My Chair is Empty

I'm heading to Springfield, MO with my chaplain husband in order to attend the annual Assemblies of God Commission on Chaplains Convention. (A mouthful, huh?) You are welcome to sit down and enjoy the flowers, however.

I'll be back Sunday evening. I have something very significant to pray about and ponder while I am gone. I may skip a meeting or two and take a Bible and a pad and pen and find a quiet spot. Please join me back here next week

Being One of the Lights in the City

Matthew 5:14-16 You are the light of the world--like a city on a hill, glowing in the night for all to see. Don't hide your light under a basket! Instead, put it on a stand and let it shine for all. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.

My last post was about City on a Hill, an inner-city ministry. I love the name. When Jesus uses the "city on a hill"-- a city of light-- as a visual metaphor, he is speaking to those who are his disciples. The Christ-followers are to be the light, the city that shines where all can see.

This little light of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine,
This little light of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine,
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!

Hide it under a bushel?
No!
I'm gonna let it shine,
Hide it under a bushel?
No!
I'm gonna let it shine,
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!

This was one of the first songs I remember from Sunday School. That one and

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,
To shine for him each day,
Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,
At home, at school, at play.
A sunbeam, a sunbeam,
Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,
A sunbeam, a sunbeam,
I'll be a sunbeam for him!

Were you singing with me?

I recently heard someone say that "This Little Light of Mine" was a song of self-affirmation. In a sense it is, since we all have gifts and glory to share. But this song is not primarily about our humanity. The song is from the Matthew verse. It is not merely our own light that is shining; it is the light of life, the light of Christ which, hopefully, shines in our lives. Folk singer Barry McGuire once said that we are like the moon. Jesus is the main light, like the sun, and Christians are a secondary source--reflections of divine light. He joked, "I wanna be a full moon." I know, today that brings other images to mind than what Barry intended, but at the time the thought of a beautiful full moon reflecting the sun's light seemed simple but profound.

Someone left two comments here not long ago. One said the blog was "amazing" (not a compliment, I learned), and the other urged us to open our minds. Both referenced an internet site which aims to prove that God is a figment of our collective imaginations. I took a look. Some of the "proofs" required some thinking about, IMO. Others made me groan, because the statements and examples were so simplistic and revealed a gross misunderstanding of basic tools of Bible interpretation, among other problems. Nonetheless, the assertion that God is imaginary, and the site's efforts to persuade us that we are being deluded, got me thinking.

I was not trying to decide whether or not God is imaginary, and I have neither the time nor the inclination to debate atheists. I leave that to my friend Metacrock and others. I was thinking about why those who authored the site cared whether I believed in God or not. What would be accomplished if their reasoning convinced me?

I tend to think of things from my heart's perspective even when I'm trying to be cerebral; therefore, my initial intellectual arguments for the existence of God rather quickly gave way to pondering what being a Christian--a "little Christ" or a follower of Jesus means. What difference would it make in my life, and in others lives, if we all decided we are fools for having faith and joined the ranks of Christians who have become atheists?

That deserves a book, not a blog post, but here goes. The Church of Jesus Christ has often done a woeful job indeed of shining in the darkness. However, this is the ideal, and this is the aim of my heart. I want to make a difference in individual lives and in the world in my own God-given way.

I thought about our trip to the coast to help with Katrina relief efforts, which I blogged about at length, starting here. Our church back home in Wisconsin was praying that the Church would shine. I saw overwhelming first-hand evidence of that happening everywhere we went on the Gulf Coast. I am not saying that only people of faith were helping. Of course, that is not the case, but I know that those who arrived first, before FEMA, before the Red Cross, before any "official" organization, were mostly the church people. From all parts of the country and from many denominations, they came. They prayed, cried, hugged, and rolled up their sleeves and sweated in the stifling heat and humidity and worked hour after hour. I worked till I almost could not stand up anymore, and then I rejoiced that I actually had a real shower (in a church basement) to use, and a building in which to sleep. Many volunteers slept in tents for weeks, right along with hurricane victims. Over and over we heard, "Thank God for the churches. We would have nothing without you people." Lutherans, Baptists, Pentecostals, Presbyterians, Methodists, Christian Missionary Alliance people and more, all worked side by side and sang hymns and laughed and smiled through their exhaustion.

I thought of the boxes we gave to Mississippi children--boxes with a few toys or crayons, dolls, a book or two--where did those boxes come from? From churches. Many included notes of encouragement or assurances of love and prayers. Many of the notes were from Sunday School children.

Who is reaching out to children trapped in Asia's sex trade business? Who, most often, are the ones who run rescue missions and, in spite of overwhelming obstacles, seek to share love with the homeless, the addicted, the lost and broken? Who reaches out to abused women? Who had the idea for Heifer International? It was Dan West, a Church of the Brethren relief worker. Who are the people working on the streets of the inner cities? Who is working at City on a Hill (see previous post) to reach "one block at a time?" What kids came and picked up litter and washed windows and raked and mowed lawns of elderly poor? Who removed plywood and provided real windows for a grandmother caring, against all odds, for 17 grandchildren? People of God, that's who.

I think of Galina (of the blog OceanChrist) who reaches to broken people and believes in them. Her story of an encounter with Jesus while still in the USSR is remarkable. I think of Diane who directs City on a Hill. She formerly held an executive position in a renowned and prosperous health care corporation. I think of Brian who works long hours there, not because anyone makes him but because he loves with Jesus' love. I think of someone who gave a small fortune to a little church in the south, simply out of love. I think of pastors who often work long hours and usually receive little affirmation or recognition. Most churches in America are small, not multi-million dollar enterprises, and being a "reverend" doesn't carry much prestige anymore. I think of missionaries I have known. They were not the arrogant and narrow-minded radicals so often depicted in movies or books. I know those people exist, but most left home, family, comfort and security to learn a foreign language, eat unusual food, use unsanitary toilets and sometimes face danger and even give their lives. For fun? Not likely. Their desire was to be a light in some dark places. The missionaries I know are some of the finest individuals on this earth. I think of Laurie, who cleans our church with a song on her lips. I think of my secretary, Honey, who gives time and service for no pay, and I think of Pat who has a demanding job and who often longs to go home and put her feet up. Today she will be sharing time and prayer and love with a group of women who will come to her house expecting something good. And there are so many more.

My husband was a computer programmer and systems analyst in the USMC, earning commendations for his fiscal accounting system. Upon discharge a private firm offered him a position with a salary that made our moths drop, one that would have supported us in a style of which we had only dreamed. He declined so that he could study for the ministry, and we scraped by, eating macaroni and cheese and hot dogs and living in campus housing for families (which was a none-too-new mobile home). We made our own fun with our two children, because a concert or even a movie was out of the question. Why? So he could work with felons.

I used to be well-known and respected in certain circles of state service, but I turned down a raise and a new position and relocated so I could earn about half as much serving a small and struggling congregation. Do I regret it? No. Does my husband? No. Oh, occasionally we wish we had a new vehicle instead of a 1997 minivan. Occasionally we wish we could afford overseas travel. Occasionally, while squeezing past each other in the morning, we wish for a larger bathroom.

Would we change it? No. Are we crazy or deluded or foolish? Maybe. But last week in Milwaukee when a smiling man hugged him saying , "Hi, Chaplain!" and then shared of his new life on the "outside," a life that includes a job, a church family and a new attitude, my husband's heart rejoiced more than it ever did when a computer program worked properly. Yesterday when I received an email thanking me for Sunday's sermon, my heart rejoiced too.

It took a long time, but because I believe I am valuable to God, I finally learned to hold my head up, look people in the eye and walk with hope and confidence. Because I am a Christ-ian I try to do the right thing, even when it is the hard thing and even when it costs me. Because of Jesus I seek to love unloveable people, to encourage and build up and affirm. Because I believe we are all made in God's image, I want to look for that image in even the most annoying or the most broken of people. Because of that I can seek for the promise and potential in everyone.

I once worked at a law firm serving low-income clients. Those lawyers, mostly atheists or people who did not attend church (and laughed at me for doing so), were dedicated and gifted and hard-working--and I was proud to work with them. As I said, Christian people are not the only ones who seek to make a difference in the world. Perhaps those coworkers of mine were simply better people than I. I suspect that if I did not believe that what happens here has eternal value I would likely be selfish, depressed, dishonest and feeling stupid and worthless. I am not a good person simply because I exist, and my own efforts at self-improvement always fall short.

I also know that people who called themselves Christians have done foolish and sometimes terrible things. Our efforts have often been misguided at best, and destructive at worst. The Church of Jesus brings me distress, makes me frustrated, causes me to wonder what I'm doing, makes me fighting mad at times, and is so divided as to be laughable. Still, I do not regret that I belong to it. It also brings me joy, hope and purpose. I, like the Apostle Paul, confess that I am a debtor to Jesus Christ. Sometimes Jesus' words make me irritated or confused. Sometimes I have passing thoughts if it is worth it to be a disciple. Sometimes I wish I could believe that it makes no difference what I do or think or whether people believe or not. But I can never repay the debt of love I owe my Savior. The only way I can try is by loving the people he created.

I could write so much more about this, but lunch time is over and I need to get some work done. Today, among a long list of other things, I will call a grieving widower and seek to bring comfort. I will travel an hour to make a hospital visit to a woman suffering excruciating pain. I will call someone who is working with me on setting up a counseling ministry in our church. I will talk to a teenaged boy who is confused and troubled. I will have a conversation with a woman who I suspect is angry with me, and I will try to be diplomatic and mend fences. Why? Because I am some sort of deluded do-gooder? Nope. I don't necessarily look forward to hospitals, counseling sessions or angry people. Pastors and priests and chaplains and deacons and laypeople from around the nation and the world will do the same kinds of things today.

I look forward to the day when I see my savior's face, and I want to hear the words, "Well, done good and faithful servant." If the commenter is correct and I die and there is nothing but oblivion, I will still have had more joy, more love, more hope and more purpose than ever could have been remotely possible if I did not believe God IS.

This little light...let it shine! To God be the glory.

City on a Hill

Matthew 5:14-16
You are the light of the world--like a city on a hill, glowing in the night for all to see. Don't hide your light under a basket! Instead, put it on a stand and let it shine for all. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.

Twenty-one people people from my church piled into vehicles yesterday for a trip to City on a Hill (COH) an urban ministry in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We were headed to "The Family BarBQ."

In addition to many small-group and one-one one kinds of ministry, City on a Hill periodically hosts "big events" for the neighborhood. The Family BarBQ is one of those outreaches. The staff at COH is small and stretched to the limit already, so these event require many helpers. There were well over 100 volunteers yesterday from various churches, mostly Assemblies of God, but others too. City on a Hill works with many different churches and ministries.

So here are some of my parishioners, piled next to the wall for a group picture. A few faces were not included--I think the person we drafted to click the button had never used a digital camera. In spite of how the picture looks, we were actually having fun. I'm on the end ot the back row, and my husband is the guy in the hat. I was glad and proud that our small church had one of the largest turn-outs of volunteers!

A few minutes later (as we set up in the large parking lot) a little smoke, the mouth-watering smell of grilling meat, and sounds of hip hop and jazz drifted together down the city street, crowded with apartments and houses set close together. People appreard on porches to see what was happening.

Here's one of our beautiful teens, wearing her "Unshakable Youth" shirt. She is setting up children's games.

Don't these folks look like they would be good to know? I do have wonderful people as part of my congregation. Most of this bunch were working to set up the food. The smiling young guy in the center was part of the security patrol. Would you be intimidated by that face? Well, he can look tough when he has to. Fortunately, the need for that did not arise.

Under the big awning, children and a few grownups watched a magic show. If you click on this picture to enlarge it, note the expressions on the faces of the girls. Priceless! I had more pictures of the goings-on, but blogger is not cooperating again.

It was warm. Okay, hot. Mixed with bright sunshine, dark clouds swirled over our heads. We later heard that parts of Milwaukee received four inches of rain. A cool breeze fanned us all day, but not a drop of rain came down on our parking lot!

This morning I was told we served over 1,000 hot dogs, 700 brats (bratwurst, a staple of the Wisconsin diet) and an uncounted number of hamburgers. In addition to a free meal, the guests were treated to kid's games, face painting, basketball, various talented people who provided music and entertainment, smiles, handshakes (and sometimes hugs), and many gentle reminders of God's love. I wish my picture of "The Joshua Generation" could be posted. They are part of "Under the Clouds," an arts program at COH for young people. They performed worship dance to an urban beat. Their exciting, uplifting music, fresh faces, happy smiles, and exhilarating dance moves brought the crowd to their feet. Some of the braver onlookers occasionally joined the young dancers with some moves of their own. It was wonderful to see the encouragement they brought. One toothles elderly man, dressed in a colorful striped shirt that made me think of Joseph's coat, jumped up and astonished us as he moved in perfect rhythm, smiling and laughing and clapping his hands. We laughed and clapped with him. I worked in downtown Milwaukee for seven years, and something I learned to appreciate about many people in the black community was their ability to express emotions without self-consciousness.

I stood next to a lovely woman about thirty five years old with a sweet face.. She moved to the music and clapped her hands, smiling at me as I joined her. As the dancers took a bow, I said, "Aren't those kids great?" She replied with a kind of wonder in her voice, "They are so refreshing!" I moved away, praying for the kids, knowing the kinds of things they often face on the streets of Milwaukee's inner city.

Throughout the day some guests visited the prayer tent for one-on-one ministry. As I walked by that tent I noticed my friend, Pastor Bertha, who is pioneering a church in another area of Milwaukee's inner city. She saw me and gave me a "thumbs up" and a smile.

At the end of the day I stood with my husband at the exit, waving good-bye to the children and adults too, calling "God bless you and thanks for coming!" to various kinds of families. There were singles, old couples, young couples with children, very young moms with several kids in tow, homeless people, druggies, alcoholics, Muslims, Christians, young men with hats and cocky swaggers, others dressed in white shirts as if they were going to church, women in clothes much too tight for them, men in stained and dirty rags alongside men in new shirts, little girls with colorful beads in their hair, little boys dressed in Green Bay Packer shirts, old people, many in wheelchairs and missing limbs. Grandmas and babies. Black or white, many seemed broken and scarred by life. Some avoided eye contact; others waved and smiled, calling out to us in return.

A woman turned back to me, and I looked into the beautiful brown face of the one who had watched the dancers with me. "May I hug you?" she asked. "I just had to share some love with someone!" "Of course!" I said, laughing, and I reached to hug her over a short stone wall. This woman, whose name I never learned, hugged me and smiled as she said, "Thank you so much, all of you, for sharing the love of Jesus today. I heard again that God loves me, and I saw it too. I have been away from God, but today I talked and prayed with that lady pastor in the prayer tent. She helped me get it straighened out again.""Praise God!" I replied, thinking of the irony of the two of us hugging over the fence. I wish I could know her and maybe be a friend. She turned and waved as she went on down the dirty street, and she called out again, "Thank you!"

I'm a middle-aged white woman with a nice husband and a nice little ranch-style home in a nice rural town that is extraordinarily clean. My nice street is sometimes too quiet for my taste. In minutes I can be driving in green fields or sitting by the shores of Lake Michigan or Lake Winnebago. How blessed I am! But how blessed I was to be able to go, even for a day, to my "Samaria." Jesus told his followers to go to Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria and the ends of the earth to spread the good news of the kingdom of God.

I was born in Los Angeles. I lived in Washington, D.C. and I worked in Milwaukee for seven years. I sometimes miss the city and it's people, even though I enjoy the country and believe God has placed me where I am now.

If you are interested in learning more, check out the City on a hill website. At the homepage you can watch a video that communicates what they do in a way that mere words cannot do. I was part of the beginnings of this ministry, and they have a special place in my heart. There was a reason I shared this experience. I'll tell you why in another post on another day.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY REV GALS & PALS!

In honor of one year of blogging sisterhood, with brothers included , here is the Anniversary Edition of the Friday Five!

1) What is your first memory of the RevGalBlogPals?
Reading St. Casserole's blog accounts of her life after Katrina. I had just returned from a life-altering trip to the formerly beautiful town of Waveland, Mississippi (mostly wiped off the map), and St. C.'s accounts kept me reminded to pray and pray some more, and that the aftermath is far from over, even now.

2) Have you met any of the other ring members in real life?

No, but Cheesehead in Paradise is in commuting distance, so there is hope!

3) Of those you haven't met, name a few you would love to know in person.

Where to begin? There are so many. Off the top of my head: Rev. Abi, Songbird, Lorna of See-Through Faith, Journey Mama (new, but I already know I'd love her), LutheranChik, Quotidian Grace, Cheesehead, Rachel, Mary Beth, net, and my long-time cyber buddy and "sister" Psalmist. I'll stop now, but there are many more.

4) What has Ring Membership added to your life?

A renewed realization that all kinds of people call Jesus Christ the Lord of their lives. Awareness that we pastors seem to struggle with some of the same kinds of things, which helps keep things in perspective. Laughter. Tears. Prayers. Sermon ideas. A BOOK with my words in it!

5) Describe a hope for the future of the WebRing.

A RevGals/Pals in-person party. See question #3.

At Church

My brains seemed to have turned to oatmeal. Ever have that happen? Thus, no post, just a few pictures.

Outside the door, last November.

Welcome to Jubilee!

By the cross on the front wall.

From the back.

I'm introducing Jeff Pockat and Friends , at church for an Irish church meeting. Unfortunately, Jeff's face is right behind his Gaelic Harp.

Being Called

This is a group of ministers and their spouses. (Mine wasn't present.) The older woman in the back row is a Nazarene pastor. The only other woman pastor in the group is me, second from left, last row. The group also included a Methodist pastor, a Lutheran pastor, a Church of God youth pastor, and a Baptist pastor. I think I have those right. The reason I posted this picture is because I recall conversations among this group about "the call." We were at Cedarly Pastor's Retreat Center, spending a marvelous (and free) week eating gourmet meals, visiting a nearby Anglican Seminary, walking in the woods (wet!), practicing lectio devina and (in my case) sleeping for hours on end from sheer exhaustion. It was fall. A chilly drizzle continued all week until our day to go home, when the picture was taken. We built fires in the fireplace every day, and we shared good fellowship with one another.

Conversation turned to our churches, of course, and then to our calling to ministry. The Nazarene pastor's husband was not present at that time, but as for the wives, some felt just as "called" as their pastor husbands. Others most decidedly did not. Several of the Rev Gals and Pals have spoken about "calling" on their blogs. It is a diverse group of clergy, but everyone, from nuns to Methodists to Lutherans seems to understand that word. I've also been asked to be a guest blogger on The Scroll, the blog of Christians for Biblical Equality, and as part of that I've been writing about my calling to ministry.

I am not sure how many Rev Gals, or other "called" folk may stop by, but I would love to hear your stories. The calling of God is difficult to explain sometimes. And sometimes, especially after running a gamut of emotions and experiences as I did last week, I wonder what God was doing.

You can check out The Scroll once the article (from me and some other clergywomen) has been written and posted. I'll let you know. Meantime, here is a little part of my call story.

It is a very long story, so I'll skip the beginning and I'll skip the end and hop to the middle, not telling you about the longings of my heart when a child, nor my subsequent experiences at Trinity College, North Dakota. My husband had already told me that when he finished his USMC enlistment he wanted to complete his degree in order to enter some kind of full-time ministry. I was more than fine with that. One Sunday night our pastor (Rev. Dave Davidson, Evangel AG, Silver Springs, Maryland--anyone out there?) preached a message about placing God at at the center of life and seeking to arrange other issues around serving Jesus Christ and his Kingdom. We concluded with a time of silent prayer, after being instructed to ask God if there was something we needed to understand about our life in the Spirit. I was tired and hot and wanted to go home, but I did as I was told, acknowledging my rather "unspiritual" state to the Lord as I closed my eyes.

To my utter surprise, as I stilled my thoughts I began to see what I later described as "slides." My dad once had a camera he loved, and he always took slide pictures, which we would later project onto our white living room wall. It was like that, only the "wall" was inside me. The scenes were vivid--and very surprising.

I saw five still pictures, all related to people and to ministry. I was present in each, but never alone in the picture. I won't describe them all, but one caused me great consternation. I was preaching, something I had never done and never intended to do. I wore a suit and I held a black Bible aloft. (Something I don't do, but I sure couldn't miss that I was preaching, not teaching a Sunday School class.)

I opened my eyes and left the church feeling wide awake and startled. For some time I told no one, not even my husband. There is more to the story, of course, but I trace later events, and my search to discover if it was really acceptable for women to preach, to that hot summer night in 1976 in a suburb of Washington, D.C.

It was a while before I acknowledged that what I had seen just might have been the Holy Spirit--but, deep down somewhere, I knew.

Anyone else care to share a little? If you post on your blog, just let me know.

Home Again

I'm back early, and very tired. We arrived home Thursday. While I was gone someone here died, so I'm home to officiate a very sad and completely unexpected funeral. Just letting you all know I am home -- and thanks for the heartwarming comments to my last post. They blessed me and I am grateful for the prayers!

Here are a few pictures from last week's "pretending" at the Midwest Muzzleloaders Rendezvous.

My husband puts the finishing touch on our lodge after setting up. This is our mandella. It says, "Bearded Eagle and Singing Owl." The little things hanging from it are ribbons or tokens from past rendezvous.

Happy Otter, the mother-to-be, sits in front of our lodge doing some embroidery. Isn't she beautiful? I wish I could look like that with no makeup!

Bearded Eagle contemplates whether he wants to enter the archery competition in 90 degree heat. (He does.)

Two Foxes and Happy Otter in front of their lodge. She made her dress, her necklaces, her beautifully beaded bag, and his shirt. She made the blue dress, above, as well. Do I sound like a proud mama?

Bearded Eagle and Two Foxes set up their new business, ready to use the stones to make axes, knives, and tomahawks as sharp as new. It takes two to use the old wheel--one to turn the crank and the other to hold the blade to the stone, so it's an ideal re-enacting enterprise for a father and son in-law to do together.

It's hot and I need a shower. How about we all cool off with some juicy watermelon?

Early Morning Pondering on Flowers and Mortality

This morning I woke up early. It is a beautiful day, dry, sunny and promising to be hot later. My husband headed off to his follow-up appt. with the orthopedic surgeon. I made coffee (you can see my cup in the picture) and took my Bible out to the back deck, where I spent time enjoying solitude and quiet--except for the mourning doves cooing, and the cheerful "chee chee chee" of a cardinal who perched on top of the bird feeder and preened his feathers in the morning sunlight.

After a while my mother joined me in the swing and began her usual comments on the weather, particularly what I (silently) call "the breeze report." She does this every day of her life. This morning she said, with wonder in her voice, "Just look at that tree." I did, not sure what I was supposed to see. (I should have known.). "Well just look. See how completely still it is? Not a leaf stirring." "Wow." I said, trying to muster that same tone of wonder, and failing. I don't think she noticed. As she grows older, my mother's thoughts return more often to her girlhood on the west Texas plains. The wind blew constantly. She, along with her parents and her 7 brothers and sisters, lived in a little wooden farmhouse full of love and laughter. They were poor for much of their early lives, but they were rich in the things that matter. My grandfather later became quite well-off and infuential in his town, but in the early days life was difficult.

They all worked hard. In the late summer the children each received a long burlap sack and headed to the cotton fields with "Papa" and the Mexican field hands. They picked cotton all day in the Texas heat--a tiring job of stooping, pulling the cotton so as not to lose any of the precious white fluff but also not getting bloody fingers from the sharp leaves at the bottom of the cotton boll. They welcomed the breeze as they kept a sharp lookout for snakes or spiders hiding in the rows of cotton plants. They also watched the sky for "thuunderheads" -- puffy white clouds that could turn dark quickly. At noon they headed in for "dinner," which always included some of my grandmother's famous hot biscuits. My mother tells of the preacher who often just happened to arrive at their place for a visit around dinner time, a man who never refused an offer of their biscuits. As my mother remembers it, he, covering a golden biscuit with butter and honey, always said, "Miz Lela, you make the best biscuits I ever et."

I adored my charming grandfather but I never knew my grandmother. My only memory of her is when I, creeping fearfully into a hospital room painted an ugly green, was urged up to the bed by my mother and my Aunt Ora. I was three years old, but I knew "Mama," at only 63, was dying. Her face was frail and drawn and she spoke to me in a whisper. It was sad and scary. My mother and I had travelled from California to Texas on a train. I remember little of the trip except for the clickity clack of the wheels on the track.

I thought of that this morning, looking at my mother as she sipped her coffee and talked of the weather. My mother looks very frail these days. She has changed in the past year--grown thinner and more confused and more melancholy. She doesn't smile much--but come to think of it, she never did smile much. She had a strange life. That is another matter, but this morning I looked at her wrinkled, pretty face in the sunlight, her blue eyes, her tiny nose and then her long, thin hands. How fragile those once-strong hands seem now. The mottled skin looks almost transparent, streched tight over the bones. We talked of "home" and of her parents and her brothers and sisters. She and my Aunt Pauline are the only ones that remain, but she looks forward to a reunion in Heaven with "Papa, Mama, Vernay, C.G., Cleo, Robbie Jo, Ora, and Maxie Rae."

I remembered these verse from Isaiah as we went on to talk about the flowers on the deck.

Isaiah 40:7-8

The grass withers and the flowers fall,
because the breath of the LORD blows on them.
Surely the people are grass. The grass withers
and the flowers fall,
but the word of our God stands forever."



The "companion" from the local home care agency will arrive tomorrow morning. Mother is very unhappy about that, but life goes on.

We'll soon be enjoying some days of rest and relaxation with our daughter and son-in-law. No doubt there will be happy conversation about our much-anticipated grandchild that will arrive in about 5 months.

Birth. Life. And age. And death. And God, and eternity. Such mystery.

I looked at the bright flowers and thought of how fragile they are. This is Wisconsin, and the cold winds will blow in a few short months and they will wither and grow brown and then be covered with a blanket of snow and ice. We'll look out the kitchen window at our icy little deck and wonder what happened to summer.

How foolish we are when we grow distracted and fretful over our "stuff" or over temporary things. People are eternal, so they are what really matters. We usually can avoid thinking such melancholy thoughts, but we know that we are perishing. At least our bodies are. God's word, God's love, remains.

How I rejoice that our spirits can flourish and grow and expand and reach upward, even as we grow frail.

2 Corinthians 4:15-17 All of these things are for your benefit. And as God's grace brings more and more people to Christ, there will be great thanksgiving, and God will receive more and more glory. That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are quite small and won't last very long. Yet they produce for us an immeasurably great glory that will last forever!

I've been feeling overwhelmed with life this last week or two. But all of this is nothing compared to the joy of great glory -- which will last. Some things never change and those things will remain. Praise be to God!

I'm off to make a few last phone calls. I'll be back in ten days.

I Hear America Singing

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!






I Hear America Singing


I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,

The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

-- Walt Whitman


Thanks to Lutheran Chik for reminding of one of my favorite poems.

The Sad Little Cat

This is our little cat a few months ago. She is a really sweet and cute little "tortie." The news from the vet was not good--a steroid Rx just made the sores worse. She has a horrible one on the top of her head and down almost to her neck. It looks really nasty. The next step is a biopsy, which will be done as soon as we get back from vacation. And of course, at some point it must be decided just how much money should be spent on a cat. The cat is one thing...my elderly mother, who LOVES this little kitty, is another. She is also very concerned about what she will do with "Patches" if she gets worse while we are gone. And folks, I need this vacation pretty badly.Prayer appreciated, if you don't have a problem praying for a little cat...and us too.

The Bearded Man

We sort of had a flag in church today. :-) My husband's July 4th tie says, "United We Stand." Note the bushy beard. He's getting ready for an National Muzzleloaders Rendezvous next week. Bearded Eagle and Singing Owl (us) will be meeting up with Happy Otter and Two Foxes (daughter and son-in-law) in Iowa for a much-needed week of fun and relaxation (we hope).

Jus' fer fun, here are a few pictures of past events.

Happy Otter


Bearded Eagle and SingingOwl (still coloring my hair then)<


Little-Too-Much and his woman




Blowing on the fire









Anyone near Waverly, Iowa? Come out and see us next week!

Am I a Soldier of the Cross?

2 Timothy 2:3-4
Endure suffering along with me, as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. And as Christ's soldier, do not let yourself become tied up in the affairs of this life, for then you cannot satisfy the one who has enlisted you in his army.

My friend, Psalmist, recently posted about her discomfort with patriotic church services. It got me thinking.

For a long time I assumed that on patriotic holidays the sermon would be about America and that we would sing "America the Beautiful" and "My Country, Tis of Thee" and other such songs. I love patriotic songs. I never questioned this or even thought twice about it until I was in my 30s. It was 1976, our nation's bicentennial, and we lived in Washington, D.C., our nation's capitol. My staff-sergeant husband was stationed at Headquarters - Marine Corps, right across the street from the Pentagon. We enjoyed the years we lived there. We are both patriotic, and we both love bands and pageantry and memorials and history. It was a wonderful place to live (temporarily), especially in 1976. Free programs and presentations abounded that year--a blessing for a family with two children needing something to do and struggling on an enlisted man's pay.

My husband was invited to be a guest at a church near us on Bicentennial Sunday. The pastor had invited a representative from each of the military branches to be present and to speak. The parking lot was festooned with red, white and blue bunting. Flags were everywhere. We held church outside under the trees, the military guests of honor standing proudly together in uniform for photo ops. We sang about America, we talked about America, we praised America, and the sermon was about--America and how God loves her, and why. In the congregation, visiting for the first time that day, was a family from Africa. I'm not sure which country--this was a long time ago-- but Sierra Leone or Somalia, perhaps. For the first time in my life I squirmed in my seat at the nationalistic rhetoric of the pastor. I saw the flags and the congregation (dressed in red, white and blue--myself among them), and I heard the sermon and the songs and the prayers with the ears of non-citizens. I watched the African family. They remained expressionless most of the service.

I was mortified. I pictured myself in a foreign land attending church on such a day and looking at flags and listening to "hymns" I did not know and waiting for a reference to the saving grace of the Lord Jesus Christ or to God's love and power, or to the family of God, or...any other scripture to feed my soul.

Even my husband, usually not particularly aware of such things (and a flag-waving American if ever there was one) looked somber. We talked about it on the way home, and I never forgot it.

Years later, in another church in another place, foreign visitors asked a member of the congregation if the large dove pictured on the back wall was, "your god?" OH! I suddenly wondered that day, looking at the platform, "If a dove was misunderstood, what message is sent by flags sitting on a church platform or altar area?"

My husband is going to preach this Sunday. The sermon is titled, "A Soldier of the Cross."

I have been singing the words all week to the hymn of the same title. It was penned by Isaac Watts, author of about 500 hymns. Here are his challenging words.

Am I a Soldier of the Cross

Am I a soldier of the cross,
A follower of the Lamb,
And shall I fear to own His cause,
Or blush to speak His Name?

Must I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
And sailed through bloody seas?

Are there no foes for me to face?
Must I not stem the flood?
Is this vile world a friend to grace,
To help me on to God?

Sure I must fight if I would reign;
Increase my courage, Lord.
I'll bear the toil, endure the pain,
Supported by Thy Word.

Thy saints in all this glorious war
Shall conquer, though they die;
They see the triumph from afar,
By faith's discerning eye

When that illustrious day shall rise,
And all Thy armies shine
In robes of victory through the skies,
The glory shall be Thine.

Oh, what powerful images! I have no problem with war imagery in hymns. We are wging war against darkness. I used to wonder, as a child singing this hymn in church, about being carried to the sky in a flowery bed. I thought the image was amusing, but I understood the point of the pointed question, "Am I a Soldier of the Cross?" "Oh yes, Jesus," I would think, "I don't want to float to heaven. I want to be a faithful soldier." How little I knew then. But I wanted to make a difference, and my heart still says these words. I will be a soldier of the cross, and I will not blush to speak of Jesus or to "own his cause" and I will be "a friend to grace."

A friend to grace! No, this world is NOT, as Watts notes. But we can be soldiers with grace as a watchword.

I will probably put a flag out on July 4th. But in church, even as we pray for America, and our troops in harms way, and ask forgivness for our nation's people, we will speak of Jesus and of battles that have eternal consequenceses.

Lord God, Commander of both the Heavenly Hosts, and those of us who fight the good fight here in this present world -- Even as we Americans thank you for the blessing of worshipping you freely and speaking truth without fear...even then, help us as we turn our eyes to greater things. May we not be caught up in the arrairs of this life. May we bring glory to You, the One who enlisted us. There are victories to be won! May the "glory be thine!" Amen

Feeling a Bit...Overwhelmed

This isn't me, but I know how she feels.

My husband had knee surgery yesterday. He is home and doing fine, snuggled under a blanket watching videos, leg up, iced and mostly immobile. My mother continues with a cough that won't quit and a painful case of shingles that won't...um...unshingle. The cat has an ever-worsening case of bizarre lesions on her poor little balding face. Significant members of our worship team will not be present on Sunday, so we need a plan. I'm still trying to figure out a sermon for this week. I need to prepare for mid-week Bible study tonight. Our vacation begins next Tuesday, and the nice friend/minister who was going to preach just called to (very apologetically) cancel due to a family crisis. My neice, who was going to take mom for a week while we are vacationing has had unexpected changes in the family schedule and will not be able to take "Grandmommy" till August. The car is making a funny noise. I've caught a chest cold and do not feel too well.

I'm off to call the vet (yet again), and then my mother's doctor. Then I'll try to call the district and see who I might get to preach next week. After that I'll call the social worker at the hospital and then....I'm not sure what to do.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me...I can...I can...I can...I can..."

Changes in the Southern Baptist Convention

I come from a long line of Southern Baptists. I probably left teeth marks on the pew as an infant. My first experiences of church were Southern Baptist experiences. I first leaned Jesus loved me from gracious and dedicated Baptist women. I was baptised at First Baptist, Pacoima, California. I attended Sunday School, Training Union and Girls Auxiliary. I met my first boyfriend at a Baptist camp. My husband and I were married by a Baptist minister. He was baptised in a Baptist church, and our infant daughter was dedicated in the same church. I can sing every hymn in the old blue Baptist Hymnal.

I left a long time ago, but a part of me will always remain a Southern Baptist.

For several years I have watched the tightening of control of my former denomination by a few men with (in my opinion) a damaging and divisive agenda. I've wondered what my dad, a life-long Southern Baptist deacon would think of the trends if he were alive to see them.

I rejoice that perhaps change is coming. Read about it here if you would like.

This Proves It!

I have always been interested in politics. I even toyed with the idea of running for office long ago and far away. Howevre, I always said I could never actually do so because I couldn't run as a Republican, and I couldn't run as a Democrat...and Independent Moderates NEVER EVER get elected.

Here's the "proof" in print.

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 45% Conservative, 55% Liberal

Social Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Personal Responsibility: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Fiscal Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Ethics: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

Defense and Crime: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

How Liberal Or Conservative Are You?

No wonder I feel so conflicted when I go to the polls. I either have a split personality, am so middle-of-the-road that I'm gonna get squashed, or I am very confused! Is there a more positive explanation?

Friday Five--Ice Cream

The Rev Gals are talking about ice cream today. Here's mine.

1. Ice cream: for warm weather only or a year-round food?

Ice cream is an every day of the year food, and twice a day in summer. Why do you think the owl is so rotund?

2. Favorite flavor(s)

Homemade vanilla. Otherwise, chocolate.

3. Cake cone, sugar cone, waffle cone, cup?
sugar cone

4. Childhood ice-cream memory

Making home-made ice cream in the crank kind of ice cream freezer...electric is not the same...out on the back patio on a hot California day...adding ice, adding salt, adding ice, adding salt, cranking till I couldn't and then my dad took over...seemed like hours...but OHHHH man, the most heavenly taste in the world licking homemade vanilla off the dasher

5. Banana splits: discuss.

Sure! Where shall we go? I prefer hard ice cream if possible, not the soft serve, and fresh strawberries....mmmm mmmmm

A Vigil for Life

The post below mentions a picture. Blogger is not cooperating, but I'm leaving the post as it is and hopefully inserting the picture later.

Five people from my church recently participated in a Vigil for Life sponsored by the Roman Catholic diocese of Green Bay. It has taken me a while to process my thoughts enough to try to write about them. It is difficult for me to write about the subject of abortion for many reasons. I've listened carefully to people share their thoughts or their experiences. I've sat across from women and watched their faces and listened to their stories. I've wept with them as they remembered the anguish and pain of their particular circumstance. I have heard more than one account of a situation that made me think, "Oh God, what was the right thing? What could have been done? What would I have done?" It is also difficult to write about this because I no longer live in a tidy world where I think people who love Jesus Christ agree on just about everything. I haven't for a long time, I suppose. How young I was once!

The issues are not simple. One of the Rev Gals devotions (see the book in the sidebar) was a recollection of terminating a pregnancy and the sorrow--and grace of God--that followed. We probably disagree about "the abortion issue." I read with tears in my eyes though, and I wished I could give an in-person embrace to this precious sister in the Lord.

The OB/GNY clinic is across the street from the hospital. About half of the women who see doctors there give birth to a live infant. The other half are there to have their pregnancy terminated. There are six doctors. Only two of them perform abortions...so that means that two doctors are dealing with almost half the women. Something is so sad about that. We were told that one rode a bicycle and we were warned that he would likely be very angry and confrontational. He had narrowly missed hitting several walkers with his bike, frightening even senior citizens as he headed for them--and turned at the last moment. The other doctor, our shift leader said, had spoken to no one and came and went quietly. We saw neither doctor that day.

The prayer walk began on Mother's Day and concluded on Father's Day, a period of 40 days. Twenty-four hours a day for 40 days someone walked and prayed. This vigil was not confrontational. We carried no pictures of aborted fetuses, and we seldom spoke to anyone, including each other. We stayed carefully on the sidewalk. We were walking on a Friday morning, so most of the walkers were retired folks. One very old woman told me that her feet were hurting badly but that she was not quitting till her allotted time was up. As she limped she prayed the rosary. Others prayed the Lord's Prayer. Two men walked together and quietly prayed scripture.

In the picture above I'm in the front of the line. My husband is a ways behind, in the hat. A bit further back are two of my church people. There were several different kinds of signs, as you can see. I've done this before, and I always choose to carry the sign that reads, "Abortion Hurts Women" if I can't have my first choice, "Jesus Forgives and Heals." There are a few that I cannot carry, even though I believe they are true.

It was a very warm and sunny day, but the atmosphere was somber. One man walked alone for two hours, never making eye contact with any of us and never speaking. His face was full of grief. I prayed silently for him, wondering what the pain was that he carried. At one point some children arrived and walked for about a half hour. One boy with bright blue eyes and a broad smile wore a shirt that proclaimed, "I choose life." He proudly showed it to me. Somehow, it just made me sad.

We tended to walk two-by-two. When I walked with my husband we held hands and prayed quietly. Sometimes we walked in silence. At one point I walked with a woman from our church for a while. Strangely, at one point we both were almost overcome with grief. We could not speak, except she asked, "What is this grief I'm feeling?" It felt very personal, as if someone I knew closely was dying. Tears poured down my face as I walked. I silently prayed for the women who were caught in desperate situations. The abused woman. The broken woman. The woman who had discovered that something was seriously wrong with her unborn child. The woman who had no one to stand with her or pray with her or just love her. The confused woman. The angry woman. The teenager. I saw them in my mind, and I wept for them and for the life in them. Then, almost as suddenly as the grief had begun, it ended.

I recalled a young teenager I knew years ago--an angry, spoiled, selfish girl. I learned that, at 17, she had just had her fifth abortion. She, and her mother, were quite casual about it all. I was horrified. Occasionally I still think of her and I wonder what went wrong. As I walked I prayed for her. She would be almost 40 now.

Next my mind went back to a dark night on a hillside. The smell of pines filled the air and the campfire crackled pleasantly. Five of us sat around the fire--my husband and I, two others whom I've forgotten, and a grieving young woman. I had been counseling her for a while. She had told me she had to have a sort of funeral for the children she had never seen. Sobbing, she laid three rosebuds on the fire. One was pink. The other two were white. As she watched the flowers burn into ashes, she spoke to her three children as if they were sitting with us. Wrapping her arms around her body, she sobbed out sorrow, brokenness, regret and pain that was beyond my comprehension. She asked forgiveness for ending their lives before they had begun. One was a girl, she knew. She told them that she would do it differently now, and that she prayed for God's forgiveness. She was only beginning to consider that God might love her. We moved away shortly after that night, but I hope she continued on in her journey and found God's healing and love.

I remembered the night a relative told me something she had never shared with anyone. Twenty years before, in an abusive and adulterous relationship, she found herself terrified for her life...and pregnant. She doubled over in grief as she anguished, "I know it was not right. I felt like I would die too when I went into that room. I hated the doctor. I hate myself sometimes too, and I grieve for that child every day of my life. But if I was in that situation again I can see nothing else I could have done. I had no choice." I said nothing. I just hugged her and sobbed with her.

I remembered the young woman who was raped and became pregnant. Seeking help from Planned Parenthood, she was only told the location of abortion clinics. Only when she became angry and insistent was she told about adoption options. She carried the baby for nine months, and she talked to it, sang to it and told it she loved it. When her little girl was born she cradled her for two days before tearfully giving her to the parents she had chosen to raise her child. Six years later, a picture of a newborn still sits on her dresser.

All these thoughts swirled in my mind as I walked and prayed. I prayed for God's confused, sinful, broken creation. I prayed for women, and for men, and for babies unborn. Not once did I pray for Roe V. Wade to be overturned. It never occurred me to pray about politics. There is much I don't understand, but I know this much. Politics and courts are not the answer. I also know something else.

Jesus forgives and heals.

Patricia Gundry has written a very thoughtful article, "Why I am Anti-Abortion and Pro-Choice." She discusses why we may feel conflicted about the abortion issue. I'm not sure what to think about all of what she says in this article, but she makes a lot of sense, as always. The article can be found here at FemSpeak. It will give you lots to ponder.

A Wedding Story

My daughter's favorite movie is "The Princess Bride." She and most of her friends have watched it numerous times. They've even been known to have Princess Bride parties.

My daughter was married a couple of years ago. She always planned that her dad would perform the ceremony, and she asked him to begin the rehearsal with the speech of "the clergyman" pictured in the meme below. As the rehearsal was about to start, she reminded her dad, "Don't forget what we're gonna do, Dad. Remember?" Dad said, "Huh, what are you talking about?" "YOU KNOW DAD, don't you?" Her rather stuffy pastor came up at that point with a direction, so the conversation was dropped. The rehearsal went well, except that afterwards the bride came up to me and lamented, "Oh, Mom, I'm so disappointed. Dad forgot he was supposed to do the clergyman lines from Princess Bride. How could he forget that? We've talked about it so many times!"

Next day the music played softly, the candles were lit, friends and family arrived and were seated. The guests included ministers and elderly missionaries, several Wiccans, a girl in leopard tights accompanied by her spike-haired biker boyfriend, several Goths, two guys in wheel chairs (residents of a group home where the Bride had worked), professors, a man covered with tattoos and more. It was the most eclectic group of guests I've ever seen at a wedding.

The bride, in an elaborate gown with a long train, entered on her father's arm and processed down the aisle to the strains of Bach. The pastor spoke a very formal charge to the groom. Then he stepped aside and Dad placed Daughter's hand in Groom's hand and stepped to the front. The bride's brother, a groomsman, wiped a tear away.

The hush was broken by the words, spoken with great solemnity, "Mawwaaaaage...is what bwings us tegeddah today..."

The congregation gasped in disbelief, and then erupted with laughter. Daughter's mouth dropped, and then she burst into laughter too. After we all regained our composer the wedding commenced. It was a very lovely wedding, all in all, rich with personal reflection, prayer, testimony of God's grace, and sweet joy.

The pastor wasn't happy though. He did not attend the reception. We had a wonderful time dancing (shhhh...don't tell...chuckle) by candlelight and eating chocolate-covered strawberries in the park pavillion. No wedding cake, just wonderful finger desserts. Daughter never wants to be particularly traditional. She did want her father to give her away though. But that is another subject.

A lot of people who probably tend to believe that Christian's are prissy and stiff found out differently. At least that day!

My daughter and her husband now attend an "emergent" AG church in Minneapolis. Take a look at Church in Uptown.

Princess Bride Meme--Well, whattaya know!

Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti

Internet Monk Weighs In on Pentecostals

This article, titled "A Growing and Awkward Silence: Things I Can't Talk About With My Pentecostal and Charismatic Friends" is long but worth reading for anyone who is interested in the relationship between both individuals and denominations of differening "stripes."

I am deeply saddened to say that I think every point he makes is desperately needed. I am getting tired of saying things like, "I am sorry that your Charismatic neighbor said that. I don't agree with that" or having people think that Pentecostal means a lover of all things TBN. (Aaaaaarrrrrrggggggh!)

For the record, I do not listen to Rod Parsley, TD Jakes, or Kenneth Copeland, to name just a few. And I do know what expository preaching is.

This fellow looks all too familiar.

Perhaps I should send a link for Monk's article to our headquarters.

friday fiveZzzzzzz....

The Rev Gals have a tradition of a weekly five-question quiz. Here's this week's.

1. In what kind of environment do you sleep best? (e.g. amount of light and noise, temperature, number of pillows, breathe-right strip, sleeping in the buff, etc.)

Firm mattress. Dark. Quiet. Very cool temperature with a blanket over me unless I'm really warm. Don't like the feel of air blowing on me though. I tend to get too warm at night so I sleep in nothing or in very light pajamas. That was more than the Rev Gals needed to ask, IMO. ;-)

2. How much sleep do you need to feel consistently well-rested?

Honestly, I hate this, but it is about 9 or 10.

How much can you get by on? Six or seven, but not for days on end.

What are the consequences when you don't get enough?

I get blank. Just glassy eyed and can't think. Eventually I get really hyper and silly. Not good. If it goes on too long, I just don't funcion well AT ALL.

3. Night owl or morning person?

Depends on the situation. Mostly a night owl, but I love the occasional really early-morning for walking, sitting on the deck, drinking coffee and reading my Bible when no one else is up.

4. Favorite cure for insomnia

Still looking for one. :-( Tried warm milk (ugh) and melatonin and eating a small snack and taking a warm bath. Nothing is working very well. I have been struggling with insomnia for a while now.

5. To snooze or not to snooze? Why or why not?

Snooze. Because I wake up slowly. I rarely wake up feeling anywhere close to wide awake, and it often takes me some time to feel really awake. Once in a while, and I love it when it happens, I wake up raring to go. If I wake up and I am wide awake, I get up.

For now, I am really tired. Hope I can sleep. G'night.

Of Chivalry, or its Lack, and Presbytery

In April I posted about becoming visible at our denomination's district council. I never did come up with any real reasons for the evident change in other's attitudes--or was it a change in me?

Something else that seemed odd happened a few days ago. I'm not trying to brag or imply anything whatsoever. I am just curious, more than anything else, about the "whys." Just musing to avoid going outside and doing yard work maybe. (Today it is HOT in Wisconsin.)

I was attending a small, early-morning training session led by our district superintendent. There were eight ministers present. I was the only woman among them. We all know each other to a greater or lesser degree. I was last to arrive, but the superintendent was out of the room, so we spent some time getting coffee and exchanging small talk and good-natured banter. Two of the group, Rev. R. and Rev. H. are former pastors who are now employed as officials for the district.

I was included in the group as if I was "one of the guys." I mean this in a totally good way. I do not think this has ever happened to me before in a group of ministers. They are kind but I never feel like a friend and peer. This morning--something was different.

Rev. H., the white-haired and jocular man in the chair to my left teased, "Well [SingingOwl], it is good to have you join us. You just significantly lowered the ugly factor in the room." I laughed and replied with some similarly light comment, and the other district official (Rev. R.) in the chair to my right looked at us both very seriously and said, "She raised the intelligence factor quite a bit too." I was surprised at the comment and wondered if he had been concerned that I was offended by the earlier remark (I wasn't). There was no time to reply since we were beginning our class at that point.

Later I was carrying some light but awkward boxes out to my car. I juggled the boxes, my notebook, Bible, pen and purse, dropping the pen in the process. The others were ahead of us, but Rev. R. (carrying a load of his own) awkwardly picked up the pen, calling out loudly, "Hey GUYS! Someone could come and help the lady with this stuff!" They were too far ahead and did not hear him, I assume, since they did not stop. I grinned at him and said, "Well, when you gain some things you sometimes lose other things." He sort of "harrumped" and said he guessed so. I said that I'd take this anyday. He looked at me with what appeared to be somewhat surprised understanding.

We piled into cars and proceeded to Famous Dave's for some fabulous BBQed ribs. It was an enjoyable lunch with lots of warm conversation. There were six at our table, because a short distance away the district superintendent sat with one of our number who has recently been elected as an area presbyter. "Why are they eating by themselves?" I asked Rev. H. who again was on my left. He told me that since the pastor was assuming a new position, the superintendent had decided to begin the education process over lunch. Rev. R. (funny, he was on my right again) said "It's too bad we aren't a little closer. That way you could listen in and when you become a presbyter you can skip the first part of the instruction. Well, I suppose they'd just make you do it again anyhow." He didn't grin.

What kind of joke is that? I'm not saying I'm next on the list for presbyter or that I even want to serve in that way. I am saying that not long ago the remark simply would never have been said.

What is happening?

This is good. I'll carry my own boxes if necessary.

Ten Commandments for the Internet Age

These ten "commandments" (or is it eleven?) are courtesy of Ben Witherington, proving that intellectual types can have a sense of humor. I especially liked the second to last one.

Just a frosty reminder

I forgot the pink petunias. Can you tell I like petunias? My mom does too, and she spends a lot of time sitting on the deck in spring and summer so we put lots of them out in pots. We wait and wait for summer and then the mosquitos are so bad we can't sit in our yards. However, DH just sprayed the yard for the third time and I think he may have finally conquered the swarms of mosquitos for now. We call them the "state bird of Wisconsin." Our Minnesota neighbors think the mosquito is the state bird of Minnesota, so I guess they have the same problem over there.



As for the reminder, well it isn't showing up very well on the computer, but this is an early-morning picture from February when we had a beautiful frost in the morning. It coats every twig and is the most breathtakingly gorgeous thing to see, but soon gone. There is snow on the ground and the temperature was...well..COLD!

It is WARM in Wisconsin

A while back I was battling depression and looking for signs of spring in my life and in my surroundings. Here are a few pictures from my backyard. Yes, spring has finally really sprung in Wisconsin.



I have beautiful pink peonies in in my yard, as does almost everyone in town. It's such a pity they don't last long! The smell...mmmm....like roses only more so.




And speaking of roses, here are some blooming in the side yard.


Daisies by the back deck.


Yellow Petunias! The color doesn't show up correctly, but they are a beutiful buttery color, and the blue ones are really purple. Those bright yellow flowers are something I never saw before but couldn't resist.


Marigolds and geraniums and some other things that haven't quite bloomed yet.....ah, we love our flowers up in da nortland....

Some Follow-Up

I was thinking about that dentist chair, and the comments made. Here is what Proclaiming Softly said:

How often does any of us go to a meeting or club unless we are personally invited, unless we have a prior association with that group? Many of us would be uncomfortable walking into a "new" space without a friend. There are a couple of places close to my home that I've never gone to even though they are popular with my acquaintances, yet I've never had a friend say, "hey, lets go to ____." So if we did go and we thought the place had strange, unfamiliar music, how would we feel? What about seeing a guy leading the group wearing a "dress" and chanting? Does that seem somehow uncomfortable because we might not have it in our background?

P.Softly is a Lutheran, and I'm a Pentecostal, so you might say we are from "different sides of the church aisle" so to speak. :-) What is familiar to a Lutheran is not familiar to my folks and vice versa. But the principle is exactly the same. For example...

Last week I attended the funeral of a Roman Catholic, the father of one of our church members. Since I only knew the deceased man slightly, I was free to watch and think during the funeral. The sanctuary is rather small and quite lovely and I have been to a few Catholic services before. Nonetheless there were a couple of objects that were unfamiliar to me. I wondered what their purpose might be. The priest in that particular parish is quite elderly, and the service was very formal. Which meant I was a bit lost. A large part of the congregation knew the proper responses but I (for the most part) did not. My familiarity with Catholic liturgy pretty much ends with knowing that when the priest says "Peace be with you" the appropriate response is "And also with you." (Okay, slight exaggeration, but not much.)

I found myself wishing I could ask questions. I like to learn. I would have been happy to join in the service to a greater degree if I understood it, or knew what to say when. As it was I know I stood out as an uninformed Protestant. And yes, I felt just a bit powerless and a bit relieved when the service was completed. And I'm a pastor, not someone who is trying to find my way to God.

On the other hand, I know very well how unfamiliar our "free church" Pentecostal style must sound, look and feel to our Catholic and Lutheran neighbors who come for the first time. And we are a pretty quiet congregation as Pentecostals and charismatic congregations go. After all, this is Wisconsin, not Georgia or Mississippi, and the culture is quite different.

I think P.Softly has the only solution I can think of. Some people are uncomfortable because they do not want to submit their lives to God, or they simply have been hurt and are struggling with faith. That are perhaps different issues--other than that, the only way to get past the discomfort (other than the work of the Holy Spirit and the grace of God) is to befriend people, talk to people beforehand about what to expect, explain what may be different, and so on.

There must be good ways to do that whether we are Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist or Assemblies of God.

We could all start by inviting our friends to church. And then having some good conversation.

In the Dentist Chair and in the Pew

Bright and early this morning I went to the dentist for a cleaning and check up.

If you have been reading here for a while you know that we like to dress up and play a grownup version of "let's pretend." As part of that I have seen the implements of torture used by "dentists" in the 1700s. Just looking at them makes my insides curl up, and I know I would have to be experiencing pain at an absolutely unbearable level to let someone put those things in my mouth.

Consequently, I have thanked God more than once for the wonders of modern dentisty. Seriously. Thanks be to the Lord for numbing agents, for high-speed drills, for crowns, and bonding fillings, etc. Going to the dentist is a relatively pain-free experience, most of the time anyway.

But...eveyone still seems to dread going.

I ponder that this morning as I sit in the waiting room reaading about creative egg-dying ideas for Easter. Why is the reading material always outdated? Why does my stomach feel a little queasy and why do I need to make two trips to the restroom? This is no big deal...no big deal...no big deal. Sheesh, what is taking them so long? I hate those drilling noises.

My turn. Okay. Not a root canal, for goodness sake. Just a cleaning and another very minor little problem to deal with. I'm a grown-up.

The nice dental hygenist, hereafter known as DH, chats brightly about the weather as she lowers the chair. And lowers it a bit more. And a bit more. My feet are now a little higher than my head! Bright light on--right in my eyes--and the receptionist destracts her with a question...ooww. My eyes squint. Okay, now she has it shining on my mouth. Whew.

DH: "Time for a couple of x-rays." In goes that hard plastic thingy, pressing painfulluy into the soft tissue under my tongue.

DH: "Hold very still."

SO: (thinking..."Owww, that knife-like plastic is pushing into the floor of my mouth...wow, it is bleeding a little...waaah")

DH: "Good! All done...So, life is good? Open your mouth please."

SO: Opens mouth, nods head

DH: "Wider please."

SO: Opens mouth wider

DH: "Great!"

SO: (thinking..."What is so great about it?")

DH: "I haven't seen you for awhile."

SO: "Mmmffffphh" (thinking..."I don't come here to hang out")

DH: scrape, scrape, scrape, poke,, SCRAAAAAPE, scrape, scrape, POKE!

SO: flinches

DH: "Oh, sorry. Did that hurt?"

SO: "It's okay, just a bit sensitive." (thinking..."You just stabbed me in the gum with that sharp instrument, you nincompoop. I'm bleeding again.")

DH: "Hmmm, little bleeding here....Have you been flossing?"

SO "Mmmpffph" (blinks eyes twice for yes, feeling like a recovering accident victim))

DH: "I want to ask you a question."

SO: (Clearly on the defensive, thinks, "Oh shoot, what am I doing wrong now? I'm flossing, I'm brushing, I'm avoiding candy....") "Umm...sure."

DH: "What is an appropriate amount to pay a minister for doing a wedding?"

We have a short discussion about clergy fees and her upcoming wedding. Then she gets back to work. By now I am acutely uncomfortable. I do not like having my feet higher than my head. I do not like the bright light. I do not like the splashing water on my face and glasses. I do not like the shap pokey instrument. I DO NOT LIKE having my mouth wide open. My head is starting to throb and my nose itches incessently. Why does my nose always do that when I'm in the dentist chair? The DH keeps scraping and poking and then flossing and then puts chalky stuff in my mouth and polishes my teeth. Bzzzzzz...chalk kind of makes me gaggy.

I know my teeth must be cleaned, and I like it when they are polished. Done. Okay then.

The dentist comes in. "Which one?" he says to the assistant, who replies with something about the #90 bicuspid, I think. (Ninety?) He checks my teeth over and fixes the minor problem with his drill. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr.....Ugh, nasty sound and nasty smell. But painless. No big deal. He tells me I am doing a great job, pats my arm and asks about my son and his teeth.

I make my appointment to come back in six months. "Bye. Have a nice day."

Not so bad. Why was it something I dread so much?

"It is not the pain, which is really pretty minimal" I think. "It's not that they are not very nice people. They are friendly, reasonably competent, and the office is nicely decorated, if a bit dated..."

It is that I feel like a victim. Sitting in a chair with my feet higher than my head has me feeling that way before anything even happes. I don't like having a body orifice viewed and prodded by a stranger, even if it is only my tongue and teeth and tonsils they are seeing. I don't like that they are doing things I don't quite get. I want to know why they do certain things. It is their world, and I enter it for a while to go through something necessary but unfamilar and uncomfortable and a bit humiliating. I have no power at all when I am in the dentist chair. I hate feeling trapped.

Now I'm thinking about church.

I think there may be reasons why we see some people every six months, and perhaps it is not always about them not wanting much of God in their lives. Is the reason some people feel uncomfortable in church similar in some ways? I do, after all, like having clean teeth. But I am also very glad that I don't have to return to that chair anytime soon. Do we do things that make people uneasy from the get-go? Do we use words they don't understand? Do they feel like they are entering our territory to get a little help from us but don't want to hang out because it is not a pleasant place to be?

Sometimes GOD makes people uncomfortable. Part of the job description of the Holy Spirit is to "convict" and that usually is not comfortable. But do we make people feel uncomfortable? Do we talk to them not realizing they can't answer us? Do we put them in an uncomfortable position? Are we friendly and cheerful but also impersonal? Do we have all the power? Do visitors feel trapped?

Are there ways we can empower new people in appropriately? I don't know if I'm on to something or if I am just short on sleep.

What do you think?

Bits and Pieces

I wrote a long (and brilliant) post yesterday about Pentecost and worship and now it is gone-- vanished into cyberspace somehow! Not going to write it again. Don't you hate it when that happens? Well, maybe it wasn't exactly brilliant, but it was a lot of work.

It's been a busy week. Preparing for Sunday, attending an overnight training session, dealing with people, writing an article for the district, going to graduation get-togethers. Not much time for pondering. Here are just a few thoughts about a lot of different things.

The RevGals devotional book (in the sidebar) is available for daily devotional reading online. Find it at "Ordinary Time."

Here are some of my parishioners who are on a sort of "dream team" as we envision our future and pray. We just went to an overnight meeting, and when these pictures were taken we were having a great time laughing and talking and eating breakfast together.

Deacons Jim and Pat



Me, Wendy and D.H. Ken

Those who are observant will have noted that my eyes are closed. That is probably because I am waiting for the server to bring my first cup of coffee.

John and Nancy



We've been on a rather long spiritual and practical journey, and soon we will be sharing some significant direction for our congregation. I ask your prayers for me, and us, as we take the next step. I'll share more in a few weeks.

On the family front: I had a 2-hour telephone conversation with my son, Joshua, yesterday. He is thinking, and he is reading ("Blue Like Jazz"), and it is good. I believe the Holy Spirit is at work! For those who have prayed for him over the years, many thanks. My heart has been hurting for him for a very long time. I believe prayers are being aswered. Here's a picture taken at his sister's house.


Spent the better part of the day at the doctor's with my mother who is sick, but improving. Our little cat has horrible scabby lesions on her face, so I spent most of the rest of the day at the vet. No definitive answer as of yet.

And finally, if you want to read an excellent and thought-provoking post about the returning soldiers, go to Questing Parson's Blog. He is a wonderful writer, and this is a post well-worth reading.