Tick-tick-tickin' away...

Tick-tick-tickin' away.....Bonus points to whoever can identify the music group that sang that song!  Hint: it was 90's classic in any youth group worth its salt!  I was only about 8 when it was big, but as a youth pastor's kid, I considered myself a teen starting at about age 4!  For whatever reason (maybe from hanging around all those teenage girls in the early 90's) I've always loved dangly earrings and for some inexplicable reason at the age of 8, I had these neon pink and green alarm clock dangly earrings that I loved.  I felt so grown-up with dangly earrings and they totally went with the cool tick-rock song!  So naturally I felt incredibly cool wearing them, along with my hot pink tube socks, of course.


That song was super catchy and while the deeper theological meaning likely went unobserved by the average teenage listener, I'm fairly certain that the tick-tock song was intended to be an (overly simplified and almost certainly Darby-esque) eschatological statement.  But the aim of this post is certainly not to offer up a critique of the eschatology of 90's Christian rock songs, lol.  Time has just been on my mind.  Like a lot.  A lot, a lot.  Baby girl has decided she will come just when she feels like it, and not a moment sooner.  And I'm annoyed.  Annoyed because everyday that I'm still pregnant, I am reminded how very much I am no longer in total control of my life.  A new person is entering the scene with her own personhood, will, and desires.  Maybe that's giving an unborn child a little too much credit, but whatever, lol.  It's how I feel.  But I'm also anxious because my family is coming into town on Tuesday and get to stay for one week.  One week.  And if she isn't born before or during their stay, my parents won't meet her until Christmas and my brother until March at the earliest!!   So I'm feeling the pressure.  (And yes, double entendre certainly intended.  )

Over that last few months, I've been reading through Scripture chronologically having started in Judges.  It's been a smidge depressing to watch the rapid rise and fall or Israel, all the disobedience and sin, the exile, the return to the rubble that was once Jerusalem.  Recently I got to the book of Esther.  Esther is certainly one of those books you could buzz through in about 20 minutes but for some reason, I've been lingering there.  For about a week, I was fixated on about two verses; it was like those few words had something to say to my soul and I just needed to soak in them for a bit (but that's another blog post that will have to wait).  Lately, I've been thinking about the most infamous phrase from the book that is likely very familiar: "for such a time as this".  After Mordecai asks Queen Esther to risk her life for her people by approaching the king uninvited, he suggests to her that perhaps the Lord placed her in her position as queen for "such a time as this".  I've always thought that was such a profound truth, and so poetically put.  "For such a time as this."

I confess I don't know a syllable of legit Hebrew (other than a few vague things about 'ruach' and 'hesed' like any seminary grad) but I have done some work with Greek and I can't help but think that the author of Esther, had he/she written this story in Koine, would have taken advantage for the Greek word, kairos.  You know how in English we have multiple words for certain things or concepts, like the concept of desire for example?  You could say, "I want to go back to school someday."  Great, that communicates a desire for more education.  But you could also say, "I long to go back to school someday."  Different word, but technically the same idea; you desire more education.  But it's pretty easy to identify the connotations hovering behind those two words, right?  There is a difference between 'want' and 'long'.  The latter feels so much weightier, right?  So much more involved, more impassioned somehow.  Greek has lots of words like this, multiple words for similar concepts but with significant variation in connotation.  The concept of time is one such example.  In Greek, a speaker or writer can talk about time in terms of chronos or kairos.  Chronos probably sounds a little familiar, like chronology maybe??  This word is used to indicate time as simply that, time: the passing of seconds, minutes and hours.  The word kairos is a but more nuanced, a little more layered in terms of significance.  Kairos is about more than just the passing of second, minutes, and hours; it's about the right time, that opportune second, that "just exactly right" moment to act or speak.  It's all over the place in Scripture, like in Romans 5:6 where Paul writes, "For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for us."  Or in Revelation 22:10 where the angel says to John the Revelator: "Do not seal up the words of the prophecy of this book, for the time is near."  In both verses (and in countless others), there is this sense that God is acting, or is about to act, at just the right time, when all things are set in place as God sees fit.

All that information about kairos vs. chronos and all that jazz is really pretty meaningless without that last phrase though, isn't it?  As God sees fit.  I'm sure Sarah and Hannah (both OT women of faith) could have argued that God was a little late acting on their behalf, definitely not acting in kairos time in their opinion, but God was ultimately glorified at just the right time through these women and their offspring.  Same with the people of Israel.  They certainly would have appreciate the arrival of the Messiah a few centuries earlier but at just the right time God sent Jesus, in the flesh, born of a woman and born under the Law to save God's people and ultimately the world.  At just the right time.

So as I sit here, feeling as big as a walrus and about as mobile as one too (ok...that's an exaggeration, lol), anxious about the timing of my daughter's arrival and my family's visit, wondering when in the world this whole things is actually going to go down, I take a deep breath and remind myself: at just the right time.  Kairos time, God's schedule, when God sees fit.  

Motherhood and gender equality

Hmmm, motherhood and gender equality...kind of a heavy title don't ya think?  The whole issue has been on my mind quite a bit lately for several reasons, the most obvious being the impending birth of our daughter of course.  And of course there's the annoying reality that while my husband certainly wants to be compassionate and understanding and certainly anticipates baby girl's arrival eagerly, there is just no way he can be quite as "constantly aware" of our child and her arrival as I am.  She's kicking me in the stomach after all, not him, lol.  And that injustice irks me.

But it goes beyond that, all the way to current public debate.  I don't know if you've noticed that abortion has become a front and center issue this election season.  Of course it's always an issue on some level, but the debate has risen to new heights with the help of Todd Akin and his astute (ahem...sarcasm) remarks on the subject.  Whether one is liberal or conservative, it cannot be denied that the issue of abortion, motherhood, and gender equality are intimately intertwined.  Now, don't out freak out on me and assume that because I raise this issue that I am more concerned about women's rights than babies' rights or something absurd like that.  I am concerned about human rights.  The fired up abortion debate and the (in my opinion) indefensible position of many who would prohibit abortion under any and all circumstances has caused me to ponder and reflect upon the undercurrents of gender equality that rage beneath the surface of this debate and what that means when it comes to parenthood.  Many of those who would ban abortion even under the most dire of circumstances (potential death or major injury of mother, rape, incest, etc.) would balk at equally stringent laws placed upon the fathers of those unborn children, like mandatory medical procedures (snip, snip anyone?), mandatory prison time and felony status for those who abandon their children, serious wage garnishments regardless of whether or not the man has rights to the child or not, etc.  But, no.  The woman is called upon to bear the entire burden of what may (or may not) have been her choice.  My proposed solution is not to kill babies, but to demand (and enforce) complete male accountability and participation in the life and care of his offspring.

Now what in the world does that have to do with my impending delivery?  You, dear reader, may or may not understand this, but there is twinge of fear in my heart as I approach motherhood, because for whatever reason I feel the weight of these same issues, albeit in different forms.  I feel the responsibility  for this child in such an intense way, in a way that Tommy cannot yet feel.  And I feel it distinctively as a woman, as the source of sustenance for this little one both now and when she arrives (yes, I'm nursing).  Tommy's role as a daddy (a role in which I have no doubt he will excel) will be categorically different than my role as a mommy.  And that makes me uncomfortable.  I can see your digital eyebrows raise even as I type.

Why the concern about "differences" you may ask?  Can women and men not differ and still be equal?  (keep in mind we're not talking about physical differences, but primarily differences in roles, job/vocation, cultural expectations, parenting, etc.). Of course, one might say.  Of course we can be different (in essential ways) and maintain egalitarian relationships and marriages!  Why not!  Well, to my ears "different but equal" sounds alarmingly similar to "separate but equal" and I know we've all seen that picture of that runty, dirty little "colored" drinking fountain next to that big, porcelain "whites" drinking fountain.  We sigh and shake our heads at the foolhardiness, at the absurdity of the suggestion that anything can be separate but equal when one group gets the primary voice.  And yet, how often that same argument is used to preserve male-centered hierarchical structures and social systems to the detriment of women (and their basic rights and dignity).  Beneath the facade of the "celebration" of women and traditional female roles lurks the unspoken social more: we'll celebrate this as a society as long as you surrender your voice, your rights, and ultimately your personhood to the greater good while we men do the real work.  

So as a mommy-to-be, a role I plan to embrace and embody to the uttermost, how do I embrace the unique nature of motherhood and the precious gift it is without surrendering my personhood, my identity, my vocation, and ultimately my voice, in both the private and public domain?   How do I reconcile the distinct differences between the genders without denying the unique nature of each one of us, male and female?  What part might the followers of Christ have to play in reframing society's (and perhaps even more so, the church's) hierarchical view of gender, however implicit, and the unique nature of both male and female?  But perhaps the most pertinent question of all is, as Tommy and I are both transformed into mother and father how do we navigate these waters of essential gender differences, and not drive each other mad in the process?? :-) My prayer remains to be that God will transform us both into the image of the Son Jesus that we might embody the culture of the Kingdom of God, where true equality shall be the order of the day for all eternity.  

A gentle breeze

My word, who starts a blog and then ignores it for 5 months?  Apparently this girl.  :-) My meager self-defense is two-fold.  First, this has been the most insane summer ever and second, my fingers are starting to get puffy thanks to baby girl and typing can be a trial, lol.  No, it's not that bad, but I do feel like I've come down with a serious case of sausage fingers.  But in all honesty, it has been a crazy few months.  Here are the highlights:
- I've been vigorously growing a human being, not something to shake a stick at
- I graduated from seminary and preached the Corlett sermon, what an incredible, humbling privilege
- Tommy's mother passed away after an extended illness.  In spite her illness, her death was not expected and was quite a shock.  Tommy was gone for three weeks (three Sundays for those that mark time like a preacher!!) It was a challenge for us both, me flying solo at home while he dealt with the pain of helping his mother die well.
- teen camp, 6 months preggo!
- dog sitting for lovable, if not somewhat nutty Labrador named Delilah Joy :-)
- mission trip (I was home alone for during that one)
- vbs
- district assembly (during which we had a good deal of responsibility including speaking at the Wednesday night service)

It felt like one thing after another, ya know?  It took its toll on me physically and emotionally and I ended up handing over the preaching to Tommy about a month earlier than I had expected to.  This intense schedule of events topped off with renewed challenges in the life of our church and my change in medicine made for a difficult summer, in spite of the many things there are to celebrate.

It's been one of those seasons where things that perhaps normally wouldn't ruffle your feathers feel like life or death issues.  (I humbly acknowledge that pregnancy hormones have contribute to that). There have been moments where I have asked myself, seriously?  This is our life?  This craziness?  This seemingly endless conflict in the life of church?  This tension and frustration?  This disappointment and sadness?  And yet, for whatever reason, I don't even remember how this passage came into my life this summer, the Spirit has seemed to ask me over and over again:   mortal, can these dry bones live?  And like Ezekiel, all I have been able to say in response is:  Lord, you alone know. (Ezekiel 37)

I wish I could say that I have without question or exception placed my trust in the hope of the resurrection and in the God who breathes new life into dead things, but it hasn't always been that way.  I have had moments of anger, of apathy (which feels way worse than anger), and blatant doubts about my ordination vows I took only a year ago.  And yet regardless of my failings, doubts and wonderings the breath of the Spirit seems to be blowing, ever so gently into our lives.

As I type this, I am sitting on the back porch area at seminary.  It's gorgeous outside as the sun is shining gently and a soft breeze is blowing.  It's one of those moments where you're not too hot or cold, the wind isn't blowing your hair in your face very two seconds and you feel like you just can't get enough of the beauty no matter how hard you try.  As the breeze kisses my face, I am reminded yet again that the breath of the Spirit can and does breathe new life into dead things, into heaps of dry bones that have longs since lost their marrow.  

Things are happening, both in our church and in our hearts.  New life is emerging.  I call to mind the verse from Isaiah 66:9, which says:  "I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born". Seems fitting, doesn't it?  This verse has obvious (if not completely non-contextual) meaning from me as I approach baby girl's birth and delivery.  But it also speaks to the pain I've experienced over the last two years professionally and the pain my beloved flock has experienced and reminds me that God does not allow (or "bring" however your theology might swing) pain to no end.  God works for the good and brings new life.  Thanks be to God.  I want my life to be marked by trust in this God of life.  

Why hello little robin!

So I made a confession on Sunday morning from the pulpit: I talk to robins.  The birds.  Like, out loud.  For whatever reason, since college whenever I see the very first robin of spring, I feel the need to greet it.  Ya know, just let her know I'm glad they are back and hope they have a successful egg season and of course let them know that Penelope will never actually catch them so no need to worry about her incessant beagle barks.  After service, one older man in my church (who sweetly calls me 'Preacher') said, "I don't know about that talking to robins stuff...might call for a psychiatric hospital!"  He was totally joking of course and we laughed together at my quirkiness.

But no amount of teasing or chuckles will ever prevent me from talking to the robins, or stopping and evaluating tree buds on the side of the road or marveling over the random patches of daffodils that seem to pop all over around here.  It's just all so lovely, so hopeful.  And I just want to say thanks to God who is just so stinkin' creative and generous in his outpouring of love on us.  Just like my new medicine (which seems to be doing a decent job thus far), I see those little robins and daffodils as a means of grace, as God smiling down at us and asking, "Do you like it?  I made them with you in mind."  So thank you, thank you, thank you.

On a pastoral note, there is another reason I love spring.  It reminds me that even after a long winter when it seems like everything is dead and buried, there is always new life waiting beneath the surface.  There are days when I wonder what in the world God is doing and what does God want to do in this church I pastor.  I wonder if I'm up for the job, if I'm doing what God wants me to do, if I'm becoming the leader and shepherd God wants to shape me into.  I don't always see life just blossoming up all over the place.  A lot of times, it feels like there are a lot of wilted plants around me, parched for want of God's presence or choked by the weeds sin.  So I wonder, God what are you doing?

And then I look outside and everything, and I do mean everything including the tree bark itself, is turning this fantastic shade of green.  The tree on the side of my house that I thought for sure was on it's last leg is full of tiny buds, just waiting to burst into leaves.  Perhaps it is the same with this congregation, these precious people and this community.  Perhaps new life is just lurking below the surface.  May it be so in my parish and in my heart.

A vision of hope in the midst of chaos

Been doing a lot thinking about hope lately, largely in part because I feel like I haven't had much to spare.  Since my first doctor appt. for Little Lobdell, I had to go off a new depression medicine that I began taking in September.  (Read here for how that medicine has been a means of grace to me.)  But now, it's not an option.  And it has been hard.  It has been hard to look down the road more than a couple days in advance without immediately falling into despair or becoming so overwhelmed by emotion that I feel totally numb.

As he always is, Tommy has been so kind and supportive.  Saturday night was pretty yucky and instead of trying to fix it as I'm sure he wanted to do, Tommy just took my hands, looked me in the eyes and said, "Trust me."  Trust that when I can't see clearly, he will see for me...Trust that when I feel all is lost, he will remind me that it isn't...Trust that when I'm pretty sure I'm the worst person in the world, he tells me I am loved.  What a gift that man is to me.

But even the most loving support doesn't take away the heaviness of the burden that is depression.  So, on kind of a whim yesterday as I was writing in my journal, I asked God to heal me.  If not forever, than for the next 18 months.  (I can't have the medicine if I'm nursing either.)  I suppose I hesitate to ask for healing for the same reasons that everybody else does: doubt, fear that God will say no, fear of how I will handle a "no" if it comes, etc.  But, I am setting that aside and I am asking for healing.  My family is praying with me in this, that God will set me free from the weight of this burden so I can be the Jesus follower, the wife, mommy, pastor, and friend that I long to be.

I preached out of Mark 4 the other day, the calming of the sea passage.  As I was preparing for it, I was reminded of all the chaos in our world, stuff like depression, death, cancer, broken relationships, etc.  All of this chaos is not God's will for the world and one day, he will calm that sea, and ultimately as we are told in the Revelation to John, there shall be no more sea at all, thanks be to God.  But, I am praying for a glimpse of that glass sea for this season of my life, a glimpse into healing and restoration.  God, remember me and act on my behalf.  All glory to you.

The irresistible temptation to REACT

Reacting vs. Responding....my conundrum of the day.  And by 'day' I mean the past year and a half.  I am discovering how different these two words truly are.  But let me clarify my terms.  I understand "reacting" to mean the quick, almost involuntary, elicited corresponding action to someone else's behavior.  In contrast, I understand "responding" to mean the intentional and informed corresponding actions to someone else's behavior.  As of late, I have been been confronted with the almost irresistible temptation to react instead of respond on several occasions, the first being a relational crisis between two girls and the second being an unfair (and untrue) rumor about my husband floating around, being perpetuated by church members no less.  I have to confess that on the first occasion, I gave in and reacted based on the "crisis" and wound up tangled in misunderstandings.  The second, I am still fighting off as we speak.  In fact, this blog post is occupying my fingers so I don't dial the phone.  There is nothing I would rather do more than react to these people's foolish (and sinful) behavior as quickly and thoroughly as possible, which would mean some seriously stern phone calls.

But I am checked in my spirit.  I am learning (slowly but surely) that when I feel that irresistible, urgent, almost frantic need to react to someone's behavior, my motives are usually self-oriented and punitive in nature rather than other-focused and redemptive.  If I am frantically searching the house for the phone and directory, trying desperately to find someone's number as quickly as possible, I am in serious danger of reacting instead of responding.  Bummer, because reacting is so exciting and easy justified as the just, Christian, maybe even pastoral thing to do.  Responding feels so sleepy and 'mature.'

Yesterday, I taught a membership class and we talked about Christian holiness.  In discussing the topic, I use words like empowerment, obedience, restoration, and radical optimism and always sum it all up with the term 'lordship.'  Who is in charge and who gets the final say?  So I am convicted.  Am I more anxious to react in order demonstrate my righteous indignation and exercise my pastoral authority than I am to wait, listen and respond in accordance with the voice of my Lord?

So, where do you stand on the issue?  Is 'reacting' ever justified?  How do we discern the appropriate times to react immediately as needed from the (likely more frequent) times when an intentional, prayerful, delayed response is more appropriate?  And why on earth is reacting such a temptation???  Enlighten me folks.

Uncomfortable spaces...

I haven't written in awhile, mainly because I've been keeping a big secret and I didn't think I could blog without spilling the beans!  Tommy and I are expecting our first baby September 10th!  We are excited/scared/anxious/thrilled/freaked out/happy all at the same time.  If you would have asked me three or four years ago if I wanted kids, I would have given you an ambivalent "eh, maybe."  At that point, school was my priority and the two seemed incompatible for me, an academic woman in ministry and a mom? But as I continue to mature and deepen my understanding of my call, of womanhood, and true gender equality, being a mom doesn't seem so incompatible anymore.  Even though I feel like crap half the day thanks to my lovely little grape-sized guy or gal, I have a sense that this pregnancy will be empowering and, instead of detracting from who I always thought I wanted to be, it will shape me in unexpected and powerful ways.

For now though, all the lovely language of empowerment and womanhood takes a backseat to feeling kinda crummy, both physically and emotionally.  All the nausea and tiredness was expected, but I didn't expect the waves of feeling completely overwhelmed by everything and anything.  It seems like the simplest things, like choosing a VBS curriculum, can send me into a spiral of despair and anxiety.  Good times.

I have been reading 2 Samuel and I read today about poor Uzzah, the guy who tried to prevent the ark from falling was struck down by God for his efforts.  Not my favorite passage.  But, as I reflect on my own (slightly irrational, pregnancy-enhanced) anxiety, I wonder if I'm like Uzzah.  Instead of trusting God to do and preserve God's work, I feel the compulsive need to get my hands in there to make sure it all goes smoothly.  And somehow, I justify my sin of worry and anxiety concerning God's work by attributing it to my deep care or my role as shepherd or whatever.  But if I'm honest, it comes down to a lack of trust and an unwillingness to live in the tension of unresolved issues, waiting on God to make the way clear.  When I resist that uncomfortable space, I make decisions based not on God's instruction but on my own fear-based anxieties.  The reading from God Calling today said this, "You cannot be anxious if you know that I am your supply."  May I submit my anxieties time and again to the One who will meet all my needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.