Deep

We were a beach family. For most of my childhood, we lived no more than two hours from the ocean and we always went to the beach for our vacations. I've swum in the: Atlantic Ocean, Pacific Ocean, and Gulf of Mexico. I've swum in calm and rough waters, including 20-foot waves in Hawaii.

My dad is the one who taught me to swim in the ocean. (Mom loved the beach as much as he did, but she would get herself wet and then go sit in a chair and read.) I learned how to detect the presence of a dangerous undertow or a rip tide. He taught me to establish a point on the sand and check every few minutes to see if the current was pulling me further out or along the shoreline. Most of these lessons took place as we were dealing with the waves.

The main trick to swimming in the ocean is to get past the breakers. Those are the waves that crash at/close to the shoreline. They're the waves that will knock you down, spin you around, and put a gallon of sand in your swimsuit. Navigating the breakers can be dangerous, exhausting and frustrating. You're in survival mode, and once you get far enough from the shore, there's no easy way out.

The ocean is much more fun when you get past the breakers. Although you still need to be aware, you're not in survival mode anymore. Beyond the breakers, the waves come further apart and you can see them coming. You have a chance to rest, to bob up and down in the water or dive to the bottom. When the waves come, you can meet them head-on and dive into them. It's glorious fun.

But first, you have to get beyond the breakers.

For the past three and a half years, I've been battling the breakers. I've been in survival mode.

In 2016, there was the cross-country move from Virginia to Idaho, which included: selling one house, buying another house, six weeks of solo parenting, and a five-day road trip with a two children and an 80 lb dog. Both James and I started new jobs.

In September 2017, my dad died from a massive brain bleed 24 hours after falling in the driveway.

Those two events were "knock you down, spin you around, and put a gallon of sand in your swimsuit" waves. There have been lots of smaller, yet still significant, "waves" in the past few years. I'd gotten worn down in both body and spirit, discouraged from being in constant survival mode. My normal self-care measures were keeping me alive, but I wasn't thriving.

In the past few days, I've finally made it past the breakers of life for the first time in ages. I feel like I'm in deeper, calmer water. I'm beginning to feel joy and contentment again. It's a wonderful, gratifying feeling.

There will be other waves, even "knock you down, spin you around, and put a gallon of sand in your swimsuit" waves. I'll deal with them when they come. But for now, I'm going to enjoy the ocean.

The Weight of the Stole (a.k.a Explaining the Pause)

My "centering station" during ordination interviews. The "goal stole" I purchased in 2013, a Bible, anointing oil (because God was going to do something), a palm cross, a tennis ball (to remind me to "play", a baseball (to remind me to "throw knuckleballs"), and a rock (to remind me of all that God has done). 

For the past few months, and especially for the past few weeks, I have heard the question, "Are you excited about your ordination?"

Over the past week or so, my response has become a little more guarded and a little more thoughtful.

Am I excited? Yes, I am. I would be lying if I said I wasn't excited. Exceedingly grateful. Overwhelmed by God's goodness. A little dumbstruck that, after so much struggle and failure and almost giving up, it's actually happening. Whoa.

However, I'm also realizing the full weight of what ordination means.

Specifically, I'm reflecting on the symbol and significance of wearing a stole. After the Bishop lays hands on me, I will walk across the stage, where the Chair of the Order of Elders will place a red stole (red is the traditional color of the Holy Spirit, and used for Pentecost and ordinations) around my neck.

A stole is symbolic of ordination. To me, it's the equivalent of the exchange of rings in a wedding ceremony. It's an outward and visible sign of a commitment, a grace, a sacred act.

I have looked forward to ordination simply so I can wear a stole. I have a Pinterest board dedicated to stoles.  For the past year, I have longingly admired the nifty stoles that my senior colleague at Haygood has in her possession.

For two years, I have had a stole hanging in my office. At Cheriton, it was above my desk. At Haygood, it was on the wall, near the door. It was my "goal stole"; a way to remind me of what I was working towards. On the Wednesday after my interviews, when I was waiting for The Call, I laid that stole on the altar and gave my future into God's hands...I told a dear friend that if I was not ordained, I would give the stole to her upon her ordination. The day after I found out I was going to be ordained, I took that stole off the wall, put it around my neck, looked in the mirror...and cried tears of joy.

The stole is also called "the yoke of obedience". For someone who classifies herself as a rebel and struggles to obey God, let alone humans, wearing a stole that symbolizes obedience and service to Christ and His church is rather sobering.

It means submitting myself to God's will, and not my own. It means serving others, rather than serving myself. It means going where I might not want to go and doing what I might not want to do in order to further the Gospel.

Simply put, it means dying to self.

My ordination represents the end of one journey...a journey that has lasted from 8-21 years, depending on when you count the "beginning".

But, it's the beginning of another journey, one that I cannot complete on my own. Heck, there was no way that I could have completed this journey on my own. I've only done it by the grace of God and the love, support, and prayers of many people. And...by learning to listen to God and to the wisdom of others.

Hmm...maybe it's a good thing this ordination journey took so long. I had a lot to learn.

So, beneath the joy, the red shoes (I can do a whole blog post on those!), the glittery red fingernails, and the quest for the perfect outfit...lies a woman who is both profoundly grateful and profoundly humbled by the significance of what will occur on June 20.

That's what the pause is about...

What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been

I was in church when I first sensed my call to ministry.

I was 16 or 17, in my small United Methodist congregation in McLean, Virginia. We were singing a hymn, "Here I Am, Lord", and I felt this tug on my heart. I didn't know what to do about it, or what it meant. So, I pretty much ignored it.

A few years later, in college, the tug grew stronger, and the call became clearer. God was calling me to be a pastor: to go to seminary, to enter full-time ministry, to be ordained. I tried my hardest to ignore the call, to pretend that it meant something else.

I wasn't good enough, or holy enough, or smart enough, to be a pastor. There were many other ways that I could serve God, and I tried exploring those avenues. But still, I double-majored in Religion and French. I joined, and eventually became the president of, the campus group for those exploring church vocations. I looked into seminaries. At the same time, I considered going to graduate school for French or becoming the owner of my own Chick-Fil-A store. The call kept growing stronger, and I kept running.

I answered God's call to ordained ministry in a parking lot, of all places. 

It was actually the parking lot of Wesley Theological Seminary in DC. I was a senior in college and I had no peace about my future. I was tired of running, and I basically said, "fine, God. Have it your way. I'll go into ministry if it will finally give me peace."

And it did give me peace...until I started dragging my feet about applying to seminary and beginning the candidacy process.

That pattern pretty much describes my response to God's call on my life...

Reluctance. Self-doubt. 

Acceptance. Peace. Forward movement.

Reluctance. Self-doubt. 

Rinse and repeat. 

I fought God tooth and nail every step of the way. 

Through seminary.

Through the United Methodist candidacy process.

After my first appointment ended with me crashing and burning, I used that as an excuse to say that clearly, I was not cut out for this pastor gig. Look God, I tried, but...clearly this isn't going to work.

I was in church when I sensed God calling me back into full-time ministry. It was not a still, small voice; it was a divine two-by-four. 

I was 34, married with two young children, and half-heartedly worshipping in the mid-size United Methodist congregation my family was attending in Chesapeake, Virginia. I was a stay-at-home mom, working occasionally as a chaplain. I was miserable. I was thinking about turning in my ministerial credentials.

No, I'm not being dramatic; it crossed my mind on a weekly basis.

Overnight, my pastor began preaching sermons that made me cry. In a good way. I realized what God was calling me to do; to go back to the pulpit, back into full-time ministry.

I answered God's call the second time in my bedroom. 

Eighteen months later, I began my second appointment, to a two-point charge on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. There were certainly challenges and days where I spent the majority of my time curled up in an armchair, crying out to God, saying, "I can't do this. Help me." However, those fervent prayers were answered time and time again, and over the course of two years, God (working through my congregation, clergy colleagues, a pretty awesome DS, and my spouse), showed me who I was as a pastor, and I began to claim that identity.

I applied for ordination in 2014, but allowed those fears and self-doubts to creep into my materials and my interviews, so I was "continued", and told to try again next year.

In the spring of 2014, God called me to serve as the Associate Pastor at a mid-size church in Virginia Beach. As heartbreaking as it was, we left the Shore and moved back to Chesapeake.

I re-applied for ordination. The provisional process is limited to eight years; this was my eighth year. I was either going to get ordained in 2015 or never.

I prayed, I wrote the papers, I cried out to God, I wrote some more, I prayed some more.

Others prayed, too. Many, many others. For that, I am supremely grateful.

I went on several "mock interviews" to prepare myself and to steel my nerves.

In late January, I went before the Theology and Practice of Ministry Committees of the Board of Ordained Ministry.

I was like Gideon, laying out the fleece.

The call came at 8:02 pm on Wednesday, January 28, 2015. I was driving, so told my Team Leader to wait a minute, as I pulled over into a parking lot to answer. 

To be specific, it was the parking lot of Bayside High School in Virginia Beach, Virginia.

I steeled myself, and waited to hear the news. 

"Patti, it is with great pleasure...actually, it is with great JOY that I share with you that the Board of Ordained Ministry has approved you for full membership and ordination as an elder." 

21 years since I first heard the call. 

15 years since I answered the call. 

12 years since I was certified as a candidate for ordained ministry. 

10 years since I graduated from seminary. 

Nine years since first entering full-time ministry. 

Eight years since I was commissioned as a provisional elder. 

Three years since my return to pastoral ministry. 

What a long, strange, trip it's been. 

On June 20, the Bishop (who, as my DS in 2006, appointed me to my first church) will lay hands on me and ordain me. He will pray for the Holy Spirit to come and anoint me for the life and work of an elder in Christ's holy church. I will place my hand on the Bible my parents gave me when I was 8 (you get to choose which Bible you use), and will "take thou authority". Assisting him will be the previous bishop, who commissioned me back in 2007. Standing with me will be my husband and two dear clergy colleagues. Standing in prayer in the Roanoke Civic Center (aka Berglund Center) during my ordination will be many, many others...clergy and laity, family and friends. A cloud of witnesses.

My heart is overflowing with gratitude to the God who loved me enough to keep wooing me back, and who brings light out of darkness and joy out of despair. My heart is also overflowing with gratitude to all those who have been Christ to me, who never stopped believing in me, and who saw in me what I couldn't see in myself. 

I am being ordained. Thanks be to God. 

The journey is far from over. I will always be learning to rely on God rather than myself, to face my fears instead of running from them, to listen to God's voice above that of the world. I will always be growing, being transformed into who God is calling me to be, as a follower of Jesus and as a pastor. 

With my ordination comes a commitment to serve Christ as an elder in the United Methodist Church until I retire (in 30 or so years) and until the day I die (because you never really "retire" from ministry). 

Here's to a lifetime of being part of this odd and wondrous calling! 

Sermon for July 13, 2014: "Brought to Jesus"

Last month, we moved back to Chesapeake, and I began a new appointment as the Associate Pastor at Haygood UMC in Virginia Beach. I'm having a wonderful time: it's a fantastic church with amazing people, and the staff, especially the Lead Pastor, is pretty awesome. 

Sunday was my first time preaching solo, and here's the sermon I preached at all three services. 

Rev. Patti Money

Haygood UMC

John 1:35-42

July 13, 2014

“Come and See: Brought to Jesus”

Have you ever been so excited about someone or something that you couldn’t help sharing it with other people, inviting them to be a part of that same experience? When we discover something amazing and wonderful, we can’t keep it to ourselves; we can’t help but share our experience with others. 

On the southern tip of the Eastern Shore, in the tiny bayside town of Cape Charles, is an ice cream parlor by the name of Brown Dog Ice Cream. It’s in its third season of business, and despite being new in town, has become incredibly successful. The owner is a fantastic businesswoman, the atmosphere in the shop is great, and the employees are friendly. Those have all undoubtedly contributed to Brown Dog’s success, but the main reason Brown Dog Ice Cream has become an overnight success is that the ice cream they make is absolutely delicious. The ice cream is homemade in small batches, using the freshest ingredients, and while they always have “normal” flavors like chocolate and vanilla, they also have creative flavors, such as blueberry cheesecake and salted caramel. When you taste Brown Dog Ice Cream, you experience ice cream as you never have before. It’s creamy, full of flavor, and fresh. As a result, people both on and off the Shore continue to flock to Brown Dog, continue to bring their friends and family to Brown Dog, and to share positive reviews on social media. The message they are sending is clear: I am so excited about this ice cream that I can’t keep it to myself. I want you to experience it, too. Come and see. 

Last summer, two travelers wound up with a longer-than-expected layover at Norfolk Airport. They had never been to the Eastern Shore of Virginia, so they decided to rent a car and explore the Shore. They drove across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, stopped at the Eastern Shore Welcome Center, and asked the employee there for recommendations of what they could do and where they could go. They were, essentially, looking for an amazing experience. The employee told them to go into Cape Charles, and stop in at Brown Dog Ice Cream, because he had been there, and said it was the best ice cream around. So, the travelers got back into their rental car, drove 10 miles or so, made a left at the first traffic light on the Shore, and headed into the bayside town of Cape Charles. They parked outside Brown Dog Ice Cream, went in, and ordered some chocolate ice cream. Just like thousands of people before them, as they tasted Brown Dog Ice Cream, as they enjoyed the cool, creamy goodness of ice cream on a hot summer’s day, they were so excited that they felt compelled to share their experience, and invite others to experience Brown Dog. So, they posted a review on TripAdvisor.com, which is a web site where people can post reviews of restaurants and hotels. In the review, they raved about how delicious the chocolate ice cream from Brown Dog Ice Cream tasted, and said that it was the best ice cream they’d ever had. As a result of that review, other people who were traveling up and down the Eastern Shore that day stopped in at Brown Dog Ice Cream and most of them ordered a cup or cone of chocolate ice cream. By the end of the day, Miriam, the owner of Brown Dog Ice Cream, had not only had a banner sales day, but had run out of chocolate ice cream. All because one person…the employee at the Welcome Center, shared his experience of Brown Dog ice cream with two travelers and told them how they could have the same experience. In turn, the two travelers shared, via the Internet, their experience with Brown Dog ice cream, and invited others to “come and see.” 

The people of the Eastern Shore were looking for a place that would sell delicious ice cream, that would bring the community together, that would remind them of the innocence of childhood and the carefree days of summer. They found that experience in Brown Dog Ice Cream, and that experience is what has driven them, both natives and tourists alike, to bring others to Brown Dog Ice Cream, to share about it on social media,  to tell everyone the know to “come and see…come and experience ice cream in a way you never have before.” 

When we experience something, or someone, amazing and wonderful, we can’t keep the experience to ourselves; we can’t help but share our experience with others, and invite them to be a part of the same experience. We can’t help but invite others to “come and see”. 

That’s what we see happening in today’s scripture reading. Jesus passes by, and John the Baptist, who is standing there with two of his disciples, immediately points out who Jesus is…the Lamb of God. John and his disciples were Jews, and John’s use of the phrase, “the Lamb of God” signified that Jesus was their Messiah, the one sent by God to save the world. So Andrew, along with another one of John’s disciples, followed Jesus, and had an encounter with Jesus that changed his life. He experienced God in a way that he never had before. He had found the Messiah; the promised savior of Israel, the anointed One of God. When Andrew realized that he was in the presence of someone whom he, and his people, have been waiting for and hoping for, when he realized that he had found the One that he had been looking for all his life, he couldn’t keep this discovery, this experience, to himself; he had to share it. So, Andrew went to his brother, Simon, told him that he had found the Messiah, shared his experience, and brought Simon to Jesus, so Simon could come and see…come and experience Jesus for himself. When Andrew encountered Jesus, he experienced God’s love in such an amazing way that he was changed, and he was so excited about his experience that he had to share it with his brother, had to invite Simon to come with him, so he too could have an encounter with Jesus., so Simon could find who he had been looking for. Andrew’s excitement was so apparent, that of course his brother followed him, allowed himself to be brought to Jesus, and experienced God in a way he never had before. 

The people of Israel were looking for the Messiah…they were looking for the Chosen One of God, and they found him in Jesus. The disciples were not captivated by what Jesus was wearing…or where Jesus may have been staying…or even where Jesus was going. They were captivated by Jesus himself, because in Jesus they experienced God in a way they never had before. They experienced God’s love, grace, and power in a way they never had before. They saw themselves as God saw them; as beautiful and beloved children, no matter what their past or present held. They saw their hopeful future: who they could become if they allowed God to transform them. That experience is what drove them to find their family, their friends, their neighbors, and bring them to Jesus, saying “come and see for yourself the one that I’ve been talking about. Come and experience God like you never have before. Come and find what you’ve been looking for.” 

People experience Brown Dog Ice Cream because they’ve heard about it from someone else…someone who has already experienced it, and shared that experience. John the Baptist knew that Jesus was the Messiah because he had spent his whole life knowing that his role was to prepare the way for Jesus, to point others to Jesus. He told Andrew and the other disciple, and many others, that Jesus was the One they were looking for. Andrew followed Jesus, experienced God through Him, and ran to tell his brother, Simon that he had found the Messiah…to come and see Jesus. He brought Simon to Jesus so Simon could experience Jesus for himself. 

People are still looking for Jesus…they are seeking meaning, seeking redemption, seeking significance…seeking to experience God as they never have before. People are still needing to see themselves as God sees them: beautiful and beloved, no matter what their past or present looks like. They still need to see a hopeful future; to see themselves as God sees them, to see who God is calling them to be. People…whether that’s you, me, or those who have yet to walk through the doors of this church…are looking for Jesus.

Most of us in this room would consider ourselves Christians; those who have found Jesus and are devoting our lives to follow him. Take a moment, and remember how you were brought to Jesus. Maybe you, like me, were brought to Jesus by your parents or grandparents: you grew up in a Christian home, grew up attending church every Sunday, and as you became an adult, naturally but intentionally chose to follow Jesus. Or maybe you did not grow up with a faith background, but someone…a friend, a roommate, a mentor, your spouse…brought you to church, to a Bible study, to an event…brought you to Jesus. Even if you simply woke up one day and felt a desire to search for truth, to search for redemption, to search for Jesus, at some point someone planted a seed in your heart that the Holy Spirit brought to fruition. 

We are all here because someone shared their experience with us, someone invited us to come and see Jesus for ourself, someone invited us to experience Jesus, and we did. We experienced God’s love, grace, and power in a way we never had before. We saw ourselves as God sees us; as beautiful and beloved children, no matter what our past or present holds. We saw our hopeful future: who we could become if we allow God to transform us.

When we experience something, or someone, amazing and wonderful, we can’t keep the experience to ourselves; we can’t help but share our experience with others, and invite them to be a part of the same experience. We can’t help but invite others to “come and see”. 

People are still looking for Jesus…they are looking to experience God…and even after only three weeks here, I know that God has done, is doing, and will do, amazing things here at Haygood UMC. For 182 years, God has been drawing people to this corner of Virginia Beach and has transformed countless lives. God is calling us to continue that legacy, to continue sharing what God has done in our life, what God is doing in our church, what God is doing in our world. People are still looking for Jesus…and the only way they will find what they’re looking for is if we…and I’m talking about all of us, because for 2,000 years the Gospel has been shared by ordinary, normal people…share our experience of love, grace, and redemption with others, and invite them to “come and see” how they can experience Jesus. 

Ushers have baskets with invitation cards…have information about our worship times, our contact information, even a picture of Oliver Chapel. I’m asking you to do three things. First: grab a handful of cards. Take as many as you want; we have 5,000 of them, so there’s plenty to go around. Second, pray, and ask God to show you who might be waiting for you to bring them to Jesus. Third, give these cards out as you feel led…to the family member who is looking for a spiritual home, to the friend who is seeking answers and not finding them, to the neighbor who just moved to the area…You don’t have to give them a sermon or do anything complicated. You don’t need to pressure them to make them feel guilty. Simply share your excitement and invite them to come and see what God is doing at Haygood. 

People are looking for Jesus…and most new Christians say that they were brought to Jesus because someone invited them to worship. However, research shows that only 2% of regular church attenders have invited someone to worship in the past year. Imagine what could happen…imagine what God could do…imagine that lives that would be transformed…if everyone here invited someone to worship next week, and every week after that. 

Are you excited about what God is doing in your life? Are you excited about what God is doing here at Haygood? I hope so! Don’t keep your excitement to yourself; take a bunch of cards, and invite others to “come and see”. 

Lose the Mask, Please

This might get me in trouble. But, I'm not sure that I care.

I'll get right to the point: I am sick and tired of the way Christian culture encourages us to wear this mask of "everything is fine. I've got Jesus and I'm at peace. Go on with your day."

I see it in the local church, where there is an unwillingness to share our struggles, our brokenness, our doubts. We ask for prayer for everyone else, but never for ourselves.

I see it among clergy, where even among my clergy "friends", we tend to stick to surface topics. If someone brings up a deep, personal concern (and I'm not even talking about confessing to an affair; I mean sharing an internal struggle), they are, sooner or later, encouraged to deal with it somehow...but not in that setting.

This is reinforced as we go through seminary and the ordination process. After all, if we reveal that we're broken and not perfect, we might not get ordained. Even after ordination, there's the unspoken threat that "the person you're confessing your struggles to could be your District Superintendent some day."

We are encouraged to wear a mask. Not just to our congregations, but also to: our clergy colleagues, to our District Superintendents, to our Boards of Ordained Ministry...we are encouraged to pretend that everything is fantastic, even when it's not.

If we truly can't be honest about our struggles with our "inner circle" of clergy colleagues/friends, it's almost like we gave up our right to be human and authentic once we entered ministry.

It's not right. Masks don't honor God, they don't encourage community, and they do more harm than good to the individual wearing the mask.

A few disclaimers:

• Except in extreme personal circumstances, I will always advocate a pastor maintaining a calm, positive, non-anxious presence to his/her congregation. It's part of being a leader, and encourages congregational confidence and stability. There have been Sundays when I have not wanted to step into the pulpit because of fatigue, illness, grief, or discouragement, but I put on my big girl panties and put the needs of the congregation ahead of my own. There are times when you simply need to "fake it" and rely upon God's strength to carry you.
• I am also not an advocate of spilling guts to anyone who will listen. Discretion is important. However, in our clergy groups, our covenant groups, and with trusted clergy friends, we should be able to be vulnerable. 
• In terms of "brokenness"; in this post I'm not referring to affairs, addictions, embezzlement, or anything that might result in loss of credentials. No, in this post I'm simply referring to the pain and struggle that many of us experience through life and ministry. 

My struggle with being encouraged to wear a mask is that it does not come naturally to me. What you see is what you get. By nature, I am an optimistic, idealistic, joyful person. I like to have fun. I see the best in people and situations. However, when I'm in pain or struggling, I find it difficult to hide it. So, I'll put on "the mask" for my congregation and people in the community, but with my family, friends, and clergy colleagues (particular those with whom I am close)...I just can't maintain the mask. I have to be authentic about how I'm feeling and express the pain. 

The past six or so months have had a lot of pain. My sister-in-law died. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I applied for ordination and was told, "next year." I had some other unexpected struggles in my professional life. I am having to struggle with the reality that my mind does not work like everyone else's, and things  seem so "OBVIOUS" to everyone else are not obvious to me.  Add this to the reality that my spouse commutes an hour one way to work and I have two young children...and you've got a lot of stress and a lot of pain. It has to come out somehow. 

I've deepened my spiritual life. I pray, I read and meditate on scriptures. I take walks on the beach. Trust me when I say that God and I are closer than we've been in years. 

I have friends and clergy colleagues who I talk to...but of course, I have to be careful how often I talk to them and how much I share with them, because of "the mask" phenomenon. They're not going to be transparent and share their struggles, so if I do it too much, I wind up being the one with "issues". 

"Well, Patti, maybe you should see a therapist." I have one. A very good one. I see her every two weeks. However, that's just not enough when the stress and the pain are very high. I simply cannot keep my emotions and thoughts bottled up in between therapist appointments. 

I can't be the only one who sees this dichotomy. I can't be the only one who gets frustrated by this trend in the church and especially among clergy. I can't be the only one longing for transparency, for vulnerability, and for all of us to LOSE THE MASK. 

However, I seem to be one of the lone voices willing to challenge the status quo. 

For the record, I seriously doubt that I'll ever be a District Superintendent, so feel free to spill your guts to me. And even if I do become a DS, I will have forgotten everything by then, so you're safe. 

Amazed by Grace, Part Infinity

One of the things that gave me the most anxiety as I returned to the pastorate was how my congregation(s) would treat my children. I had heard good stories, but I also heard horror stories about churches that didn't want children, treated them as nuisances, placed unrealistic expectations on the pastor's children, etc.

There have been many times over the past year when the people of the Cheriton Charge proved those fears wrong...they have been OUTSTANDING in terms of loving and embracing my children, showing them God's love, living out their baptismal vows...we've been truly blessed.

But today knocked my socks off...and it wasn't until we got home and were eating lunch that the magnitude of what happened hit me.

Susanna (my 5 1/2 yo) has been serving as an acolyte since September. She showed interest, and the member who trains our acolytes did an excellent job training her. In 10 months, we have had no incidences, and Susanna now needs very little supervision. She knows what to do, and she does it.

At the close of the service today, Susanna was in the area around the altar, doing her thing. She had lit her wick, extinguished one candle, and was on her way to extinguish another. We were singing the closing hymn, and all of a sudden I look down (the pulpit is a foot or so above the altar) and see Susanna, crying...with no candlelighter in her hand.

The candlelighter is on the floor...with the WICK STILL LIT.

I swung into action, picked up the candlelighter thingy, extinguished the flame, tossed it aside, and then checked on my daughter. (I was worried about her, of course, but I also didn't want us all to go up in flames.)

She was fine: some melted wax had gotten onto her hand, and so she instinctively dropped the candlelighter. It hurt a little bit where the hot wax had touched it, but I think she was more scared than anything.

What happened next amazed me.

One member (a retired nurse) came up, took Susanna by the hand, and led her to the kitchen to get some ice (I still had to do the benediction).

After I did the benediction, at least 10 other people came up to me and asked, "what happened? Is she OK?"

Everyone asked about my daughter.

No one asked about the carpet.

Their first instinct, their first thought, was about the welfare of my daughter, because they care more about her than about the carpet (which is fine...there may be a teensy burn hole, but it's not very noticeable).

I know, I know...that's the way it's SUPPOSED to be...

But in so many churches, it's not that way. In so many churches, we place a higher value on things than on people. In so many churches, there would have been a stampede to check out the carpet rather than a stampede to check on my daughter.

I am so very, very thankful that my children are being shown Christ's love through the members of my churches. I am so very blessed to serve a church that allows a five-year-old with the desire to be an acolyte to serve in that capacity, and that when she makes a mistake, they respond with love and concern, and not judgment.

Susanna may or may not remember today's events, but I always will. And I will remind her of the little church in the little town on the Eastern Shore who showed her, and her parents, God's amazing love and grace, and helped us all grow up a little bit.

Thank you, Cheriton UMC. The Moneys are blessed to be among you.

Humpty Dumpty: An Alternative Ending

We've all heard the nursery rhyme:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

And all the king's horses and all the king's men

Couldn't put Humpty together again...

But what if it ended a little differently? Maybe with a happier ending...

Humpty Dumpty did sit on a wall...and Humpty did have a great fall...a very painful and embarrassing fall that nearly ruined everything...

BUT...

....A caring friend and colleague used Super Glue and tape to hold the pieces of Humpty Dumpty together...

....A CPE supervisor and a cohort of fellow chaplains helped heal Humpty Dumpty so you almost couldn't tell she had a fall...and so she was willing to sort of trust the King again. 

....An amazing community of faith helped her hear and respond when the King asked Humpty to sit on the wall again. 

....A dedicated and gifted pastor/colleague/friend worked with Humpty so she had the courage and the strength to climb up the wall and sit on it again. 

...Her family and friends and colleagues cheered her on and encouraged her as she climbed and sat on the wall once again...

And Humpty was thankful for it all...and thankful to be serving the King once again...

...But then she started experiencing challenges. 

...She felt afraid...what if she fell again?

...She felt alone...it was lonely sitting up on the wall.

...She felt worried. What if she had made a huge mistake? 

Humpty...may have whined and complained and when she slipped a few times, gotten frustrated that no one seemed like they were going to catch her if she fell again. All her fellow wall-sitters seemed to be looking elsewhere. She loved the wall, but keeping the balance was SO VERY HARD and she just didn't know how to do it. 

So Humpty looked around to see what everyone else was looking at, and saw that everyone was looking at the King. 

So Humpty, desperate for help by now, cried out to the King...and found that when she was looking at the King, she didn't feel as afraid, or as alone, or as worried...and she felt stronger and more confident about sitting on the wall. 

And in the hardest moments, she felt the King holding her up...and it was then that she realized what she had known all along...

That in the falling...and the shattering...and the healing...and the climbing...and the struggling...that the King was working in and through everyone, and as long as Humpty kept her eyes and her focus on the King and on serving him, that he wouldn't let her fall again. 

And so Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall...and she didn't fall, because she had learned to rely upon the King. 

The Wilderness: No Way But Forward

"Then the people of Israel set out from Mount Hor, taking the road to the Red Sea to go around the land of Edom. But the people grew impatient with the long journey, and they began to speak against God and Moses. 'Why have you brought us out of Egypt to die here in the wilderness?' they complained. 'There is nothing to eat here and nothing to drink. And we hate this horrible manna!'" -Numbers 21:4-5

"My company before is gone, and I am left alone with Thee."

-Charles Wesley, "Come O Thou Traveler Unknown" (#386 in the United Methodist Hymnal

I'm in the midst of a wilderness experience. Some people would use the term "desert experience", but the meaning is the same: a period of time where you experience spiritual dryness. I tend to experience God most powerfully in community, so my wilderness experiences tend to occur around periods of transition. As a borderline introvert who can be painfully shy (I can fake it to a certain extent) yet who is very relationally-oriented, that period of time when I have lost one support system and am in the LONG process of building a new support system can be excruciatingly painful. It usually takes me about a year to really trust someone, and that's with consistent contact: it will take more if contact is inconsistent. 

One of the characteristics of the wilderness is that it forces us to depend on God in a way we never have before...it's not that God really leaves us, but God doesn't always manifest Himself in the usual ways, and we are forced to depend on God, and God alone, to provide for our needs. 

In Egypt, the Israelites may have not have been free and they may have endured cruelty, but they had never known any other life, and chances are excellent that they still had plentiful food. In order to get to the promised land, they had to go through the wilderness...where food and water were scarce. God provided what they needed, but they grumbled because it wasn't what they were used to...they were used to having easy access to food and drink, and in the wilderness they had to depend on God for nourishment.

In my case, there was obviously no slavery or cruelty, but I went from having an abundance of Christian community, regular opportunities to be a worshipper and experience preaching, and a strong support system...to a new ministry setting in a new community where I am the one preaching and leading worship every week and where I have to build a new support system. Because I am a pastor in a rural area, because I've been so busy (what with my family being constantly sick all winter and the 11 funerals and the move and transition), and because the vast majority of my emotional strength has been spent on my congregation and family (meaning that I just don't have it in me to initiate new friendships, and am having a hard enough time keeping the ones I already have)...I've had a challenge building a new support system.

It's sort of like going from an all-you-can-eat buffet 24 hours a day to a diet of bread and water, and having to hunt and gather if you want more than what is provided. And the thought of taking my bow and arrow and finding new friends has been...exhausting and overwhelming for most of the past year. 

I am depending on God more than I ever have...and am certainly seeing God ALL OVER THE PLACE...in the people of my churches, in what God is doing here, in my children, in their teachers, in my colleagues...I know without a doubt that this is where I am supposed to be and that God is here with me. I SEE God, I KNOW that God is with me...but I rarely FEEL God's presence. So many days, I feel completely and totally alone, like I'm wandering in a dark room without a flashlight. In some ways, it's surreal...because how can things be SO VERY GOOD and I be SO VERY BLESSED...yet still break down in tears multiple times in a week? 

It's painful...and it's frustrating...and yes, there have been many murmurings on my part. If I have acted like a whiny, selfish, immature brat...those are the wilderness murmurings, and I'm sorry. The Israelites complained because they were sick of manna and had nothing to eat or drink...I complain because no one loves me, no one wants me, no one returns my phone calls or text messages, everyone's too busy with their own perfect lives to listen to my sad tale of woe, my life is harder than anyone else's (please hear the irony and self-deprecation in those sentences)...whine whine murmur murmur. 

I know I am loved by God and by others...I know I do have friends who are praying for me and who are there for me, especially if I tried a little harder to connect with them...it just used to be so much EASIER, and now it's much harder...I have to hunt and gather instead of simply heading to the buffet. However, it's forcing me to rely on God for intimacy, for companionship, for guidance...and that is helping me to become the pastor, the wife, the mother, the follower of Jesus that God is calling me to be. 

What my murmurings mean, and what I think the Israelites meant, too, is, "God, I miss Egypt, but I know I can't go back there...I know I'm where I need to be...I know you'll get me to the Promised Land eventually...but in the meantime, I'm pretty scared and feeling lonely and uncertain of what the future holds...and I need your courage, your strength, your wisdom, and your comfort." 

Here's hoping and praying that I find the Promised Land at the end of this wilderness experience...and that when the time comes, my experience in the wilderness will have prepared me to boldly and courageously enter whatever future God has for me. 

And maybe my murmurs will begin to quiet down...if not, please be patient. This wilderness thing is tough. 

Before the Butterfly Comes the Cocoon

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us..."
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

During a time of intense soul-searching this week, I had an epiphany. 

Eighteen months ago, I sat down with my then-District Superintendent and boldly told him, "send me to a church that is poised for transformation, but needs someone to lead them through it." It sounds cocky, but it's where I felt (and still feel) my calling and gifts lie...to bring hope and healing and new life to people and groups. 

When I met with the Pastor-Parish Relations Committee of my current appointment, I sensed that this was IT. As I got to know some of the leaders of both churches (particularly my larger church), I kept thinking, "this is it! This is the church I prayed for! This is the church I asked for!"

And it is. I have no doubt about that. None whatsoever. God has amazing things in store for this church. 

However, I made a mistake. That mistake was thinking that our ministry together was going to begin at the chrysalis...that point when the butterfly emerges, spreads its wings, and shows the world what it's made of. Another analogy is that I thought that our ministry together would begin at the entrance to the Promised Land; kicking butt in the name of God right and left as we harvested the milk and honey. 

If you know me well, you know that I am an incurable idealist who is also incredibly optimistic. "Tomorrow" from "Annie" is my favorite song. These traits can be very powerful gifts for a number of reasons, but they can also cause me to bite off WAY more than I can chew, not see reality until it pretty much punches me in the face, and become discouraged if these big dreams and high hopes don't materialize when they're "supposed to". 

All that being said, it makes sense that this weekend, I found myself sobbing on my husband's shoulder and telling him how I feel like an utter failure as a pastor/leader. After all, I've been here for almost a year, and a) worship attendance has remained the same, b) giving has remained the same, c) we are still behind on apportionments, and d) we have had no professions of faith. Externally, everything is the same. I feel like all I've done this year is preaching and funerals and pastoral care and getting to know people and transitioning my family and myself into this new life (and then there was the long fall/winter of sickness, including James and Susanna both having pneumonia while a hurricane raged outside). 

I had forgotten about the cocoon and the wilderness. The greatest transformation happens inside the cocoon, before the butterfly emerges. From the outside, it looks like nothing is happening. But amazing transformation IS happening...the world just can't see it yet. If the cocoon is forced open, the transformation is never completed.The Israelites had to have that long journey from Egypt to Israel, and then those 40 years in the dessert, in order to become the people that God was calling them to be.

At the right time, the transformation is complete, the cocoon breaks open, and the caterpillar emerges as a butterfly. 

At the right time (40 years; a Biblical number of completion), the Israelites ended their wilderness wanderings and entered the Promised Land, and did begin kicking butt right and left in the name of God as they entered the land of milk and honey. 

And at the right time...and it may very well be within this next year...although only God knows...we will emerge from our cocoon, from our own painful transformation...and the world will be able to witness what before only God and a few wise people could see. We'll see it, too...because I have learned for myself that in order for true transformation to occur, you have to first believe in yourself and be able to see you as God sees you. 

Transformation begins in the heart...and it begins internally...and only when that process is complete, do you begin to see fruit. I had forgotten about that. 

In the meantime...maybe God is calling me, and calling us, to remain in the cocoon a little longer, to be in the wilderness for a few more months, and to allow God to do some more internal renovation before the transformation is complete and before we enter the Promised Land.

Big Girl Panties? Check. Super Glue? Check. Tissues? Check.

John Stott, a renowned Christian pastor/teacher/author was once asked by someone, "How do you determine God's will for your life?" His answer? "Go wherever your gifts will be exploited the most."

My interpretation of that statement is that my true calling is found wherever my gifts are used to the fullest...that sacred place where my passions and my natural God-given talents are incredibly vulnerable,  I have to trust God and, as a friend of mine told me a year or so ago, "be bold, be brave, and be faithful"...and experience God doing amazing things.

That's easier said than done, mostly because it is freaking heartbreaking.

I was a hospital chaplain for almost four years, during my "sabbatical" from local church ministry. I loved it. I was good at it. I had the gifts to be a career chaplain.

However, I chose to become a pastor again because I realized that chaplaincy was not my true calling. In some ways, it was too easy: I usually would swoop into a room, offer 5-15 minutes of my presence, listening skills, words of comfort, and prayer. Then, I would leave, and most of the time, I would never see that person or that family again. In other ways, it was too frustrating. I would have a really good visit with someone, go fairly deep...and then the visit would end, they'd be discharged, and I would never have a chance to follow up with them or build a relationship.

Emotionally, it did not require much of me. My gifts (which include compassion and a personality that values relationships) were not being used to the fullest...I was not made vulnerable, and I just sensed that something was missing. I wanted more...God was calling me to be more...

So, I became a pastor again. After 11 months in my current appointment, I can say that HERE is where my true calling is...because HERE my gifts are most definitely exploited.

In the past eight months, I have had eleven deaths between my two churches. As I have grown closer to my people, each death and each funeral has required more and more of me on an emotional level...seeing people I love in pain, walking with someone through the "valley of the shadow of death", being that strong, calming, pastoral presence in the midst of grief, preaching a funeral sermon (that you hope and pray will do justice to and celebrate the life that someone lived and how God worked in and through them and that it will bless the family and bring glory to God), and in the midst of all that, dealing with my own feelings of grief and loss which, although they pale in comparison to those of the family and even those of many in the congregation, are very real and powerful.

In March, I laid to rest a beloved member of the church and community whom I had connected with, and would have liked to connect with more if she hadn't gotten sick and died. I cried (privately) when I left her room for what I knew would be the last time. I channeled my emotions into her funeral service, which I think was one of the best I've done so far. I was calm and I was strong...but I will confess that after the graveside service, instead of going immediately to the church for the reception, I drove to a safe spot and cried for a few minutes before pulling myself together and heading to the reception. It was painful and emotional...but it was also so incredibly honoring and fulfilling to be able to celebrate this woman's life. I would not have wanted anyone else to do it.

Death number 12 is coming in the near future, unless a miracle happens. He's been sick for a long time and this is not a surprise, but it will hit me harder...and is already hitting me harder...than all the others combined. I've had more time and opportunities to connect with this individual and his wife, they've blessed me a lot (probably without realizing it, and possibly more than I've blessed them), and their son is also a UM pastor who is in the clergy group I attend on a fairly regular basis. This member is a beloved member of the church, and his death will hit both my congregations fairly hard. I hate hate hate seeing people I love in pain/grief...and I am already sensing anticipatory grief from all angles. I sense it on Sunday morning, when we share prayer requests. I sense it when I visit their home. I sense it from my colleague/friend...and I'm definitely sensing it in myself, as I sit here crying and feeling ridiculous for being this emotional on behalf of people who I didn't even know a year ago, but who have wormed their way into my heart.

Where my open heart is...there my vulnerability lies, and where my passion and gifts can be best used by God.

So, I will put on my big girl panties, I will attach them with super glue if I need to, and I will keep a box of tissues handy for the next few weeks/months...and with fear, trembling, and a huge dose of faith and reliance on God, I will brave the pain, bare my heart, offer my relational compassion...and trust that God will exploit/utilize my gifts and offerings to God's glory...and that by God's grace I will be who I need to be for everyone involved.

It will be hard on so many levels...but it's what God is calling me to do and who God is calling me to be...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

However, I solicit your prayers that after this, we will have a break from funerals for a while. I'd like us to have a season of joy. My people deserve some joy.