will be in the hospital on Christmas Day. And even at the hospital, you can see how the surgeries slow down and the beds empty because people do not way to be away from their families if they don’t have to for Christmas. And it kind of feels like the Grinch stole Christmas.

But on the other hand, we can only be grateful. Grateful he has good care. Grateful they caught it in time. Grateful that we can still spend time with one another and especially with him.

Instead of stressing about who is bringing what to the table and if we got enough gifts or the right gifts, Christmas will be different for all of us this year. The priorities change. We are growing as people and in relationship to one another. And maybe like the Grinch, all of our hearts will be bigger and better this year.

Especially Bill’s.

Thank God.

Life on the Road

Posted on November 27, 2012Leave a comment

When I accepted the position as a coordinator of Imagine No Malaria, someone asked what it was like to no longer be serving a church. My response back was that I’m not serving one church… I’m serving nearly 800 of them!

It is exciting to be working with so many new people and communities of faith. I am learning a lot about how different churches operate and what they expect of the conference… both as far as what they can give and what they receive. I am finding creative new possibilities, folks who are eager to serve and who have profoud stories to share. I hear those familiar, tired, overworked and burnt out voices, too… the ones who are hungry for a new injection of life and/or for fresh blood to come in and lend a hand. I’m witnessing the church with all of its glory and warts. It is beautiful.

But I am also spending a lot of time on Interstates 80 and 35 and Hwy 20. My butt is carving out a dent in the driver’s seat of my car. My trunk is full of flyers and training materials and my backseat is littered with McDonald’s bags. (I really need to work on finding more out of the way, hometown, local places to eat). In three days, I’ll be in five different cities doing the work of Imagine No Malaria. It is exciting, but as I type up this post, I’m sitting in a hotel room far from home. I found myself last week fully expecting to see my cat sitting on the edge of the bed, only to remember I was all by myself.

The trainings I have been leading have been good. I’m learning a lot even as we are building some connections and support in each district. The more we do, the more I realize how far we have to go. There is a lot of road left in front of us!

Best Buy Lines or the best buy you could ever make… #GivingTuesday

Posted on November 26, 2012Leave a comment

My family has often splurged on Black Friday. I remember vividly one Black Friday back in 2000 when my brothers, boyfriend and mom all got up super early and stood in line in the cold at Best Buy. Brandon and I were both building new computers and there was a large hard drive (probably only 40 GB back then) for sale for an amazing price. My brothers thought they could get one also to save for when they headed off to college. We weren’t at the front of the line, but we were there crazy early. We were huddled with layers of clothing and had a thermos of hot cocoa we kept passing around. It was fun and exciting and the best part was that we actually were spending time together as a family.

The doors opened at 6am and we rushed in to the store. Of course, there were no directions or maps, just a general sense of where things might be in the store. We headed to the computer accessories aisles and scoured the shelves for what we wanted. It was no where to be seen. But we were young and smart and had way too much caffeine for that early in the morning. One of us spotted on the super high top shelf a small little stockpile of these coveted hard drives. We called an associate over and he had to drag out one of those step ladder things. And then one by one, he started handing them down.

We made quite a commotion and so others came by to see what we had found. Soon a crowd had formed, but I was right there at the front. With people pressing in, the sales guy handed me one, and I would quickly pass it behind me to a waiting sibling. I’d grab another and pass them back. One by one, we each got the hard drives we had so coveted.

Ten years ago, a forty gig drive was stupendous. Today, my husband is investing in terabyte drives for his work computer. What we thought was so amazing is not worth anything today. We spent all of that money, probably loaded the drive with songs downloaded from Napster, and have nothing to show for it today.

On Thursday night, we started going through what has become a routine. The newspaper was purchased and the ads were laid out on the dining room table. I saw lots of things I wanted, but I realized nothing that I really needed. There was nothing there I could live without. There was nothing that I needed to spend my money on.

As parents and siblings have begun requesting Christmas lists, I have nothing to put on them.

In my new position with Imagine No Malaria, I have spent a lot of time listening to stories. Stories of people who have experienced malaria personally and stories of families who have sacrificed everything to try to save the life of a loved one.

Last week, Paul Wilcox shared with me this story:

12 years ago I visited El Salvador, a small country nestled away in the heart of Central America. I met there a young woman, named Carmen. She had lost 3 of her 4 children to phosphorescent bombs during El Salvador’s brutal civil war. Her remaining child survived only because Carmen carried him in her arms as she ran. She showed me the burns on her arms from that terrible night. Despite her heart-breaking loss, Carmen was a strong and resilient woman who was quick to smile and loved to dance! Her only son was the delight and joy of her life. Several days later my group returned to Carmen’s village and I was shocked to find Carmen sitting outside her hut, looking completely spent. She was sweating and weak and literally waiting to die! “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “Paradismo” she answered—the Spanish word for malaria. Carmen was fully expecting to die. She had already “given” her son to her sister to raise. I asked her if she had been to a doctor. At that, she pulled from her pocket a doctor’s prescriptions for quinine. She was preparing to die because she lacked the $20 to fill the prescription. It took exactly 30 seconds to raise that much money from our group to save Carmen’s life, but how many others like Carmen; strong, resilient, and ready to rebuild their families and their communities, are reduced to shadows of themselves, weak and dying by this thief called malaria. When I returned home from this place where $20 can mean the difference between life and death, I realized to my shame that I spend that much on coffee in a week. It underscores for me what incredible power even a small gift can have in a world haunted by malaria.

K8792 — Damiba Dorcas, 3, smiles at her mother, Djelita Noali, as she emerges from beneath the new insecticide-treated mosquito net at her home in Samo, Cote d’Ivoire. A UMNS photo by Mike DuBose.

I have a roof over my head. I have family that loves me. I stuffed by belly with turkey and ham and stuffing and potatoes this week. There is nothing in this world that I need. But there are people out there who are in such need. With such a little bit of money, I can help to provide life and opportunity and health and joy to not only a child, but all of the people whom that child will one day impact as they grow and thrive and learn and share their life with others.

As I looked through those ads, I started to circle things and think about what I wanted to buy… but my heart wasn’t quite in it. Tradition was all that really kept me looking. But you know what, my hard drive has long since been recycled. And I was already spending time with my family. If instead of buying more stuff I don’t need, I give today to make a difference in the life of a family struggling to overcome a battle with malaria – that money is going to have an impact far beyond ten years… it is going to transform communities and countries and an entire continent. That is what I call a best buy.

If you are looking for something to buy me for Christmas, start here: http://nc.iaumc.org/inm . This is our conference donation portal for Imagine No Malaria and you can not only make donations, but also give gifts in honor of people that you love. Spend a little less this year… and give a whole lot more.

cans of beans

Posted on November 23, 2012Leave a comment

Tomorrow, we are hosting both my husband’s mom’s side of the family and my family for a big Thanksgiving meal. There is a 22 pound bird in the fridge and all of the fixings are ready to go.

But as much as I cook during the week and as much as I watch those fancy chef shows on television and pour over recipes on Pinterest, pretty much all I am doing for this meal has been done. I opened four cans of beans and two cans of cream of mushroom soup, mixed them up in a dish and popped them in the fridge for tomorrow.

My husband likes to cook big meals. He likes to fuss around with the turkey. And he doesn’t want new recipes and fancy stuff… he wants traditional, as we remember it from growing up, Thanksgiving dinner. He planned the menu and put together the ingredient list and decided where to shop. And I’m trying my hardest to stay out of his way.

You see, we are both strong personalities and stubborn and we like to be in charge in the kitchen. I would absolutely do things differently. And it’s not that there is a right or wrong way between the two of us… the huge and awesome meal we will have tomorrow will be delicious and perfect… and… well, to be honest, I might have some successes and failures with my wild experimentations (as the hallway smoke detector can attest). And so rather than fuss or suggest other things, I’m going to pull out all of those other recipes here and there during a normal, everyday meal, and I’m going to not butt in. I’m going to enjoy the time with family without having to worry about whether the marshmellows on top of the candied yams are burning. That’s his problem 😉

I hope you had a great Thanksgiving and are full of delicious food and just full to the brim with stories and memories and time with family.

Walking the fence

Posted on November 17, 2012Leave a comment

I grew up surrounded by Republicans.

As we baled hay in the fields and made pies in the kitchen it was Rush Limbaugh blaring on the radio between farm reports. I was surrounded with suspicion about Clinton and rumors and scandal.

I also had this idea of my mom as the rebel Democrat… secretly keeping her views to herself… it sparked my curiosity… I don’t know if I was right, but that was always my impression of her political views. I’m baking cookies with her tomorrow and I’ll have to ask.

I wasn’t quite sure what to think… but I listened, and loved my family, and didn’t let politics get in the way.

I headed off to college and found myself entrenched with the Democrats. Actually, many of them farther left than democrats. I began to care about different issues, found my voice, and struggled with how to engage those with whom I disagreed.

But I have always been a fence walker. Whether I myself leaned one way or the other, I felt like my role was to navigate the space in between.

In college, that was the space between my more conservative friends of faith and my more liberal friends of action. I hung out, freely and comfortably, with both.

In seminary, it was the space between young and old… between an LGBT community and a church that wasn’t quite sure what it meant for them to belong… between lay and clergy.

In ministry, it was bring folks to the table of different sides and trying to distance my own personal beliefs so that I never closed off myself to others because of my opinion.

I have always been a good listener. I see multiple view points. I understand how and why people disagree… only I cannot understand why they do it so vehemently. 10 days after an election, I watch those who gloat and those who mourn. And what I really want to do is round them all up in a room and have them talk about what their hopes are… because they might see that they are not so different.

And there really is not so much difference between your view point and mine. Pragmatically, we’d probably do the same thing in a given situation. We just emphasize different parts and set different priorities. That is okay. We can still be friends. We can still be family. We can still worship together.

I’m standing right here… in the middle… not because my heart is here – but because this is where I can best meet you. And when I think of it that way… that is where my heart had been all along.

Time flies when you are surrounded by cardboard

Posted on October 15, 20121 Comment

Six weeeks ago: I said yes to my Bishop and began hunting for a place to live.

Five weeks ago: I announced to my congregation that I was accepting the invitation to a new adventure in ministry.

Four weeks ago: we began to pack and say goodbye and let things go one by one.

Three weeks ago: I found myself in Nashville for training for my new position with Imagine No Malaria at UMCom.

Two weeks ago: Frantically handing over ministries and leaving instructions, I find myself down for the count with the worst sinus infection I’ve ever had and I start my new job.

One week ago: I said good-bye to my church family and began to transition to the next with new colleagues and new phone numbers and new emails and new everything.

Today: I’m sitting in our new home, directing conference calls, settling in, and starting a very different life for a short stretch of time.

I tried blogging through some of the chaos near the beginning, but then I didn’t have the time I needed to really process all of the change. I knew I needed to, but I kind of bottled it all up and have bits and pieces of thoughts saved as private posts here and there. As I get the time to look back through them, I’ll see if there is anything “salveageable” in them.

I think for today, however, the best metaphor for what my life has been in the past few weeks is to think about my kitty cats.

My cats Tiki and Turbo are shy. They are extremely loveable and very nice, but they are introverts. They don’t do well around people and would prefer to hide under the bed… at least for a few hours or until people have left.

They have traveled and spent time in other houses before. Mostly my brother-in-laws house, where they spent most of our two week vacation hiding behind a chair where they thought no one could see them.

As soon as we arrived in the new place, we put them in the laundry room where they could have some space, but wouldn’t have to see all of the people moving all of the stuff.

The problem was, they didn’t want to come out when the chaos was over. We found them hiding behind the dryer, huddled together, just hoping that no one would see them.

As my husband and I eventually dragged them out of their little cozy corner (who am I kidding, it wasn’t cozy – it was dark and dusty and a little dank, too), they were tramautized. Hearts pounding, heads bobbing back and forth, not sure of what to do or where to run and hide.

I carefully cradled one cat, Brandon the other, and we showed them the house. We took them through every room and set them lovingly on their familiar pieces of furniture. And the whole time, their heads bobbed and weaved, sniffing and smelling, trying to take it all in, overwhelmed by the differences and yet the familiarity. It was dizzying to watch them… and yet I knew how they felt.

So many things have changed in the last few weeks, and yet so many things have remained the same. It’s like the world is upside down, but it’s the same world. It’s not better… it’s definitely not worse… it’s just disorienting. I’m still craning my neck and peeking around corners and “sniffing” out what all this new life entails. I’m still unsure, and yet starting to get situated, excited, full of anticipation.

I knew the cats would be fine when Turbo hopped into bed with us last night and found “his spot” right between our pillows. And even though Tiki never made it up the stairs to our master suite the night before, he found his own way and pounced on our feet… right on schedule as the sun started to rise. They seem to be enjoying new places to run and hide, new adventures around every corner… and yet they also seem to be a little bit more cuddly and cozy – wanting to be closer than before.

Change makes you think about what is really necessary and what is really important. It brings your life into focus. It makes you want to be cozier with the ones you love and cherish the home you have. It has been a whirlwind of a month, and we are still surrounded by cardboard… but everything is finally starting to settle into place. Tiki just used all of the boxes as an opportunity to leapfrog from one pile to the next and perch a top the highest one so he could survey his new territory. I feel like even in the chaos, I’m on top of the world, enjoying the view, and ready to tackle anything.

And now for something completely different…

Posted on September 9, 20122 Comments

The following is the announcement I made this morning at our worship service.

This morning, I need to share with all of you some rather big news. This is not going to be easy to say, so I’m just going to come out and say it.

Starting October 1, I am beginning a new journey in ministry. I am humbled and honored to have been asked by Bishop Trimble to coordinate the Imagine No Malaria campaign for the Iowa Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church. After a lot of wrestling – with God, with myself, with the larger church, with my husband… I can no longer deny that God is asking me to be a part of this exciting new project.

For the next two years, I will be traveling the state helping all of us, as United Methodists, raise $4 million dollars to help end deaths from malaria. I will be training volunteers, helping to resource fundraising events, and sharing the stories of what everyday, ordinary people are doing to help combat this global disease.

As excited I am about this big thing that God is calling me to do… I am equally heartbroken to be leaving you. In fact, one of my biggest obstacles to saying “yes” to this position is that I really do not want to leave you… the people of the First United Methodist Church of Marengo. Both you AND I have dreamed about years of ministry together in this place.

But sometimes our plans are not God’s plans.

I realized that whether I leave tomorrow or ten years from now, our work together will never be finished… there will always be more to do.

I realized that while I have walked with you this far, there are other people that God is waiting to send this direction to help you grow and thrive in ways I could never do.

And when I prayed long and hard about it, I was finally able to say yes to this position because I know… I trust… I believe with all my heart that YOU will be okay. That God will take care of you. That the larger church will take care of you and will send someone here who can take what we’ve done and help you to shine.

So I need all of you to do a couple of things for me.

1) I need you to remember that these past five years have not been about what I have done – they are about what YOU have done. You showed up. You took chances. You recommited yourselves. I helped to steer along the way, but nothing that we have accomplished together would have happened without you. You are stronger than you realize. You are more amazing than you give yourselves credit for. Whoever might stand in this pulpit is not the church…. YOU ARE. And it is up to YOU to continue this work… work that started long before I ever showed up and that will last long after the youngest of us gathered here is old.

2) I need for all of you to feel comfortable coming and talking with me over the next few weeks about whatever it is you are feeling. Whether you are angry or upset or disappointed or overjoyed… please come and talk to me. This is sudden, and surprising, and it is not easy for any of us to digest. Whatever you are feeling – it is okay.

3) I need you to work with our District Superintendent. He has promised to work his hardest to help bring a pastor to this church who is the right fit as quickly as possible. I know that there have been times in the past when you have felt like the black sheep and the neglected step child. But now you know who you are and what you are about. I believe you are a resurrected and thriving church and an example for small congregations all across Iowa. You are not going to let you stumble. And over the next month, he is going to need your help and support as he gets to know the church better in order to help bring the best possible person to be your pastor.

4) Last, I need you to pray. I need you to pray for me as I begin this crazy new adventure. I need you to pray for one another. I need you to begin praying right now for your future pastor. I need you to surround that person – whomever they might be – with love and support and grace.

In our sermon this morning, we were reminded that we are a living church – not a dead one. We are a church who has shown the fruit of mercy and compassion in our lives. God is here and will sustain you. Thank you for letting me be a part of the journey for this leg of the road.