Dressed for Success

Tonight, I will be spending the night on a hard concrete floor of the church with two other chaperones and ten confirmands. Scratch that. Nine confirmands. One just dropped out of the entire program by email. Sweet. The mere thought of this exhausts me. I know it's important to these teenagers. I know it's an important part of their journey but... ugh.

It's things like this that further articulate to me that I'm not called to youth ministry. I fully respect the people that are called to youth ministry -- some of whom are good friends. I think you're amazing people to push these bratty, snotty teenagers in their faith and their personhood. But, I'm not one of you. I feel like a bad person every time I say this. I firmly believe that people look nervously at me when I saw that I don't like teenagers, but so be it. It's true.

I'm not sure I ever really was a teenager. But, really, the problem is that I still look like one. People always think I'm 12. I'm not sure why I can't seem to mature past 12 but I try really damn hard. It's symptomatic of so many of my young female clergy friends chopping their hair short. It makes us appear older. I'm that girl. Now, as I'm trying to anticipate how I want to present myself tonight, I'm looking at my attire and thinking about how little I want these teens to see me in pajamas. It feels so raw. So vulnerable. So personal. I'll bring my ratty hoodie sweatshirt from college, but I'm still squirming in my own discomfort. It's silly, but it's what's racing through my head right now.

Creating Home

On Friday, I went to look at condos. I saw four -- two of which were charming, one which was a dump and another that I'm literally dreaming about. It's charming. It's adorable. I would love to live there. I would love to make it my home.

That's what scares me. My dad just booked a flight to come see me this weekend. He's going to see this place and one other. He's going to be here with me so that I can make this huge decision. Will this be my home? Am I ready to settle here? Yes. I'm terrified to say that, but yes. I love this place. It has everything that I need and want. I shudder at the very thought of leaving.

The problem? Right. It's this career path. I'm an Associate Pastor at a big steeple church in the area. They love me. We're doing good things. Things are looking good. I see some challenges and some areas for growth. I see what they can teach me and what I can offer them -- but I never saw myself as a lifetime Associate. I cringe at the thought. I never really saw myself in this call for that long. And yet, here I am thinking about buying property which means that I would be here for much longer. It means that I would actually create my first real mortgaged home here. Yikes. So, is this realistic? Am I insane? Of course I am but don't great things come from great (expensive) risks?

Roll Away the Stone

After our last Good Friday service, I stood in the chancel moving chairs when a woman approached me with some news. She and I have had a close pastoral relationship. She knows me well and I know a good chunk of her story. A few weeks ago, I had visited with her son in crisis. He has PTSD. He was a Marine. My heart breaks for him -- even as he told me I was "bad ass." On Good Friday, his mom approached to tell me that he was in jail. He got in a bar fight and the cops followed him home. He's been in jail for three days and there is no certainty that he'll be released soon. Apparently, there was a charge hanging over his head that he had tried to avoid.

This morning, while testing mics, I listened to my colleague assure this same woman that there is Christ is risen and there is no pain or darkness. I understand the pastoral assurance that he's trying to offer -- but these are weak words even on Easter morning. The Resurrection reminds us that there can be hope -- not that there is always hope. Her son is still in jail. It's still a crap day no matter what the Gospel might be. For her, it's only a possibility. One day, there might be Resurrection. Maybe. That's the hope.

Resurrection always seems to come too soon for me. Maybe that's why I'm typing away 20 minutes before worship. I need to take my time. The stone in my stomach doesn't just roll away. It's still there. There is still hurt. There is hope. Indeed, but maybe not today.

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.

Saying "I love you"

These words have been on the tip of my tongue recently. Perhaps it's because I'm thinking about the birth of Love. Only a few days ago, we welcomed this mystery into the world. It's not that we didn't know Love before this birth -- but for those of us who place our faith in Jesus -- love starts here (or somewhere near here). That may be way these words are on the tip of my tongue. Or it could be that the holidays welcome thoughts of those that we love and how we choose family. It could be that I'm thinking about the family that I'm not with this holiday season. Or it could be that I'm thinking about the family that I've chosen.

Tonight, I went to the airport to pick up one of my favorite people. He was returning from the holidays visiting his boyfriend's parents. I was excited to hear their stories (rather than just seeing the pictures on Facebook). We went to dinner and caught up and it just felt so good. I've missed him. I've really missed him and he only lives around the corner from me. I said good night by wrapping my arms around him and telling him that I love him. I've said it to him several 100 times over the two years that we've known each other -- but tonight I actually heard these words come out of the mouth. They felt thick. Each word sounded heavy like it rattled in my mouth. Not in an uncertain way but in a wonderful way. I meant it. There were no truer words in that moment. I love him. And even though the words surprised me tonight, he responded as he always does by echoing my words: "I love you too." And I knew. I was loved.

I got in my car and drove away and knew that I was loved. It was simple as that. And yet, these words hang on my lips. They're rattling there waiting to come out every time I hang up the phone with Musicman. We haven't said these words yet. Not out loud. Not to each other. They are not words that we always say. They are not words sent between two friends. They are words that articulate something other than platonic love or sisterly love or something reserved for the body of Christ. This is something else. And yet, these are the words that are there hanging on my lips as I prepare to make my way to visit him in his hometown tomorrow. I'll meet his parents. I'll learn more about him. He'll see more of me. And though all of these things are significant, I wonder if I will say these words. I wonder if these will be the words that begin my New Year.

Monsters & Beasts

You know that story in Revelation 13 about that thing that comes from the sea? You know, it's read to be the antichrist and misinterpreted as various political figures. There's even an awful book series based upon this misreading. I don't like it. I think it's wrong. For many, many years, I thought this particular text should be hacked out of the canon. Now, I don't think so -- it only took one class in seminary. I had a professor who completely changed my reading of this particular text. That was almost five years ago though. Now, I'm trying to write a story about how I see this particular creature. So, I wonder if you have thoughts. What do you think of this beast?

The Biological Clock

Last night, after barely scooping myself off the couch from Sunday morning events, my dear friend came over for dinner. We pulled things together with a few ingredients and sat down to talk -- which we haven't really done all summer. He has been swept up into his love affair. I have had my own drama. Our lives have just not intersected in the same way. He is one of my favorite people so this has been sad for me. However, that all changed last night when we got to linger over wine and food.

The last topic of our conversation turned to babies. He's 31. I'm 29. Our friends are all having babies. In fact, I have had several children pop out of my girlfriends in the past few weeks. My other girlfriends (the single ones) are beginning to talk about this internal clock. I think mine is broken. Or maybe I never had it. I'm not really sure what I think about it. However, my 31-year old friend is resolved on this issue. No kids. No babies. No ridiculous adoption feats. No proving he's a good gay dad. EVER. I'm not so sure. I'm straight and I'm assuming everything works just fine so that the option is out there. It's possible -- if I wanted it.

Of course, I can't help but think about the children that gathered at my feet yesterday morning. I can't help but think about how loved they are and how much they have going for them. Some part of me wants to be there for that journey. I want to be able to nurture them as they grow and in the same breath I wonder if this is enough. It is enough to just do this. To just be a good mentor. Will this offer me the satisfaction I need? Or, as my dear friend waxed poetic last night, do we need to let go of our self absorption and really make some sacrifices for someone else? I know I'm not there yet. I just wonder if that's ever something I will want -- because I think you should be called to have kids. I have no idea where the Biblical paradigm for that emerges with Sarah's laughter and Mary's illegitimacy. Was it that their biological clocks were ticking? Or is it bigger than that? Is this what God called them to be? And is that a call for me?

That's It! I QUIT!

If you were to tell a story about your ministry (in its current or a past setting) and choose an ending, what would happen?

I was recently told a story (of which I don't have all the details) about a colleague in ministry that was serving as a solo pastor in Rural America. Some members of the church called a meeting behind her back. Sigh. This is sad enough, but the reason that they called this meeting was to discuss the fact that she listened to too much secular music. They thought that this should change. She didn't leave, but if she did. This would have been it.

I'm looking for stories like this one. I'm wondering about those moments when you almost threw in the towel because of something that happened during your ministry. Did you want to leave the church? Did it force you into thinking about leaving the ministry altogether? Do you have some strange fantasy about eating, praying and loving all over the world? If you were to tell a story, how would it all end?

When Crazy People Come to Church

How wide do we open the door?
Do we dare to let these children of God in?

Yesterday, my colleague received an email from a marginal member who every so often lashes out for something desperate. She needs grocery money or her car is broken. She calls the SP and begs. This has happened twice now. He makes a phone call on her behalf and apologizes that he can't do anymore. Neither of these phone calls have worked out -- but both times she has sent an email to announce joyously that God is protecting her and sent her angels that took care of her. This time, it was a whole family of 5 that showed up and played badminton with her in the backyard. For those of you that have children, is this something you do with your three children? Really? I don't think so. I asked the SP if he thought she was making the rounds among the churches. I pegged this family as Baptist from the other side of town. They're nicer than we are.

This is actually what bugs me. It's one thing to invite the "crazy people" into worship and welcome them "no matter where they are on life's journey" -- but it's totally another when these people are calling the pastors at home. It's the pastors that have to decide how to negotiate these relationships so that all parties are safe, healthy and well.

I admit that I have no idea how to do this. This is a little too close to home for me. I don't know how to relate to my brother -- and he's family! How can I possibly know what is fair both for me and these children of God that wander through the church doors? I fear that this will be one of the greater challenges to face the church in the future. And yet, I don't know what to do with it today.

Ethical Eating

So, I'm reading a book that seems to be all the rage in my community. It seems every time I turn around, someone else is reading it. Unless, of course, they are reading one of those vampire books.

Anyhow, this favorite author of mine is inspiring me -- as she always does. I'm thinking about how I eat, where I eat and how it reflects my commitment to God's created order. I'm soon heading to the Farmer's Market, but this is a gift that is offered to our community only in summer months. We don't get to have it much during the winter -- perhaps because the climate here is a little less than hospitable. So, I just did a little research on Community Supported Agriculture in our area. It turns out that there is one farm that offers winter shares. But, I've never done this before. I'm not sure the questions to ask. Or if there is something I need to know before I slap down a deposit to see three cheers for the farmers and local produce. Is there anything?

How It Ends

Over on Fidelia's Sisters, the column featuring the life and times of one Alexis Daphne Vina is coming to an end. We are going to create a new column that will be featured in that same space -- coming in October. As the editor, you can be sure that I will be soliciting thoughts and ideas from you for this column. (Yes, you YCW. You!)

This presents the interesting opportunity of choosing an ending to the short-term ministry of one divorced, solo pastor clergy woman in a semi-rural context. As you can read in the most recent edition of her life and times, something is up. But, what could happen from here? How should the story end?

Scattered

This is what I'm thinking about the Gospel Lesson.

I'm thinking about what it means to be integrated so that our whole self is participating in the Realm of God. Jesus hints at this in the 23rd verse when he invites (I see it as an invitation) to bring our emotion (understands), speech (hears) and action (bears) into that Realm. I wonder what that means though when we are scattered across the path, rocky ground and amid the thorns. Can we ever be that integrated? Or are we just that scattered?

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.

Too Good to Be True

Have you ever had this conversation with someone?

You start talking about how everything seems to be clicking so well that you are both unnerved. I find this is not really something to complain about. But, it has happened often recently. There's my friend that got dumped by mean boy last night. She and I have had this conversation several times over. We've only known each other a year -- but our friendship just fell into sync. This happened with another friend when I moved here. He is like my brother. It was so overwhelming in the beginning of our friendship that he asked me if we were dating -- and because he's gay, I thought this was hysterical. This would be a good day to write that article for The Ones We Love that I have been meaning to write.

And yet, the reason I'm thinking about how things are a little too good to be true this morning is because of my fabulous date last night. There were cocktails, food, a walk on the pier, cuddling on a bench watching the planes fly in (ok, it doesn't sound that great), another glass of wine and some making out.

Between sips of that last glass of wine, we actually had that conversation about things being too good to be true. It wasn't awkward or strange. We both agreed. There was happy silence between us -- the kind that you don't rush to fill. You are just happy to be together. That's when the conversation started about this too good to be true business. This is a little unnerving for me. Ok, totally unnerving. But, I think I like this boy. I think I really, really like this boy -- and this seems too good to be true. Who the hell cares though? I'm going to wear my silly girly smile into the day and pray no one dies because I can't stop smiling.

Never Gonna Get It

Yesterday I hiked over this little town with a friend. This is a friend that did the Peace Corps. She is incredibly talented and intelligent -- and rooted in Maine. We agreed we could both never live in this little town. That's it. That's the whole town. There isn't even a local store to pick up milk. It's been converted to an antique shop. My hiking said she could live there if she knew there was a definite end. This is how she survived the Peace Corps. It was only 2 years. I have heard this from other Peace Corps friends. And then, she stopped and turned around to face me. "Is that what you think of Portland?"

My answer didn't satisfy her. It wasn't exactly what I had thought of my time here -- but I don't see this as forever. I don't know that there will ever be a place where I settle forever as clergy. (Do we do that?)

While I was running today and thinking about this conversation, I remembered something that Sara Miles had written. She talked about Ezekiel's story and that strange command to eat the scroll. This is how I feel sometimes. I want to eat God's words. Not only in a feast. I want to dig into text. I want to swim into it. I want to be lost in it. But, I also want to eat my own words. I want to swallow my own pride and surrender to the fact that this is (actually) in God's hands. Not mine. And so, I turn to the Book of Ezekiel.

Discernment

The Polar Bear is wearing a discounted item from a certain store she found while shopping. I'm impressed that she found this item for $13.99. If it were not for the spread, I might rush to the store too. Instead, I'm about to make a bean layer dip and drink margaritas. We'll call that dinner. That might explain things.

And while I go, I've got this Catie Curtis song stuck in my head. It's the last verse that is actually repeating in my mind.

And when you go to California
They want to know why you'd live back East
When the weather there is cold and the people there are cold
I say the people are why I'll never leave

I can't decide if it's the people that will make me stay. I'm trying to figure that out.

Shopping

Earlier today, I was trying to scurry out of the office to make it to the gym in order to combat the anti-spread campaign. I haven't talked about this much because it wasn't serious until now. The spread arrived over my hips about three weeks ago. I'm not amused.

But as I was scurrying out of the office, my Google chat perked up. The greeting was rather darling. It was something about the sun coming out. I didn't see it outside my window but I'll welcome some sunshine. The conversation continued so that my friend PPB directly asked if I was leaving my present call or not.

Huh. Um...

I don't know, I told her. I'm thinking about it. She offered me a shopping metaphor. I can only say that there is a red suit that I saw there for way cheap three weeks ago and I didn't get it (because of the spread). I'm sad. It was pretty. Is this what I am supposed to glean from my friend's wisdom? Am I supposed to be shopping?

On a side note, I feel whiny. I don't mean to sound whiny -- but it's the mood I've been in recently. Please forgive me. Blame it on the spread, if you must.

Not Thinking

My self care practice has been fairly tame recently. Nothing earth shattering. Nothing revolutionary. Just good reminders about how to take care of yourself as clergy -- which I might actually be able to learn to be good at. Fascinating.

And then, we get to this week: Taking Time for Yourself. Now, I have taken self care inventories many, many times now. I have taken the same one several times. But, this one leaves me numb. Why?

Well, I scored a 10 out of 16. I have room for improvement, it tells me. I also didn't check a number of these things because they don't apply to my present call. For example, there was a question about returning in the middle of my vacation for work. I wouldn't do this. I'm on a team. My colleague is there to do it. He would come back from vacation if I was there, but that's another story. I also am not planning on a sabbatical because I don't think that I will be at my present call the certain amount of time that I need to be here to earn it. I'm also only 18 months into my present call. Who's thinking about a sabbatical then?

But, the one that really floored me: "During my time off, I am able to refrain from thinking about work."

Um, no. I think about it constantly. Not worrying about my to do list -- but dreaming about what I want to do and praying for members of the church and wondering about what our work will be together. I think about it all of the time. Don't you? And if you don't, then how do you stop yourself from thinking about work?

A Theme Song

My self care experiment with my colleague in ministry almost ended this week. We almost threw in the towel -- as there are matters in my colleague's life that make it near impossible to think about where she might be going. I find it hard too -- though my story is totally different. I find it strange to be thinking about where I will be going when I haven't really started. This model assumes that I have years of experience in the ministry that have formed awful habits. This week, they gave signs of hope like Pastor Bonnie who started knitting and the world made sense again. Is it wrong that I giggle at this?

Our task this week was to look back at what we have done so far -- what we have written and what we have wondered. I love rereading journals so this was fun. And if you can believe it, I have grown. Things have happened in a mere three months. Astonishing! In our looking back, we were scouting for a theme statement. For me, this is as strange as Pastor Bonnie's knitting. I'm thinking about it as a mantra -- something to remind myself in good times and not bad times. We're supposed to adorn our home and office with these words as a reminder to ourselves. So, my theme statement is:

Emerging from chaos, I will create.

I'm supposed to have Scriptural reminders too -- which is an obvious reference to Creation and Ezekiel's dry bones. I'm loving that passage right now -- even if the dude was super duper repetitive in his writing. And the Lord said. And I heard the Lord say. Yeah. Maybe we need it to be that clear. Maybe that's why I'm supposed to choose a theme song to cheer me along in this reminder. Of course, I have no idea what that might be. I'm hoping for a song that I can turn on in my car with all of the windows down singing at the top of my lungs without a care in the world. Of course, chicks with guitars are required. I would love to use one of Stacey Midge's songs. I can't figure out how to download them though. Dumb -- but true. So, I'm thinking about:

Dar Williams -- You're Aging Well
Tracy Chapman -- Change
Indigo Girls -- The Wood
Mary Chapin Carpenter -- I Take My Chances

Truth be told. I'm looking for suggestions. Any ideas?

Running on Leadership

An instant message appeared today from apbs remarking how great the latest edition of The Gospel According to Lexi D. Vina is. It is fairly fantastic -- even though I shall not reveal the author (and no, it wasn't me).

Our conversation turned continued as we talked about our ministry. Perhaps it is the middle of Lent and stresses are just higher in general. But, we both shared a frustration about church members that want things to done without wanting do offer energy for the transformative work. And though we are eagerly awaiting the Resurrection, we both feel tired with the work that we want to do if people would just get on board with us. I may be speaking more for myself than I am for my blogger friend.

I didn't really think much about this conversation until I was on the treadmill trying to catch up on my Christian Century habit. I started to run faster and couldn't read between the bouncing words as I thought about the work that is so hard to do if we are not in this together. Mind you, I was reading the issue about atheists. My mind started to bounce around to as I considered the Biblical model for the ministry we are supposed to share. Where does it say that there is only one leader? How are we supposed to share in leadership?

This seemed clearer at the gym. But, I still wonder about your thoughts.