My tomatoes. Not your tomatoes. My tomatoes!

When God in Exodus (23: 6 – 19) and Leviticus (23:9) and Deuteronomy (26:2) talked about bringing one’s first fruits before God and offering them to the Priest, I’m pretty sure my tomatoes were not what was being discussed.  And also in Leviticus (19:9) the rule was to leave some for those hungry like the widows and orphans when harvesting a field, but surely my six humble tomato plants did not come up.  And in no way do my beloved Cherokee Purple heirloom tomatoes qualify.  Surely not.

I’m having a hard time being mature and generous about having my first few tomatoes go missing.  I was really looking forward to those two dark beauties.  And I know that the okra and brussels sprouts aren’t producing yet, but really?  My favorites???  I was totally in favor of this gleaning policy until it became personal.  This rule from Leviticus is even how my favorite Biblical friend, Ruth, got by.  But see that’s what happens when we read scripture and then look at our own lives: things get uncomfortable.  And we’re not just called upon to give up our favorite tomatoes but our lives as well.  No matter how nicely worded, one can’t put up a sign saying “I hope you were really hungry to take my tomatoes and that you enjoyed them” in matters of having our lives taken over.  We can’t say to everyone we meet “I hope you were really lonely and God making me give my life over is enjoyable to you.”  It doesn’t work very well, and one might be accused of having a smart lip. 

But that is what we are called to do.  To recognize that all we have is from God and give back our first fruits.  In seeing that what we have isn’t really our own, we leave some of what we have so that others might not only survive but thrive.  I have to believe that someone else enjoyed those tomato sandwiches as much as I was going to.  And, surprise, more tomatoes are appearing now.  Thanks be to God.

Heat

It has been suggested that I write something for the weekly newsletter, and so here we go.  I’m not sure this is the best time to start since this week the little grey cells do not seem to be working as well as they could.  I know people who love warm climates, but I am not one of them.  And no one around here can be like my relatives in Arizona who claim “but it’s a dry heat” as if that makes the world a better place.  But having it so warm outside reminds me that our scriptures took place in similar heat (though admittedly usually a dry heat, actually).  I come from people who wore wool and furs and bundled up in the winter and became stoic and quiet with dry senses of humor.  The scriptures come from warm-blooded Mediterranean places where people are passionate and have loud parties and in the evening the streets come alive, for the twilight brings relief and joy. 

As I read through the scriptures with a Jesus who seems so stoic and staid and tranquil and reminds me so much of my own people, I remind myself that I must remember that he comes from the hot-blooded ones.  He goes out in the evenings for a strong cup of coffee or to dance in the streets or to bring the best wine to a wedding party.  It doesn’t make me appreciate the heat any more, but it does make me appreciate Jesus more.  Shivering in the cold is often overrated anyhow, right?

When "Kicking It Old School" Is Big Change

When "Kicking It Old School" Is Big Change

It must be part of the human condition to have short attention spans. We always seem to be surprised that history is repeating itself. And in my own denomination, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), we have just experienced a return to our historical standards that is catching everyone off-guard.

First it might help to know some basics about us Presbyterians: we are a thinking people who ask lots of questions, and as such we frequently disagree. Historically we have split and reunited so many times it’s dizzying. Have you noticed that there are three Presbyterian churches in town and not all of the same denomination? We are sorry to confuse you, but there really is a lot of rich history in that. And now we are at another heightened moment of disagreement.

Around 30 years ago there were new restrictions put into place for those being ordained to be Ministers as well as Elders and Deacons – lay people in congregations responsible for running the church and providing pastoral care along with the pastor. This new portion stated that those ordained (again – not just ministers) are to be held to the standard of living “either in fidelity within the covenant of marriage between a man and a woman, or chastity in singleness.” For the record, “chastity” was intentionally never defined and it is different than celibacy – it’s just that nobody really knows how. Functionally, this portion has since frequently allowed heterosexual men to do whatever while others were held to a different standard. Those wanting to be ministers have also been held to this rule much more strictly than those within a congregation who have been know for forever, and it isn’t minded that X has been living with still-married Y, for example. So both historically and functionally this part of the constitution did not stay true to the Christian Life as we Presbyterians understand it.

Last Monday this changed. Last Monday the majority of voting regional bodies approved a change to our constitution. Now ordination isn’t all hung up on issues of sex but has returned to a holistic understanding of what it means to live a faithful life. Our constitution still says of those being ordained that “Their manner of life should be a demonstration of the Christian gospel in the church and in the world. They must have the approval of God’s people and the concurring judgment of a governing body of the church.” It also now says that “Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life,” and that those responsible for ordaining “shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office.” And in case anyone had any further questions, “Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.” All those being ordained will be determined on a case-by-case basis, and no governing bodies shall make a blanket rule of inclusion or exclusion.

If anyone cries that they are being forced to do anything not limited to but including ordaining gays and lesbians, that is not the case. What is in fact happening is that we are returning to what our forefathers decided in 1729 with The Adoption Act that established the “middle way” which, at the time, was between those who believed in the supremacy of following the historical writings and teachings of the church versus those who believed personal experience and belief was most important.
If anything we are being reminded that we as Presbyterians are a thinking people who ask lots of questions, and as such we frequently disagree. Will churches leave the denomination? Yes. Will we miss them? Yes. Will the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) survive? I am here to make sure that happens. And while I will indeed be sad to have friends leave the church, I will also with joy welcome my brothers and sisters who have not yet been able to fulfill their calling as leaders in the church. Often terms such as “traditional family values” are thrown about. We Presbyterians, in the face of great controversy, are striving to faithfully live by ours.

Mediocrity Has a Remarkable Shelf-Life

[This is an article I wrote because it needed to get out. I submitted it somewhere but haven't heard back which is fine. in the meantime, though, you get to read it. Go you]

Last Sunday we sang a hymn that addresses what has been on my heart and mind quite a bit recently. In the blue hymnal, selection 421 begins:

The church of Christ in every age,
Beset by change but Spirit-led,
Must claim and test its heritage
And keep on rising from the dead.

-Fred Pratt Green

Everybody seems to be talking about how irrelevant the church is. How not only we as Presbyterians but mainline Protestant denominations are just not important anymore. We have lost so many members. We have lost so much influence. No one listens to us anymore. There is just no place in the world for us now, and we are so close to being dead that you might as well start the morphine drip already.

Now I don’t know about you, but I haven’t experienced sanctification and justification in a church that is going down the drain. Without people telling me the numbers, I haven’t noticed a whole lot of change in the pews, and growing up, the stuff everyone else is crying about I didn’t see. What I do remember is my Sunday school teacher giving me glitter for Christmas, drawing pictures during the sermon of horses with lipstick and pillbox hats with veils, and feeling kinda sorry for all the kids at General Assembly who had to stay in daycare for 15+ hours a day while I got to go play with my papa. I especially feel sorry for that kid who lost his supper of spaghetti - poor guy.

Now I’m not an unobservant idiot. I know our role in the world is different. I still don’t fully understand why we moved out of the God Box in New York, and I wish we had more of a voice in political affairs at the state, national and international levels. Even Papa’s prediction that I would pray for the state legislature has surely not come true, though he himself had the opportunity at a similar age. I do recognize that things are different, but just because we are being viewed differently by others doesn’t mean that we are no longer Spirit-filled and full of life.

My response to this feeling of irrelevance? Keep talking. Keep stating where we stand. Keep being a prophetic voice out there and presume that we are being listened to because what we are saying is important. If people aren’t jumping to attention the way they used to... well, we just had a really good thing going for a while there, didn’t we? Being ignored isn’t the end of the world. Remember feeling left out in junior high and high school? Yeah, it’s totally survivable.

But there are more even more ominous emotions floating around. At the recent General Assembly I was greatly dismayed with the rational behind so many arguments. I do not understand fear-based faith. If someone says to me that the church is going to die, I wonder how lacking in trust the speaker is, since Christ is the head of the church and the only one really in charge here. When people were arguing that if certain decisions were made then people would leave the church and churches would leave the denomination, I wondered why we were apparently working so hard to keep fickle participants involved. I have indeed said to people “If this isn’t the right place for you, I hope you find a community that does feed you.” Neither the congregation nor I continued to be held hostage, and whether or not the fearmonger stayed around, the church was a healthier place.

I fully realize that my response is harsh, but the church is not called to niceties and complacency. When people insist that the church is going to die, I do not usually respond as I want to by saying “No we’re not. We are not important enough to die.” Mediocrity can live on for an amazingly long time, but we as the church are called to be, among other things, a powerfully prophetic voice working for justice and righteousness and the furthering of God’s Kingdom here on earth. If we are not doing that, then we don’t deserve to die.

Have you recently read G-3.0400? After a telling of the nature of God, God’s relationship with creation in scripture and since, and sharing what the church is called to do, it declares:

Called to Risk and Trust

The Church is called to undertake this mission even at the

risk of losing its life, trusting in God alone as the author and

giver of life, sharing the gospel, and doing those deeds in the

world that point beyond themselves to the new reality in Christ.

Are we doing this? Do we as faithful Presbyterians - the ones still around - have enough faith to risk listening to and following as the Spirit leads us, and do we trust that Christ will carry us into the future? I want to. I have devoted my life to the church because I believe our mission is important enough to continue even in the face of our faults and weaknesses. Instead of mediocrity I choose possible death but only because of too fervently participating in Christ's sacrifice.

june showers

family - always a kick in the head

*sigh* so i still want to write something on the sermon experiment this morning of bringing up in pentecostal context both illegal immigration and julia child. that was an interesting sermonating process. in the meantime, however, i will just past the article i just wrote for the june/july newsletter and then i'm going to bed. yup. i have to be up much too early to go drive too far. ah, well. at least it's a 3-day thing about pastoral imagination.

and, oh. if i'm related to you, please just know that i'm quite positive you think i'm weird, i'm totally ok with this, and if i really thought you'd have an issue with this you wouldn't be able to see it. :)

**************************

I don’t know about you, but I have a big family, and they keep wanting to get together and talk - usually over food. It’s crazy. During a memorable brunch, my mother’s cousin Joanie expounded at length on why women should not be ordained. At another meal aunt Sue leaned over and mouthed rather scandalously that aunt Alice had voted for Obama - a Republican/Democrat divide within the family we never thought would be crossed. And just this evening I had a lively discourse via text messaging with my cousin Scott, a retired army man, about gun control and immigration; I think he just fell asleep on me, by the way. I also routinely hear about Roy’s ... internal parts, George’s having given up on organized religion though he’s a retired pastor and I still can’t figure out what Tim’s relationship with his “sorta girlfriend” is. And I can assure you that they all find me just as strange and routinely have to shake their own heads in confusion as to how on earth we could be a part of the same family tree.

Does any of this sound familiar? While I actually do share genetics with the people mentioned above, the interactions are so very similar to church life. We all know each other’s business, everybody has known everybody for years, and we all put up with the oddities of others and even, when we really admit it to ourselves, we often like them - and always love them. It’s part of what we as a community are about.

We are now entering into that time of vacation and family visits and grilling out with a lot of people we may know but who inspire extreme awkwardness. The winter offers afternoons or mornings of together time, but we really grin and bear it with much longer together-time in the summer. With our families of genetic origin as well as within the church, we find ourselves with maybe not the group of best friends we would pick for ourselves, but there is deep understanding and love and compassion and fun that goes along. One of my favorite aspects of Covenant is that I know that many of us do not agree with each other about countless things, but we still come together and commit to relationship with each other. We somehow see Christ in each other, and we are rejuvenated and keep coming back on Sundays like I am an addict to annual family reunions. It is where we are home and know we have a place and are loved.

Often I try to put a challenge or plant a seed of an idea with my newsletter article. For this summer time, however, I’ll just assure that there is nothing wrong with taking a bathroom break when someone is on the verge of insufferable, and the big jugs of lemonade and iced tea always taste better mixed together. Oh, and try to avoid doing anything you know people will be talking about for years to come... like that time Uncle Sam got spanked by Grandpa (the pastor) mid-worship service there in front of God and everybody. Yeah, we still talk about that one.

the best of this daily examen

today was one of those fascinating paradoxes of ministry. i have been visiting edith for a good while now - 8 months or more. she's, oh, 83 or so, and in the meantime we've been through moving from an independent apartment into a nursing home, a foot break with many infections and follow-up surgeries, a hip break and follow up recovery from that including loss of appetite and general crappiness of life.

tomorrow is edith's birthday. we announce these in the worship service the previous sunday, and when i came across her name i contacted vicki who has been visiting edith as well and taking her to doctor's appointments and trying to figure out what to do about shoes. vicki was already taking edith to a doctor's appointment at 1:15 today, so we decided to meet at perkins for lunch beforehand, and a lovely woman from the care committee provided a blushing calla lily. we had a good lunch though miss edith wasn't as talkative as normal. she did eat quite a bit, though, which is very good for her. actually, as we were getting into the car she was just chattering away like she had no appointment at all. it was fun.

this evening as i was stringing yarn from my house on which the sweet peas can hang, i got a call from vicki. apparently the whole rest of the afternoon edith was just over the moon so very surprised by the lunch and that i was there to help celebrate it with her. in the course of this conversation vicki learned that this was the first time that anyone had taken her out to eat for her birthday since her husband died 15 years ago... on her birthday. hmm. vicki and i decided that we were decidedly humbled and honored.

facebook just reminded me that my mother's birthday will be thursday. thanks, facebook! actually i had been getting it confused since both my parents and sis were born in the month of may. now i knew that papa's was on the 14th. that was in place. but the other two dates were the 20th and the 28th which i could never keep apart. what with my sister dead now, i needed some decisive clarification on this thing. so last weekend i asked papa when, precisely, my mother's birthday would be. as it turns out nothing can come between my parents, so the 20th it is.

i know you all are just so intrigued by all of this. no really, you are. and yes, i am up too late and need to go to bed. i'm also quite annoyed at someone. ok, a couple of someones actually. whatever. my issue - not yours. ok, off to bed then... i hope this finds you all well.

today i'm just going to post this letter from the pcusa's leaders about the new immigration laws in arizona (and california as well, but nobody is talking about that). i'm doing this for two reasons: (1) i'm feeing a bit under the weather and (2) it's late enough on saturday night that i really should start my sermon's final approach. and yeah, that is kinda what it's like. it's been circling for about 5 hours now and almost ready for a landing methinks.

***********************

April 29, 2010


Dear Members of Congress,

We write to express our conviction that you must enact comprehensive immigration reform this year. As people of faith and the leaders of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), we are keenly aware of the devastating effects our broken immigration system has on the lives of individuals, immigrant and non-immigrant families, and our communities. The bigotry, trauma, and fear that will result from the recent new law enacted in Arizona, SB 1070, which criminalizes those who are found "with" undocumented persons and requires law enforcement officers to identify and detain such persons, serves to underscore the necessity of action at the federal level.

Churches are on the front lines of caring for families being ripped apart by our broken immigration system. Traumatized citizen children left behind when parents are deported are but one example of the ways the current system destroys the fabric of community life, the integrity of healthy families, and the safety of individual persons. Church workers are also at the forefront of offering relief and services to immigrants, regardless of documentation status. Arizona’s new law will put at risk those workers and others who are called simply to offer the most basic of humanitarian assistance. As Christians, we cannot stand by idly while our brothers and sisters die on our borders from exposure and thirst or languish in poorly equipped detention facilities, nor should we be required to do so by any law.

The new Arizona law also puts in jeopardy the public safety of immigrant communities, already wary of law enforcement for fear of deportation. Instead of new laws that induce fear and distrust, immigrants should be encouraged to participate with law enforcement, reporting crimes when they are victims and offering testimony when they are witnesses. Such trust and participation is impossible if local law enforcement is tasked with enforcement of federal immigration laws. SB 1070 will only foster more fear among immigrant communities, regardless of documentation status. Comprehensive immigration reform at the federal level is essential to override and counteract the damage done in Arizona by this new law.

In the Scriptures of Christians and Jews, we are commanded, “When an immigrant resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the immigrant. The immigrant who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the immigrant as yourself for you were immigrants in the land of Egypt" (Lev. 19:33-34). The Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) therefore supports congressional action in 2010 on comprehensive immigration reform that creates a process for undocumented immigrants in the U.S. to earn their legal status; reduces waiting periods and upholds family unity; protects workers from exploitation; and provides efficient channels of entry for new migrant workers.

Sincerely,

Bruce Reyes-Chow
Moderator, 218th General Assembly (2008)

Gradye Parsons
Stated Clerk of the General Assembly

Linda Bryant Valentine
Executive Director, General Assembly Mission Council

sent to me by an 85 year-old in my congregation ftw

Business Card
 
A new pastor was visiting in the homes of his parishioners.  At one house it seemed obvious that someone was at home, but no answer came to his repeated knocks at the door. Therefore, he took out a business card and wrote 'Revelation 3:20' on the back of it and stuck it in the door. When the offering was processed the following Sunday, he found that his card had been returned.  Added to it was this cryptic message, 'Genesis 3:10.'

Reaching for his Bible to check out the citation, he broke up in gales of laughter.  Revelation 3:20 begins 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock.'  Genesis 3:10 reads, 'I heard your voice in the garden and I was afraid for I was naked.'

'A cheerful heart is good medicine' (Prov. 17:22)

this afternoon i drove down to springfield to visit my parents in their new place.  we also just had dinner at the texas roadhouse, so what i was planning on saying here might no longer make any sense due to too much food. oh, and i left my book at home damnit.  poo.  in any case, driving into town here i thought to myself: i really don't think that i'm religious enough for springfield.  which, to a great extent is quite true.  i surely don't have enough jesus in my life for these people.  so in the spirit of useless rebellion, as i drove in i was just booming along with toybox's e.t. which is this amazing song from these swedish persians who make aqua look classy.  doubt what i'm saying?  well here's your proof:

and yes, i know that the video is a different song, but i really thought that the visuals just added so much, don't you think? and jane really does love to ride that elephant.  i mean reeeeallyy.

my other profound thought on the way down here: hey, i think maybe i WOULD like to see dolly parton's dixie stampede dinner attraction in branson!  oh yeah.  from the metropolitan opera in the city of new york to this.  ooor i could just wait with baited breath for their christmas extravaganza.  they have poinsettias!

and in confession, i'm actually only half kidding about all of this.  ^_^

super-low content wednesday... oh, it's thursday? ok then.

spanish amusement parks are so much better.



i'm down south to the rents' house of questionable internet access for some birthday fun... or family dinner, whichever. i'll see about coming up with actual content later.

oh, and i really want one of these:

i really dislike the second wednesday of the month. in the morning is the ministerial alliance meeting and the evening is always committee night - ok, well neither meets in the summer, so i'll be good for a while here. in any case, today was my church's turn to host the alliance which meant me leaving at 7:30 to pick up the previously forgotten fruit i said i'd bring and then arriving at the church early in order to pull together the service for sunday for which i'd previously neglected to pick hymns, etc. oops. then the meeting opening with breakfast with my ladies who were unbelievably awesome! eggs and plates cooked to order, dude! and then of course was the meeting during which people spoke way more than they needed to... as per usual. the whole meeting was a mix, though, filled with lots of laughter, and then at the end when we finally got to the joys and concerns it was discovered that there lots of sad circumstances floating around. also? people were really friendly with me. like, why are you talking to me friendly. maybe i've proven some of my stripes. more on this topic at a later time when i'm up to it, btw...

i'm currently drinking gin and orange juice, btw. way more effective than any mimosa.

committee night this evening was... fine. better than usual, but i was sleepy and not into it. however, throughout the evening i may have only rolled my eyes twice. progress!

and miss leah (you may not know her), aware of my personal proclivities, sent me this today which i absolutely adore:

i need to write more. i need to write beyond just what gets put in the newsletter and local newspaper (that i swear has interviewed me way too much already). i need tow rite for myself. in seminary i did have a long blog on which i wrote for years. now, just with some restraint (oh, lessons from the past), i need to write again. yup.

and ok now, i've had this window open for a good couple of hours now expecting that something amazingly awesome would show up in my brain that i could write here. oh, the pressure. i hate it. so i am going to press "publish post" and move on. also, i shall endeavor to post something every day. i seem to remember that being a good idea as opposed to my not posting anything for, oh, 3 months to 2 years.

so let's see how this adventure goes....

peace out from missouri.

Lents of Seasons Past

Every year it seems like Lent is starting all over again and for the first time. Advent as it leads us to Christmas has some kind of context, and maybe it is the combination of familiar decorations, activities such as parties and shopping, music and repetitive color combinations and bad sweaters. Maybe it isn’t some deep understanding of what it means that Christ was born here on earth which gives us comfort, and maybe it is the egg nog. I’m not really sure. But Lent always seems to be surround in a misty veil of mystery.


I think maybe we could handle a week. Holy week is some good and intense darkness that lasts long enough I do suppose. Sometimes Holy Weeks pass by without notice, and sometimes they become a ponderous dirge. I once had a Holy Week that wore me out by Maundy Thursday. My junior spring of college I studied in northern Spain in the blue-collar city of Valladolid who knew that they had the best Holy Week (Semana Santa) celebrations anywhere. Granted what they did was very similar to the flashy, touristy city of Seville, but this was not pointed out. Different guilds around the city would have parades - totaling five or more a day - traversing the city carrying the beautiful holy sculptures (usually safely encased in the churches) on their shoulders as they marched with candles if at night to the beat of solemn drums. The kicker, however, was the clothing. Each guild had their own color combinations, but the sewing pattern for each and every robe and hood worn by each and every guild member came straight from the KKK’s pattern book. For a girl who had spent a good amount of time in the south, I’m impressed that I didn’t give up before Thursday. So I spent Good Friday, Saturday and Easter Sunday back in my host mother’s apartment watching Alfred Hitchcock movies dubbed into Spanish.


That is not necessarily a pattern that I think works well for Lent. I’d rather try wearing shades of grey and brown throughout the 40 days. I’d rather eat unseasoned oatmeal for breakfast every day. I’d rather sit quietly contemplating scripture for half an hour a day. I’d rather do anything than have my world rocked and my senses blown and have to risk the horror of seeing solemn people for whom I have very cruel connotations walking down my street accompanied by some who are stripped down to the essentials and carrying large crosses on their shoulders which, incidentally, I also saw in Spain. I’d rather watch The Birds than deal with this Lent.


And then I remember that this is most likely why Lent is my favorite part of the church calendar. It is always something new and worthy of a struggle. It isn’t all happy and does deal with deep relationships that are satisfying and disappointing. It reminds me that all moments are God moments - not just the good ones. Lent remains fresh and surprising and, while definitely the somber step-sister, does not have all the baggage of expectations surrounding Christmas preparations. Lent is not about me nor does it depend on my accomplishing anything. There are no heroes in the build-up to the passion. Even Peter who was so fabulous denies Christ in the end. Even the women who weep at the foot of the cross are much too surprised when they see Jesus again when he promised all along that he would come back.


In Lent I always feel wonderfully, humanly fallible. I know for sure that everything does not depend on me, but still I am invited to participate in this drama, this journey, this passion. I feel small again and know that I need prayer more than it needs me, I need God more than God needs me, and I need all of you more than you need me. And every year I am still much too surprised when I see Jesus again while he’s been promising all along that he would come back.

another newspaper article

Whatever I was planning on writing earlier in the day has quite left my mind as I now find myself in the precious place between the beginning and the end of life. Tomorrow brings planning for the celebration of a blessed life now past followed by a visit to a glorious baby not yet a week old. All of this comes after a wonderful two-week visit by my parents as we celebrate our first Christmas together without my sister who unexpectedly died a year ago this Sunday. Life is so full.

Recently I was reminded of the story of Jacob wrestling in an even match with some divine being at the river’s edge one night. Just as dawn is approaching, the opponent sees he is not prevailing and strikes Jacob on his hip socket and puts it out of joint. Jacob says “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” Jacob answers the stranger’s question for his name and, in return, “you shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.”

I doubt I will ever wrestle with God, but I do understand, at least in part, what it is to fight all night with everything I have yet still audaciously insist upon a blessing in the morning – whether I deserve or actually expect to get it or not. Life is full of both. And we know that afterwards we will always carry a poignant limp.

i choose answer (c): none of the above.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took a third one by and by,
And forged my way past common sense.

drama - still better than cats, though.

i'm pretty stinkin' sure that i need my vacation next week. my life is one great effort to avoid drama, and recently it has felt like one big season of dynasty.* there is admittedly always stuff going on around, and a lot of my job consists of being diplomat hopefully somewhere between switzerland and madeleine albright, but not so much recently. i can't keep calm about the stop-texting-or-calling-me,-married-congregant! circumstance. i can't keep from being frustrated about calls that come too often with annoying information or not often enough with... well, annoying information. i can't keep from being mad at people for not being in contact at all. i can't keep from relating with congregants in "non-pastoral" ways** just wanting to be human and then getting all worried at pastoral implications.

/sigh/ see what i mean? this is all quite unusual for me. i very much look forward to next week's break and chatting with a friend while spending time with amazingly cute short ones. i plan on gifting them with some classical art from the smithsonian. hey, my mom started taking me to operas when i was 8 and symphonies way earlier - the least i can do is pass on the love and provide them with masterpieces at 2 and 3.

and it is really, truly, time to go to bed. even with a cuddly kitty on my lap i need to move over and get some sleep before presbytery tomorrow. yes. on halloween. and a 2 hour drive away. nice.

_____________

*with somewhat less hairspray and way less sex. hmm.

**still strictly above board. see above footnote.

probably one of the more unusual stewardship articles around...

I have spent a great deal of time looking through the various publications I have on stewardship to try and find some ideas to inspire. It is that time of year after all. While there was much I read that was good and helpful, the most eye-opening thing I came across is as follows: Upon being asked how to end world hunger, the Dali Llama replied “Share.” After reading this yet again I imagined the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit all sitting together in their comfy chairs up in heaven holding their divine lattes looking at me and together saying, “Duh.”

For something that is on our kindergarten checklist of achievement, the statement is wildly profound. To share involves recognizing and honoring that someone else is involved in what is going on. It is to see, to be seen, and to respond to the other. It is also to trust that when something is shared it is not automatically going to be misused, but will be respected and enjoyed by the recipient just as much as the giver. I made a couple of sock monkeys for my young nieces. Abby and Lizzy are being loved to pieces which, while implying wear and tear, is really more than I could ever ask for. When we share we give over ownership and trust that what we offer will be honored and cared for.

Sharing does a lot to dispel that notion of ownership. There are some few things not really to be shared - even my friend, a member of a Catholic order in which everyone had communal property, lived with the understanding that his glasses and underwear were his own. But really, how much to do we think we need and refuse to give up before we start looking like Steve Martin in The Jerk walking around with an ashtray, a paddle-game and a remote control who definitely also needs that lamp? For my life I find food, shelter and companionship to be mighty fine things to have and all that I probably really need, but even those things I am willing to share. Everything else, all my stuff and all my money, it is there to share. Considering that all that I have and all that I even am is from God in the first place, it seems like the least I can do.

There are countless things to address regarding stewardship from the emphasis it places on social justice and equality for all people and care for all of God’s creation to the very practical matter of how to fit church giving into a slim budget that has little wiggle room to begin with. If we do not pray, think and talk about how we care for and share what we have been given, then we are not being faithful stewards of what God has provided for us and do not grow in our faith. And if it helps you ease into this process, I have discovered that imagining that I am still my little strawberry-blond, finger-painting, kindergarten self goes a long way in reminding me the basics of stewardship. May we all get “Satisfactory” written by our names.

for writers' guild today - topic: life in marshall

I have spent the last two hours or so scrolling through the internet looking at people who wear corsets and bowler hats and brass-edged goggles out in public on a regular basis. I wonder how goggles would look propped up in my hair should I give in to the impulse and dye it to resemble a bush out of which a voice is expected. Were the world different I would even take my corseted self out with my wild hair and useless goggles to go grab a nummy latte at the local, most-awesome coffee shop. Yet here I sit, t-shirt and comfy pants, dark brown hair, and with bright red as a color for my tea kettle instead of hair.

I live in Marshall, Missouri. The location of my residence before heading to the Midwest was the oft-mentioned and little understood county of Orange in southern California. Before I go on I should point out that I did not usually wear a corset in public there, never have owned brass-rimmed goggles and.... well, ok I have had bright red hair and absolutely loved it. So my hair and I would go out to coffee shops and have a great time admittedly talking to no one or, more likely, listening to someone I didn’t like talk about something ridiculously inane.

And thusly comes the paradox of Marshall: I can’t do what all I want to here, but the people are much more interesting and sometimes even more emotionally stable. I should explain this a bit, I suppose.

While this town is ... defective for not having a single coffee shop in which two people can meet and chat about the best and worst in life, it is a more centered and balanced life than the one I left behind. Instead of spending forty-five minutes to an hour and a half driving to a stupid job that didn’t pay me a living wage, I now drive five minutes and can pay all of my bills. Instead of driving around for two hours to discover that every yarn store I attempt to find has slipped into the Bermuda Triangle of Google, I know that I need to just drive the hour to Columbia to find two or more excellent stores. Maybe with the distance that wasn’t the greatest example. What I can say, though, is that here I have a place. This is new to me what with all the moving growing up.

Granted this place isn’t always the most comfortable. Much of that has to do with my occupation, admittedly. Being the second female pastor in town while I’m not entirely sure what The Role of Pastor is anyhow keeps things decidedly weird and leaves me not knowing what is acceptable or not. Ok, so I’ve figured out that lava-hair probably won’t go down well, but I do not want to apologize for quietly declaring an expletive in an empty parking lot upon discovering, after a long and unsatisfying day, that I must go home to retrieve the cloth bags in order to simply buy some groceries. Pair this, however, with my very clean mouth around almost all people.

I walk two lines, and Marshall, in a way, represents those lines. What I barely admit, however, is that I’m not sure where I want or need to be on either of those lines. The state of my role in Marshall does not let them blend very well either. Too many people know me and know other people who know me and word gets out remarkably fast. Then again that whole being-the-representative-of-God-for-an-hour-every-Sunday doesn’t help my case for making frequent extremely off-color jokes or wearing pigtails, a hoodie and a t-shirt of questionable slogan to the store. I could pretend that I’m an enigma wrapped in a riddle surrounded by mystery, but I just prefer to think of myself as a moderately to high-functioning human.

Marshall has this straight-forward component as well. When looking for jobs I did Google Map searches for every location and was convinced that upon moving here I would need to buy satellite radio for nothing but fuzz would be available. Realizing that there are indeed radio stations and good ones to listen to does not lower my frustration at being forced to subject to The Mart of Wal. At least in Orange County I lived within walking distance of a Target.

But the people here pretty much really want to be here and have made it a multi-faceted environment. I miss organ recitals but go to the Marshall Philharmonic and Band concerts more frequently. Upon stating that I wished I could take a watercolor class, I have been informed that there are several artists in town with whom I should be in contact. And, really, who can beat pictures in the newspaper of high school students driving tractors to school? That’s just pure genius. I’ll commute for my Thai food and arugula, I suppose.