Confession

A few weeks ago, I got a series of emails from an anonymous person that decided to rip apart one of my old posts. This one, if you're curious. (I know. What a jackass! Of all things!) Anyway, this particular individual thinks I'm crazy for believing in God. I have nothing to say to this person. Forgive me. I have nothing nice to say to this particular person.

However, as I rejected these particular comments, I realized that I missed blogging here. Mostly, I missed the connection that it has offered to my beloved sisters in The Young Clergy Women Project. I know that lots of us have become less frequent bloggers, but it was through blogging that I found this connection to this group of women. By reading your stories, I found a connection that just doesn't seem quite as intimate as reading the wonderful articles on Fidelia's Sisters. And so, I'm back. Maybe. For now. Um. I'm not committing. Not totally.

I haven't stopped blogging actually. I've just been blogging publicly as a church pastor of a particular church focusing on the particular ministries we offer. It's been a good medium of communication with the church -- but it hasn't allowed for the confessions that were allowed in this space. And so, I miss being here. I miss this space where I can be me in a way that my public ministry doesn't fully allow. I can talk up and down about theology. I can blog about justice and trends in the church -- but I haven't had a space to write about my broken heart. I gotta say. It's sucked. Oh yeah, remember Musicman? Yeah. He was nice until he broke up with me. It's been three months now -- quickly approaching four months -- but I'm still picking up the pieces. Let's face it. I thought he was it. I really thought I wasn't going to have to ever date again. And now, I am. Fuck.

See? I can't say that to my church members -- but I can say that to you. You won't shun me. You even know the back story. Well, maybe you do. Maybe you don't. It doesn't really matter. I stopped blogging here because I didn't want to have a secret life anymore. I wanted to be more integrated so that my public life was more integrated with my personal life. Yeah, I know. Who was I kidding? I don't know what I was thinking. Damn it. I maintain two Facebook accounts. I can have a blog that's just for me. That's not too much to ask at all. Sigh. I missed you.

Crisis in the Church

Last Thursday, we had an incident in the church office. It's left us all a little shaken. It required a staff meeting yesterday to talk about how we create a safe environment. The conversation turned toward how we need to be more vigilant in locking the doors and keeping people out. Sigh.

A man moved into our neighborhood two weeks ago. He's HIV positive and must be suffering from other ailments that have not been named to us. He doesn't have any resources, including food and decent health care. He showed up in worship two weeks ago and then again on the following Monday. I was at a meeting all morning. I missed this first office visit, where my colleague toured him around our city to acquire a bus pass. It seems his social worker has abadoned him at a location that promised a bus route. Our church is off the bus route. He lives across the street. This doesn't add up. As far as I can tell, it's a phantom bus. Alas.

Last Thursday, he missed the bus. He came into our offices wanting a ride. He'd been given one before. He assumed we would provide one again. The secretary didn't understand his request. She asked if he wanted to wait for our Outreach Coordinator who was in a meeting. He decided to wait. Forty five minutes later, he was still waiting and visibily angry. The Outreach Coordinator finally appeared but not before this man escalated into rage. It was scary. Perhaps we should just lock the doors, and yet...

My heart breaks for this man. His anger comes from so many doors being slammed in his face over the years. And yet, that doesn't mean that we risk the individual safety of anyone in our building -- including the preschool kids downstairs. How do we create a safe church that is open to all? How do we address needs while making it clear what it is that we are able to do during times of crisis?

Right now, I need wisdom. It seems like every safe church resource that exists is to protect our children by screening staff and volunteers with bakcground checks. I'm not scared that someone is going to wander into the church with a gun -- though this has made the news in other churches. I'm more fearful that our staff will find themselves feeling compromised or worse. That's not justice either. And so, I sigh.

Hope is Coming.

I make my Christmas cards. Let me clarify. I draw a picture that I xerox multiple copies of so that I can paste them to pre-made cards. I've learned that the pre-made cards are important, because as much as I want to recycle, I don't want to be making that many envelopes. I have better things to do with my time. Really. I do. Anyhow, I make these cards.

Last year, it was an image of three wise women processing with gifts. I happen to love the image. As one of my good friends (and seminary buds) said, it says everything that needs to be said about my faith. This year, there is a lone shepherd. I took the image from a Tibetan shepherd photographed by another source. He had a great smile. I thought he was sweet. Now, the drawing is almost done and I'm relieved that I chose the wording "Hope is Coming" rather than "Yes We Can" because this shepherd looks an awful lot like a certain President Elect. This was not intentional and I don't want to be misunderstood.

So now, I'm worried that I'm going to have to scrap this and draw another image. Sigh. I like it though. I don't want to draw another one. Grr. Maybe I can just add of a pregnant woman in the background on a donkey so it doesn't look like I'm worshipping the Empire. I mean, I'm really happy he's going to be president. I'm counting down the days, but he's not the Savior. Shoot. What a silly thing to stress about...

Art for the Day

I just found this image (or rather one similar to it) in Imaging the Word. It is entitled All Saints I by Wassily Kandinsky, which not only makes me long for color bulletins but makes me marvel at all of the saints that radiate out of this image and into my heart and mind.

Homesick

Last night, I went to hear a certain songwriter from my hometown. Yes, she and I grew up in the same place. I've always wondered who she's singing about in this song because chances are I know the family (if not the actual person). Of course, she still lives in New York and sang about it. As I listened from the second row surrounded by friends from my new home, I couldn't quite escape this feeling of homesickness.

This is not something that happens often to me. I am the wandering soul. I have travel lust. I rarely want to be stuck at home. I want to explore as much as possible. This feeling of homesickness is not familiar. However, there it was.

As she sang about the Hudson, I got to thinking about my conversation earlier in the day. I was rather pleased with how the conversation went. I was able to model conflict management while speak honestly that I don't do this with my own parents (mostly because I don't need to do so). What hit me while listening to sweet lyrics was that familiar nagging that I don't get to have that mother-daughter relationship. I know. This is old news. No surprise to you. However, it was one of those strange moments where I grieved the fact that my baby sister is getting ready to go to college. My step-mother has that special relationship with her -- but I don't get it. We have a great relationship. Don't get me wrong. I love her dearly -- more than she knows probably. And yet, I can't help but wonder if I'm missing out on something because of a technicality. My mom isn't home. She's not somewhere that I can call her and say I miss her. I related to this woman in my office yesterday by talking about how it is to parent a child when your mother isn't around. I know this territory. I don't know (or not as well) how to be a daughter. I guess that's what I'm missing today (at least a little).

But, really, only a little. As you know, there is this boy in my life. There is a boy who's friends invited me over to watch the debate tonight. I consider this a big deal since I've met them twice. And really, I can't be all homesick and whiny because there is this boy in my life that makes me smile radiantly. That's right. Radiantly. It took me until last week to tell him my family story and he keeps asking questions. He's really close to his family and my story just isn't the same. The way I relate to my family just isn't the same. However, there is something unique about sharing this with him. He makes it safe. And really, who can complain about being homesick when you feel that safe? Right. I'll shut up then.

An Observation

Reading and sunning myself on the beach is not only an excellent self care practice -- but invites time for me to reflect. Something about the waves washing over me allows me to reconnect with myself and all of the good stuff that makes me tick.

So, as I was enjoying my new favorite beach today, I realized something about myself. I have a strange ability to overreact. This isn't a horribly terrible thing in most circumstances -- but I do tend to process aloud. This confuses people perhaps even in the blogging community. It also confuses people that I'm rather honest. I say what I feel. I don't hold back often (which is a new skill I'm exploring as a pastor). This is not really about Musicman as much as it is about my current call. I've had lots of questions about whether or not I'm leaving both inside and outside of the church. My reaction has been to overreact.

But, today, as the waves rushed over me today, I allowed them to do just that. Let all of those things to which I'm overreacting just wash over. And let it be. Just let it be. Yeah...

Bad Chaplain

This has been one of those great weekends of unexpected wonder. I spent all day at the beach. I went to bookstores. I saw old friends. It was just wonderful. And I have the sunburn to prove it. And the boy is out of town -- but there have been some very cute text messages. It goes without saying that he's cute.

And then, I arrive in church today. Early as I still had to do the list of prayers. Or at least, print the list of prayers. I wasn't the slightest bit excited about my sermon -- but oh well. We sing. We call ourselves to worship. The list of prayers from the narthex arrives in my lap. I let out some unexpected inappropriate noise as I read that one of our newer members is in the hospital after her water broke at 6 months. Obviously, I left church and went to her side. (After worship, don't worry.) She was in labor. Might I add, I've never been remotely near a woman while in labor. I was clumsy. I felt awkward, but I wanted to be there. i wanted to know that she had support -- that God was with her even though this didn't make any sense. She was going to be operated on. I was overcome and left. This was something I learned to do well in CPE. I could always leave. Getting there was harder. I had promised I would come back, but the more I thought about it today, the more I talked myself out of it. They weren't ready to talk. They didn't need me yet. So, I'm going in the morning. I don't want to smother them -- but I admit I have no idea what to say. Do premature babies survive? Is this dire? Am I too optimistic that their first wedding anniversary might be their son's birthday? I don't know how to prepare myself for this visit. I don't even know what to think.

Excuse Me.

I've struggled to point to examples of why my relationship with my colleague isn't ideal. In some ways, I am blessed that I can't conjure up a list upon request. I cannot cite all of the wrongs. I can only share that these moments hurt. The emotional impact lingers more than the details of the would-be crime.

But, here I am on my colleague's day off working on the church newsletter and wondering about the summer. I learned yesterday that there was a woman near death. She's not a member. She's beloved by one of our members. He wanted to know if he or I would do the service. Of course. The call came today. She died last night. The funeral home called my colleague at home and he agreed that one of us would do it. My colleague then called me and asked me to do it for a particular time on Saturday.

I was in Bible Study when he left the message. I had gotten a similar message last week, which I consider to be rude. I know that people die and these events interrupt our lives as clergy. We are called to be there. I'm ususally happy to be there -- but not when I don't get the first call. Not when I don't get to talk to the funeral home or the family to agree on a time. Not when it's dictated to me when and where I should offer the blessings of God. It just rubs the wrong way. Tell me I'm overreacting, if you must. Tell me that's what I'm called to do. I know. I just want to feel like I'm actually part of a team rather than waiting in the wings for someone that doesn't want to go on stage. You can also tell me that was a bad metaphor for what we do. This isn't a stage -- but I'm feeling dramatic.

No Motivation

Is this happening to anyone else?

Lent arrives and church life gets a little more exciting -- but I'm totally not interested. I'm finding excuses to not be in the office. I'm just not inspired. Maybe it's the endless snow. I'm glad that I didn't seriously entertain the thought of a call in Minnesota. Brrr.

Heaven Opens

I didn't exactly keep it a secret from the members of my congregation that I was not pleased with my sermon this morning. It guess it wasn't exactly horrifying -- but it lacked the poetry that I had hoped for in the completed manuscript that I hope to preach. I guess that's what I wanted: completion. The ideas were there. And yet, the document was not as fluid and poetic as this preacher chick might like.

My sermon focused on the stange wonder that "the heavens were opened" (Matthew 3:16, NRSV). The very idea fascinates me and I'm still trying to figure out what exactly this is about.

One of the themes that I was struggling with in my own justice seeking as I imagined the heavens opening was influenced by the unseasonable 60 degree weather in January. Outside of the ancient worldview, I was perplexed about what weather might mean for this understanding of heaven opening. I hinted at this in my sermon as I referenced an article in our local paper -- but it was not something that I particularly emphasized in my sermon. This was especially true in the first service this morning where I didn't reference the article or really talk about global warming at all. And yet, heaven opened when one quiet woman asked me: "What will happen to the ritual of baptism when there is no longer any water in our world?"

And then, God showed up.

On New Years Eve, my good friend and I sipped champagne and created our own personal bucket lists. I couldn't think of a better way to spend the new year -- as we prepare for better things to come into our lives. As we bid farewells to the hopes and fears of the past year, we prepared for what will come.

Last night, after returning from a traditional German dinner at her mother's (did you know that it's good luck to eat pork and saurkraut on New Years), we finished the bottle of champagne and chatted. And then, God showed up. I'm not talking about anything spectcularly metaphysical -- but my dear friend informed me that she felt God was pushing her to tell me to do this one thing (something that appears on my bucket list, mind you). I'm not sure I'm ready. Then again, it would be the perfect time in my life to do this. I would have to bid farewell to comfort and step out in faith. And I must admit, I'm not sure if I'm ready for that. Even if it won't happen until 2009 or 2010. It still scares me. And yet, isn't when things scare us that when we are supposed to go ahead?

Advent ARG!

Last week, I was talking on the phone with a friend from seminary and we both remarked that we didn't feel like we were stressed enough. It's Advent after all. We're pastors. We should be stressed, right? I don't think that this was a healthy thought. But we laughed about it in that fabulous way that you laugh with friends from seminary.

This week, I'm stressed. No. That's not it exactly. I'm annoyed. I'm really annoyed at things that are out of my control. How have I handled this matter? I've whined to anyone that would listen. I whined to folks in New York. I whined to colleagues in the Snowy North. I whined while I protested for peace. I whined to our Church Administrator. I whined and I whined. Again, perhaps this is not the healthiest thing to do. Eh. Oh well.

I finally realized what I needed to do to overcome this matter as I left church to meet Fantabulous girl and her partner at the Lesbian Coffee Shop. I was able to wipe the tears away from my face (Oh yeah, this is one that I'm crying about) to meet these two awesome women to talk about their journey. We talked for two hours. I'm officiating at their wedding in August. And I think they are going to join the church. Honestly, this is what I love about my call. I get to sit and have the best conversations with amazing people.

This is my Advent frustration. Sunday brings the last Sunday of Advent -- where I will be preaching the "Christmas" sermon. We don't have a Christmas Eve sermon so this is it. Even though, well, never mind. I'm crafting a conversational sermon between me, Mary, Joseph and Gabrielle (the Angel of the Lord). I have no interest in writing this sermon. It's conversational. Do I really need to write it out ahead of time? I would so much rather sit in a coffee shop and share in the ordinary joy of life. I would rather hide under a blanket and read as more snow falls and will continue to fall until midday Friday. This is my ARG.

Hitting Send

Recently Besomami and Little Mary asked interesting questions about blogging ettiquette. Little Mary is a little more direct. She calls it a pet peeve. I'm not sure where my gripe is exactly. It might be ettiquette. It might be a pet peeve. It might be a rant. (I know. Imagine!)

My lament is not in the blogosphere -- but a question about email. It is my personal feeling that people misuse email in horrible and abusive ways. For those of you that know me, you know that I hate the phone. I do email lots. I admit it. I email in my ministry more than I would like to admit. This is something that I agonize over daily. Do I take this as a teaching moment about good communication or respond to the passive aggressive email in the way that this person is contacting me? More often than not, I hit reply. It makes me cringe. I'm embarassed to admit it.

However, this email was not a church-related email. This was an email that arrived this afternoon from a member of my family to addressed to my parents and cc'ed to every relative in the family. It was an attack on my parents. It was one of those awful emails that makes you pause and wonder if this person should have counted to 10 before hitting send. This relative is angry. Very angry. Isn't it charming that not only do we express anger but pull up all past wrongs in the midst of disaster? This is what my relative did.

I did not reply.

Instead, I thought of Jesus drawing a line in the sand. I thought of how he turned the crowd and asked who among them was not also angry or guilty or sinful. A woman stands in the midst of the crowd. She is the source of their anger. They are ready to throw things. They are ready to hit send and draw deeper lines in the sand. This is why I did not reply. I don't want deeper lines in the sand.

My family is complicated enough. I have three families beyond my immediate family. It seems that there are always lines in the sand that I'm trying to traverse. There are always lines that I have smooth out. And there are lines that require me to ask everyone to resist the temptation to throw things. I don't want to do this anymore. When the only person who understands what it was like for me to grow up ends up in a Psych Ward, I'm refusing to play on these lines anymore.

Instead of precariously playing on these lines, I'm blogging. I hope this doesn't fall into anyone's pet peeves because it is a release for me. Even though she's cat blogging (one of my pet peeves), ppb encouraged me to do bibliotherapy. I haven't read anything since she gave this wonderful advice of reading to offer myself some therapy. I read some poetry on Thursday but I abandoned my books over the weekend. I can't seem to find the attention span to read. My mind wanders too quickly -- but blogging offers a connection that reminds me that others are praying. Others are listening. Whether you know me or not, you have been a blessing to me as I try so hard not to dance across the lines that my family draws. Your comments have supported me tremendously when I can't (or won't) share what is happening with my church family.

The Boob Update

I know that you are all dying to know what's going on with my boobs. Needless to say, they are still small and nothing has really happened. My complusive screening has shown no signs (I wonder if psychology factors into my self-exams sometimes).

Too much information? Tough. Do a self-breast exam. Once a week. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Talk about it in church -- if you don't cry when you start talking about it like I do. Then again, Katherine reminds me that it's ok to be vulnerable and cry. She wrote a great story on Fidelia's Sisters.

So, anyhow, I just got the call from the nice lady at the Breast Health Center. She wanted to the background information on my family history. I got to explain once again that it is possible that my Norwergian relatives carried the gene. They were cousins and aunts of my grandfather. Did you know that men can carry the gene? Did you know that men can even develop breast cancer? It's true. Bestafar might have had it. (Bestafar is Grandfather in Norwegian.) Though I don't know for certain, I'm left to speculate and worry. I could hear her nod encouragingly through the phone. She understood. She even understood that my family doesn't talk about it and I feel like a sleuth when I ask. But, with the recommendation of my doctor, Nancy is going to call me to make an appointment. I'm going to have a mammogram. I have to consider if I'm going to get an MRI and we'll talk more about DNA testing. I still don't know what I think. But, I feel enough peace now that at least I have been heard and an appointment will soon come.