Eharmony...for Ministers and Churches.

As I progress through the Search and Call process I’ve started calling comparing it to E-Harmony. (Although, really, I’ve never been on a dating website because Cory and I met and married just when those sites started to gather momentum.) Not long ago I had a phone interview with a church quite some distance from where I live now. I was just as excited, jittery, and nervous and felt just as awkward as I remember first dates being. It’s tough to interview over the phone. So much is lost in translation—so much communication depends upon unspoken expression. This process has of course got me thinking about how best to represent myself—but also how to do that in the most authentic way possible. How much of my quirky humor do I let shine through? Was I too confident? Not confident enough? Where is the line between being sure of myself and hubris? (Cory likes to tease-kindof-that I am not overburdened with humbleness).

Many years ago the first Senior Minister I worked with, Jan, made an offhand comment to someone about how one had to have a strong ego to be a minister. At the time I didn’t really understand, but that has stuck with me through the years—and really we do have to have a strong sense of self. A strong sense of who and where God is calling us to be and the strength of character to follow through with that call.

I think about my character a lot these days. As in, what are my best traits, my worst (groan). Just a couple of days ago I sought advice from my last senior minister and mentor, Gary, who suggested that each interview and contact in the search and call process is an opportunity to learn something about both myself and my call. I am trying to fully embrace this process…as awkward and exciting as it can be. I imagine this is just the beginning of the potential ups and downs of this process. And I continue I try to remember to ask… ‘what am I learning’…instead of ‘where am I going.’

Spiritual Mothering

         

                

I have a love-hate relationship with Spring. I love watching the earth come back to life and green up. This morning, as I was walking my back yard labyrinth, I marveled at how green our back yard was. I found simple pleasure seeing my dead, gray lavender showing signs of tender gray/green leaves coming back out with the promise of purple flowers and relaxing fragrance. I hate Spring because it sends my allergies into a tail-spin, and physically I find myself miserable. Spring is also the time when I realize the school year is coming to a close. This past week I got my daughter’s Spring school pictures and immediately it went up on the wall next to the beginning-of-the-year pictures. In that moment I was struck by just how much she has grown up in the last 9 months.

Yesterday in the midst of our church service, as I watched her sitting with her friends, standing and singing and participating in worship without my prompting, I realized how her participation in worship has also grown. And I was reminded once again of the question of “How am I doing in attending to her spiritual growth?” I wondered if I am doing enough to give her a strong foundation. Or am I pushing her too much to express her faith in ways that are reflective of me and maybe not her own unique personality?  We are blessed to be part of a church in which spiritual formation is important, and something that all are a part of, so the responsibility does not fall on my shoulders alone. However, as a clergy mother, I strongly feel the responsibility of my child’s spiritual formation.

I found myself only paying half-attention to the words of worship being spoken. Instead I was immersed in my own ponderings and reminded of some words I wrote in 2011 which were posted to my Facebook page that speaks of the place where motherhood and ministry meet in the most humbling of ways. I share some of those thoughts now, only slightly edited. 

I have been a labyrinth facilitator since 2003 and have had many neat experiences on the labyrinth, but none so moving and thought provoking as my experience of October 2011. I was doing a walk for my former church in conjunction with their Taize service. My husband and daughter went with me so that he could help me unload and set up.

Sometime after the walk had started I heard little feet coming into the room where the walk was taking place. There was my daughter asking me if she could walk the labyrinth. The numbers were small and all were on the labyrinth, so I took some time to help her with her shoes and talk her through what to do when walking the labyrinth with other people (she was used to being on the labyrinth by herself or only with me.)  She started out on her own, me watching from the side, then she came back off and asked me to walk with her. As we walked together, her going first with me behind, yet also guiding and directing to help her go around those others who were also walking, I had one of those moments where the sacred spaces of motherhood and ministry intersected. I was humbled in my remembrance of my responsibility to her spiritual growth, and how without my even really trying hard, she is coming to know and appreciate the quiet spaces with God. It reminded me that sometimes the most effective way of teaching about relationship with God is through our own quiet, yet consistent example. I also had a moment of reflection on how there are times in life where we are in the lead on the path of life's journey - confident, but maybe yet a bit unsure - we are not alone, we never are but in this time God, Christ, Spirit is there right behind us, just a step or two, just enough to help us feel secure and close enough to nudge in guidance when needed. Kind of like I was with my daughter, close enough to give her confidence and guidance when needed, yet also letting her lead, learn and gain confidence in her own walk experience. It was a good reminder for me that even when things are going great, and I seem to have it all under control, God, Christ, Spirit is there right behind me, and that I never really walk alone and I never have to walk alone.

Then she was off again, off to the art table wanting to draw - never having "finished" her walk, but then maybe the point of that walk was not for her to "finish," but for me to notice, listen and ponder, to help me reconnect with an important truth for me. For really in part that is what labyrinths do, connect us - to ourselves and to our relationship with God and others. We just need to take the time to stop and listen and be willing to trust the experience.

I really needed to remember these words, this time where I realized that I am doing enough, that she is getting it. Next Sunday we start on the next part of the spiritual formation journey as she starts discipleship class led by our pastor. I will be a part of the class as her parent and participant in her spiritual formation. I look forward to these next few weeks and seeing where our journey together in this next step of her faith formation takes us. I will journey with her, encouraged by remembering that as long as I am present to her in her faith journey and the questions she raises, then I have done my job of motherhood and ministry.

Seeing in a Whole New Way

First of the series taken on Ash Wednesday

Scanning through my Facebook feed shortly before Ash Wednesday I saw a post of a friend telling about choosing to give up color for Lent and inviting her into this journey with her by posting our own black and white photo each day. The idea intrigued me and I was still not sure what my practice for Lent was to be so I decided to join in. However, I did not have guide or plan for this, it was something that would be figured out as I moved deeper into Lent. What began as my interpretation of giving up something quickly began to transform into a deep spiritual practice. Just like other spiritual practices, this one had much to teach me. Now that Easter Sunday has passed, we have celebrated the resurrection and entered out of the darkness and back into the light of Easter season, it seems appropriate to ruminate a bit here on my experience and lessons learned.

First off, I am a planner to the nth degree; so entering into something that is with out specific instructions and without a formed plan is very uncomfortable for me. I found myself setting boundaries. The picture can’t be just anything and it must be something that has some type of deep connection to the Lent journey. I must not just post the picture, but must reflect on it a bit. These “rules” were helpful for me, until life happened in the midst of Lent. I found myself caught up in the actives of the day and rushing at the end to get something/anything up. Sometimes I had a great picture but was so tired I just could not get the reflection out. The “rules” got forgotten some days and even once I did not get a picture up. My first lesson of this practice was grace and that even when I did not follow my “rules” exactly the intention of the practice was there undergirding my engagement of it. Looking back now some of my favorites of the series of photos were the ones taken in the midst of life happening.

Second, it was a lesson in perseverance and the importance of community. About half way through, I was tired, really tired of remembering to take the photo and finding the words to write. I really wanted to just get to Easter and that last picture that would finally be in color. There were moments where I truly thought about giving it up, but instead pushed forward letting the intention of the journey carry me forward.  In this time it was the comments and likes of my posted photos that kept me engaging the practice. It was not only just me on this journey, but those who were seeing anew through my practice. Sharing my practice so publicly gave it new meaning for me, particularly when I myself felt I was just slogging through.  I am grateful for the encouragement of my Facebook community that came one like at a time.

Lastly, one cannot really fully give up color unless you are unable to see in color. Color surrounds our daily life. But looking at pieces of my life through a black and white photo with all the color striped away, I found myself seeing to the heart of the photo. I saw my family in a new way and in a deeper way; I saw to the center and deep heart of love.  Without color to distract my soul I saw in a new way and connected to my life in a much deeper way. I discovered that black and white is color. It is the color of seeing past the surface and into the depth of what is truly happening in that moment in time.

My Holy week took on a completely different meaning as I prayed each picture I took. I found myself savoring each day of the week with a slow pace to Easter instead of the rushing push to get to the happy part.

I have seen Lent and Holy Week in a wholly different way and with it came seeing my world with new eyes and at a deeper level. Because of this way of engaging my journey to Easter, the Easter colors became so much more vibrant, celebratory and meaning filled. For that and so much more I am giving thanks.

Easter Sunrise

Practicing Fearlessness

I don’t know if you have them, those fears that you know are completely unreasonable, but still you just can’t shake them. I have a couple, the biggest being a fear of going into open bodies of water, such as lakes or oceans. It’s not that I can’t swim, because I can. It is a fear that little (or not so little) fishes will come up and nibble on my toes. I know the chances of that happening are slim-to-none, yet it is still there.  I have a cousin to thank for this irrational thought.

            

Up until I had my daughter, I could safely stay away from going into bodies of water without any real consequences. However, once I had a child that changed, because I did not want her to be afraid as I was. This meant a journey of facing this fear and going into oceans and lakes.

           

Fast forward to our last trip to Hawaii. On Christmas Day afternoon we went to the beach. It was a gorgeous sunny day, perfect for the beach. The waves were big enough for safely playing, but not so big as to be scary. We had even decided to leave all cellphones and cameras back at the condo.

            

My dad and husband took CJ into the ocean and were trying to teach her how to body-surf. Mom and I watched from the beach. Then the dreaded words came: “Mom, when are you coming into the water to play with me. “ So beckoned, I summoned up my courage and went out into the water, but only up to my knees.  

            

As I stood there, I saw how much fun they were all having, and before I knew it, I was there out in the water above my waist, holding on to CJ’s hand and waiting for a wave. It was a big one.  We caught it and rode it in, and then it pulled me under. I knew I was safe because of knowing exactly where I was in relationship to the beach. Then came the next wave, and the next. You can probably imagine the picture. Me attempting to wipe water off my face so I can open my eyes, trying to hold on to CJ and getting knocked over two more times. By the third time, I was laughing so hard my husband had to come help me up. It was quite the humorous sight to behold, especially to my mother safely seated on the beach, watching in laughter.

            

Here is the thing: in the midst of all this I forgot to be afraid. I forgot my fear of the fish. Instead I felt alive and fearless. I was having fun, completely in the moment and creating one of the best memories with my family I have created in a while.

            

But there were exercises that I performed to get to this point of fearlessness. There were several ventures into the ocean with and without CJ on trips prior to this, and a conscious effort to engage my fear in healthy ways.  If I was not willing to do the work of practicing being less afraid, I would have missed out on something incredible.  It is a fine balance of having fear that keeps us aware and safe, and being fearful such that it keeps us from engaging in life experiences.

            

As I have reflected on the idea of practicing fearlessness, I have come to believe that an essential component of courage is faith.  It is my faith in God that helps me to step out into that great unknown of life and embrace some of the really hard stuff.  It is my faith that allows me to know that no matter what, God is ever- present even when I am standing on the precipice of trying something that scares the living daylights out of me.

            

It is this combination of faith and practice of facing my fears that has led me to some pretty amazing things, like the memories made on the beach, climbing a very high rock wall to see an amazing view and even writing and editing my first book with Tabatha, my friend and co-blogger.   I acknowledge that my fears probably pale in comparison to the fears of many other people.  For some, the idea of facing a fear may be all the fearlessness they can handle.  That’s okay.  Hey, it took me 20- plus-years to get to this point.

            

I have also found great freedom from this practice of fearlessness, and that is what I am celebrating: my fearlessness.  I have found a new type of strength and possibility. Now to tackle fresh water lakes (I still have a healthy respect, a.k.a. fear, of those.)

And in the Meantime...

Recently I’ve been officiating funerals for families that do not have a connection to a faith community or minister. It’s an interesting way to be in ministry at the moment…I feel that in a small way I’m still providing ministry for folks who are in need of compassion and heartfelt presence. I’m looking for ways to be active in ministry while in the search process for a congregation, while not having an actual real honest to goodness ministry ‘job.’ It’s a strange space to be in, frankly. How can I continue to be in ministry while I’m in this period of transition? What good can I do and how can I grow?

A friend has suggested that I call this time my ‘sabbatical’ and I have to say that has really stuck with me…I do believe this is a time of renewal for my spirit, a time of reprioritizing goals and praying and contemplating what is next in ministry. That’s a tough thing to try and figure out…it seems as if I’m in an undefined space…what is next. There’s some pressure in that space. I feel that as a modern professional woman I need to be active in my called profession. And yet, there is value in waiting to see what happens next. Sometimes it doesn’t feel as if that’s ‘ambitious’ enough, while other times it makes sense. But, really, I’ve never been very patient…and so it’s a tug of war in my head between the two.

I have my ministerial profile in circulation, and that process can take quite awhile. Meanwhile, I continue to serve because if I don’t have even brief moments of ministry then I tend to have a bit of an identity crisis…I have preached a Sunday in a small congregation whose minister was ill. I’ve officiated a few funerals, Joy and I have finished up our manuscript on our book—clergy women and their personal experiences with miscarriage through infant death…so it remains a busy time and that makes me feel good about where I am.

Since I have my ministerial profile in circulation I’ve spent a lot of time in thought and prayer about where I’m to go next. I’ve been praying for that congregation, even though I don’t know who they are yet. And, I’ve been asking myself—what is my ministerial identity…am I a chaplain? Am I a congregational minister? Is it possible to serve as a chaplain within a congregation? Where do I fit in the broad scope of ministry? How can I use my pastoral care skills in a way that honors what I love about being a chaplain, but in a congregation where I feel called next?

And, in the meantime…it’s been nice to be useful.

  

Weary of Death

Photo courtesy of R. Zane Richards, used with permission

Not that long ago my husband pulled out the stash of cards we keep for sending on occasions of thanks, celebration and sympathy. We realized our sympathy cards were running low. It was at that point I realized just how many sympathy cards we sent out last year. It was a reality check of how many special people in our lives we said good-bye to. It was a sobering reminder of how many people we supported and prayed for through the difficult time of the death of a loved one we may not have known that well. Our little family of three has experienced death more than we would like. At the age of 38, still very young in my book, I have walked the journey of grief and death on a personal level more than my age would indicate. All of this to say, as I signed another sympathy card I felt weary.

It might even be fair to say I am really tired of death. Wait, what did she just say? Yes, I, a critical care hospital chaplain, said I am tired of death. I know death is a part of life. It is something we all have to deal with. I know what to avoid saying. I know how to just be quiet and in the presence of death. I know what to do. But I am tired of doing it. I need a break. Because you see, no matter how many times I sit with a family saying their goodbyes at the hospital or spend 5 minutes crafting the best most personal words I can on a sympathy card, it never gets easier. Over time, I have learned how to step away emotionally, how to care for my tired spirit, how to do the hard work of death without having a part of me die under the heaviness of death. It does not change the fact that being present to death is hard work and there are times that even with the best self-care I get weary.

This is where I find myself now. My weariness is not that of the heavy work of personal grief, although I do quietly grieve the loss of some pretty incredible people in my life. My weariness is that of hearing of death. Of wondering when I open my e-mail or face book am I going to hear of yet another person who has died. I wonder when am I going to get space to recover this soul weariness. I know that time will come. I hope and pray it will come soon.

I have spent time over the last several days hoping and praying for the relief I sought.  In this time I have realized there are times when you cannot just keep pressing on, hoping for a break. Sometimes you have to create your own.  So weary from being present to death and some of the more heart wrenching situations of life, I took a mental health day with the blessing of my boss and ministry colleagues. I turned off the news and the radio; I did only the things I wanted to do.  I spent a good part of the day in a book completely unrelated to anything dealing with reality.  It felt good to escape.  It felt good to not be bombarded with the noise of life. I did not once feel guilty about this time away.

The result has been the start of a renewed spirit, and a lesson learned.  As much as I would like to think otherwise, I am not able to make myself keep going in the face of grief and death.  And I don’t have too. I am human just like everyone else, and I too need time let my weary soul have space to breath and rest. It is only in doing this that I can stay equipped to once again be ready to be present to death when it comes strutting back into my life and across my path. And hopefully next time I will recognize the weariness earlier and tend to my own soul more intentionally and tenderly.