Daily Texts

Every day, I receive the Moravian Daily Text in my email. Today's was one of those give-you-goosebumps, Spirit-filled types (edited down to the goosebump part):

Saturday, December 30

So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries
of its own. Matthew 6:34

God of Peace, we are grateful for the reassurance that you
provide for all that we need. Help us to not be anxious about
today or tomorrow or any day, for your grace is sufficient.
Grant us the faith to trust in you unwaveringly. Amen.

Aaaahhhh, home

We're home. Home. Whenever I use the phrase in relation to a place, I think of (get ready for this...) Carolyn Ingalls in the early days of Little House on the Prairie telling Charles lovingly and with starry eyes, "My home is wherever you are." And, in many ways, Carolyn was right. Home is where my husband and children are. Yet, we live the phenomena known to so many of today's Americans - the rest of our family does not live in the same city nor anywhere near where we live. And where they live is also a form of home.

In some ways, home will always be Portland, Oregon. It's hardwired in my blood (remember that post awhile back about my semi-famous ancestor?). As we drive down streets and highways, a plethora of memories erupt. There are historic associations with nearly every passing landmark:

• There's the 7-Eleven by my mom's house where I grew up. My friends used to buy me a candy bar if I'd walk there with them and use my math prowess to make sure Fran the cashier didn't rip them off.
• There's the Sellwood Bridge over the Willamette River where we spread my father-in-laws ashes. Each time we cross that bridge, we say hi to Pops...and to our dead cats, Hannah and Hobbes (that was Minky's addition). Driving over that bridge a few years ago, Minky told us he'd met Pops in heaven then he shared what Pops had told him there. Amazingly, he used phrases and words that only Pops would have used.
• There is the mall by the house where I grew up. It used to be swampland, and I remember when the mall was built. I also remember trying to sneak off the junior high bus to go shopping after school, and the militant bus driver who only let us off at the mall if we had a note or if it was our designated stop.
• On the way down from Seattle, we passed through what used to be a tiny little town that is now bursting with retail options. Some things change when you move away, and they stand out like a sore thumb because life is no longer the way you left it when you sailed away on new adventures.
• And there's the traffic and the sheer land mass of a metro area holding over 1 million people. Some things we may be used to, but I can't say we miss them.
• Of course, there are the long term friendships and the family and the people who knew you when and love you anyway. There are the stories you love to remember and the ones you'd prefer to forget. There are the moments you find yourself transferred back to the years of being the annoying little sister or to the glory days of college memories as you admit to friends that you found a paper in the storage unit entitled, "The Benefits of Being on a Fraternity Court."
• And, home, what would it be without a Starbucks on every block and a Coffee People always nearby? And the folks who work at these coffee shops know what a venti half-caf peppermint mocha should taste like. Aaaahhh, it's good to be home.

So how does it feel?

Last night, my friend asked me how it feels to finally be a pastor. I was quick to remind him I'm not quite a pastor...yet. A few days left to go... Nonetheless, it was an intriguing question. Amidst packing up the house in Dubuque, making plane reservations, packing suitcases for our trip out West, actually undertaking our trip out West, and arriving on the ground running headlong into a very full agenda, how it feels hadn't really occurred to me.

Others seem more impressed with this latest accomplishment than I. They remind me that I've been in school, either part-time or full-time, since January 2000...or is it January 2001?...nobody seems to remember. They remind me of the at-the-time drama of transferring schools after a stint in the South proved to be extreme culture shock for a liberal-tie dye wearin'-anything but traditional Pacific Northwest girl. Lots of upheaval, they say. Lots of challenge. Look at all I've overcome, they admire. My mentor pointed out to me that a lot of my firsts have been full of challenge and unexpected twists. Hopefully this trend won't carry over to first call.

I tend to meet these comments with a "hummmmm, hadn't really thought of it that way" response. Sure, at the time, these challenges were, well, challenging. Somehow, though, perhaps in a mad dash and attempt to maintain sanity, I've learned to make sense of it all. The experience in the South helped me understand what it's like to be a foreigner in a foreign land, and now, I can treasure the South and love it for what it is. Transferring schools provided me an opportunity to self-advocate as which-classes-there count for which-classes here discussions arose. I've learned a great deal about myself, like I tend to ask with the viewpoint that "if they don't want to do this, they'll say no" approach. Transferring schools was one of the wisest things I ever did, but I'm finally at a point where I can treasure the year of learning, pain, struggle and disillusionment that preceded it.

I suppose if there is anything that I feel I've overcome in the last 5 or 6 years, it would be the parenting of a special needs child and of his please-don't-make-him-a-lost-child brother. For me, the transformation that I've experienced from being Sony and Minky's mom is both my greatest accomplishment and greatest challenge. There have been many tearful times, many deserts of hopelessness, many oases of promise, many experiences of nearly every emotion and feeling on the spectrum. For me, this is my proudest, yet ongoing, accomplishment. The other stuff is all accessory, all on the sideline, all something I did while I've attempted to live into the realities of an ever-changing scenery known as motherhood.

A Little Ordination Humor

I asked my friend Should Be a Professor, if he was willing to read one of the admonitions at my ordination. Here's his reply:

Which one?
"Don't run with scissors"
"Don't annoy the secretary"
"The quilters and the altar guild are the center of activity, know them well."
"Chew with your mouth closed"
"Pray early, Pray often."
"A pastor must have a passion for the Passion"
"It is more about Jesus than it is about you."
"You will be wrong."
"Learn the names."
"Keep records of everything" (visits, miles, conversations, plans, prayers)
"Take the authority of the office and use it well."
"The world is not made up of good and bad people but rather of bad people on different sides."
"The most important person in the parish is not a member of the congregation."
"Drink no more than one beer at social gatherings."
"Teach the kids 'pin the tail on the youth leader'."

There are so many admonitions, I do not know which one to read, but I would be happy to do so .

My Last Carpool

This morning marks the last time I gathered scattered, beloved neighborhood children into the minivan and drove the 4 minute ride to the school. Over the last 3 1/2 years, I've probably driven this route at least 400 times. Some rides have been full of noise, others full of pushing, others full of silence, and still others somewhere inbetween all this fullness. I've talked with 5th and 6th graders in the front seat about the struggles of adolescence and unforgiving teachers, rubbed fuzzy mittens in little Erica's face to hear her to giggle, heeded Minky's requests for music or no music, chased rogue dogs back into the house for kids heading to the van, and always made a point to ask the quietest kid in the bunch about their day.

Amidst the craziness of graduate school pressures and schedules, carpool has always been a certainty. For a brief moment in the day, I've been able to turn off all the other noise of life and simply be with great kids. I will certainly miss the predictible chaos and company of my morning companions.

This could be funny

If Minky wasn't my child, this would be hilarious. As it is, it's disgusting and makes me roll my eyes.

I just walked by the laundry room only to find Minky peeing in the cat's litterbox. I'm so proud.

My Spirited Child

I'm not sure who fired who, but Minky is now officially done with the reading tutor. It's a story for another time...maybe I'll edit this post and add it later.

Anyway, after the smoke cleared, Minky and I went for a drive so he could have some space. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into a relatively empty parking lot and went to the back of the van to talk with him. Initially, we decided together that he wanted to do joint compressions (it's an occupational therapy thing for sensory-challenged kids, we do it all the time around here). I massaged one arm and compressed the joints and began to reach for the second arm only to find Minky uncooperative. I looked at him and gently said, "You need to cooperate with me, bud, I'm all you've got right now." He looked up at me with those big blue eyes and answered matter-of-factly, "No, Mommy, I've also got my spirit."

Thanks, God, for reminding me you were part of the puzzle.

There are some things you just don't lose

like your mortgage paperwork that needs to be sent to the benevolent company willing to lend you thousands of dollars. Yep...that's right, I can't find it. All I want for Christmas is a really efficient, forgiving and patient secretary.

Sometimes You Just Feel Like Blogging

Call it procrastination, call it loyalty to ones readers, call it avoidance of box packing...whatever it is, today I just feel like planting myself at my beloved desk in front of my beloved laptop and writing. No particular subject comes to mind...somehow I'll fill the space. Hopefully, it'll be worth reading.

When I look at the calendar, the move seems to be fast approaching. Even though we'll move on January 3rd, we actually need to be fully boxed and packed by the 23rd of December, prior to our trek to the ordination site. I've turned down substitute job offer after substitute job offer with the excuse that the box packing must be done in earnest. However, as you can see, here I am blogging. And when I'm not blogging, I'm taking cats to the vet, having lunch with Rab on a regular basis (boy, that's been nice), and running errands that seem to take up more of my day than they really require.

I've been razzing Rab that he's in denial about the whole move. It wasn't until yesterday that he shared the news with his bosses. He kept telling me he was waiting for the final congregational vote. Sometimes, though, I have to wonder if he was secretly hoping the vote might go the other way. He is truly supportive and happy for me - that's not the issue. I think he's a bit tentative about moving to a small town and being a celebrity-of-sorts. Rab is an introverted, big city kind of guy. He'd prefer to fade into the scenery anonymously. Going to some Cheers-like city where everybody knows your name is a bit uncomfortable for him - especially when they'll know his name and he won't know any of theirs. Once we move, he'll continue to work in our current city 3 days a week. While that will help financially, it will likely also slow his assimilation at Jerusalem.

Last night, Sony and I talked about the move. It nearly breaks my heart to talk to him about it. I can't imagine moving at the age of 10. For all the "kids are resilient" assurances those who moved as children provide, in my heart of hearts I remember that one of my greatest fears as a child was having to move (we never did...in fact, Mom still lives in that house). Sony is trying to be so positive and logical, saying things like "I know I'll make all sorts of new friends just like I did when we moved here." I admire his optimism, but I also worry that he has the space to tend to his grief. He has such wonderful friends here and has had such a positive experience living at the Castle. Yes, it's true, he will be fine. I know that. He knows that. It doesn't mean it won't be tough. It doesn't mean it won't be full of grief for awhile. Last night, I saw a glimpse of honesty as he uttered the words, "I don't want to leave my friends here. I've got so many great friends and I love it here." These words were uttered in true Sony I'm-protecting-my-mom style....with a smile on his face. I love him. In many ways, he is my role model - full of grace and compassion.

Minky? Well, he seems to be doing ok. Rab and I have become Minky cheerleaders and that seems to have eased his anxiety a bit. We shower him with praise when he does his homework, I give him backrubs to help him wake up in the morning (and finish off those dreams so we don't have another Tazmanian Devil experience), we've taken to turning off the TV at opportune moments and intentionally spending quality time with him (and Sony) doing puzzles, playing games and the like. It's almost always a delicate, walking on eggshells balance with the Minkster...but the week seems to have gone along without too much drama.

The boxes are beginning to call out to me. They are feeling empty and untended. I best be filling them with treasured possessions now. Or, at least, I should call the doctor and ask for an anti-hallucinogenic.

What I Should Be Doing

What I'm doing: updating my blog and obsessing about finances
What I should be doing: packing boxes

What I was doing an hour ago: buying my cat another toy along with her new bag of food
What I should have been doing an hour ago: buying my cat food and saving $3.49 by resisting the urge to buy another cat toy

Why Today is a Good Day

Our morning started out horrendous. Minky was woken up during a dream and he stewed and spit and hollered his way through the first 45 minutes of his day. He was carried to the carpool van. It was ugly. At 8:15 a.m., I call Rab and asked him if he wanted to go out for a drink NOW!

The day became progressively better. How could it not?! I caught up on blog reading, printed the rest of my ordination announcements and envelopes, had lunch with Rab at Los Aztecas (yum!), went on a quest to find materials for a scroll for my ordination, and found a cool magazine at Borders called Old-House Interiors. Man, they publish magazines for everything! I'm hoping this one inspires us as we decorate the Cute Gray House. The entire errand event was met with the croonings of Jimmy Buffett and my new Wrigley Field CD.

I also mailed the ordination announcements. I kind of feel like a bride who has taken one of those final pre-wedding steps and realizes that there's no backing out now. Then I dropped off an ordination announcement at the Castle. They post them on a bulletin board there. Seeing the lit Christmas tree in the hallway, I proposed my announcement be adorned in blinking lights.

When I arrived home, not only did I find the latest Oprah magazine awaiting me, but I found a Christmas card from my alma mater and a new Coldwater Creek catalog. How much better does it get than this?!

The First Test

About 2 or 3 hours after his initial call to tell me that the vote was affirmative, the congregational president called again. As I already knew, it seems that nearly everyone in the congregation already knows where I'll be living. Aaahh...small town life. His call had to do with this new address.

One of the ladies of the congregation had called to tell him that the house we are buying is on a street where 2 registered sex offenders live. As we spoke, I got the impression that both he and she were not only concerned but were also guessing that I'd be looking for another home.

Now, this information is serious. I don't take it lightly. I also appreciate the congregation's investment in me and my family and their concern for our well-being. Just the same, I am a survivor of sexual assault, so I feel uniquely qualified to weigh in on this topic. As a messenger of God's grace and forgiveness and as someone devoted to living in hope, I cannot with good conscience choose to flee elsewhere. What message does it send to the already-outcast if the new pastor runs in terror at news of mistakes past? What kind of witness does it send if the pastor lives in fear?

Both my husband and I are clear that we will move into our Cute Gray House as planned. We will be wise as serpents and gentle as doves as we encounter our neighbors-with-pasts. Yes, we'll watch the kids a bit more closely and we'll be a bit more alert. Yet, hopefully, our decision to live in the Cute Gray House will send a loud and clear message regarding how Christ calls us to encounter people with skeletons in their closets. Afterall, in one way or another, isn't that each of us?

It's official!

By the grace of God and

the call of the Church

SKDO

will be ordained

to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament

in Christ’s one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church

Sunday, the thirty-first of December

in the year of our Lord

two thousand and six

at two o’clock in the afternoon

St. Luke Lutheran Church

6835 SW 46^th Avenue

Portland, Oregon

the Reverend Paul Swanson

Bishop of the Oregon Synod

Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, presiding.

Your prayers and presence are requested.

All ordained, consecrated and commissioned

ministers are invited to process.

The color of the day is red.

Cool ordination plans

I need your help, folks. Weigh in your opinions and feedback on the quotes below. Here's the background:

Throughout the week, I've been in touch with so many friends in Portland. One pastor, who was the pastor where I did my first fieldwork, has given me some incredible ideas. At her ordination, she chose a few extra admonitions* that were meaningful to her. She suggested I consider doing likewise. She also had people present her with meaningful trinkets symbolizing her unique call. So, when I haven't been driving someone to the doctor this week, I've been pondering quotes and symbols. [* admonitions are the charges given to the newly ordained pastor to remind them what they are supposed to focus upon and be about]

So far, I'm considering the following additional admonitions. There are too many good ones out there and winnowing these down to 2 or 3 is tough. Any opinions?

"I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer..." - Rainer Maria Rilke

"Be avid. Create apart from perfection. Risk failure. Cover your words with sweat. Excruciatingly touch. Laugh until you cry. Dance with your eyes closed. Understand you die a little every day. Be enlivened." - m.a.r. hershey

"Silence is God's first language; everything else is a poor translation. In order to hear that language, we much learn to be still and to rest in God." - Thomas Keating

"You have a solemn obligation to take care of yourself because you never know when the world will need you." - Rabbi Hillel

"Do not look back in anger, or foward in fear, but around in awareness." - James Thurber

"Anytime the Gospel is used to harm rather than to set free, it is no longer the gospel."

"The journey may take you through roads long and weary, may lead you through nights long and cold, but.... you can move mountains by singing the song of your soul. Sing til the end, dance from the start, raise your hands and your heart, and sing."

"It’s an illusion to believe that anything can make the road smooth, without potholes, and that you can make the journey without getting shabby and uncomfortable. Transitions invite us to make a space for God on the journey, to let go of the reins and be creative in new ways. Be willing to become sacramentally dirty as you undertake your ministry." (All but last sentence, Debra Farrington)

"Love yourself, if that means rational, healthy, and moral self-interest. You are commanded to do that. That is the length of life. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. You are commanded to do that. That is the breadth of life. But never forget that there is a first and greater commandment, Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and all thy soul and all thy mind. This is the height of life. And when you do this, you live the complete life." - Martin Luther King, Jr.


The gifts have been a fun endeavor. Rab says I'm only doing it so I can get presents. He's silly and funny but not right. I love symbolism and these items hold great meaning. I'm considering the following items:

A pottery fountain representing God's call to lead others to Living and Life-giving Water

A sculpture of two hands representing hospitality, care, and ecumenical/inter-faith relationships

A soap stone sculpture of a family joined hand in hand representing both the call to my own family and as a pastor to children and families

A scroll and cool pen representing a call to the ministry of writing.

I also considered a Now watch to remind me to live in the present moment, but then I found out there's kind of a New Agey thing going on with them, so now I'm not so sure. I'm also pondering one of those joined-hands candle things for the ecumenical/inter-faith deal.

Oh, one last thing: Last night while Rab and I were out to eat, my ordination preacher (the pastor who baptised me, confirmed me, and presided at our wedding) called to run his sermon ideas by me. This man has been kind of a pastor-on-a-pedestal figure to me most of my life, so the experience of having him run his sermon by me was pretty unreal. His ideas, just as I would have suspected anyway, are fantastic. I can't wait to hear the final words!

Quick! Somebody call Marcus Welby, M.D.!

This week, I have driven over 500 miles, 400+ of them for medical reasons:

On Monday, I took Minky to LaCrosse for vision therapy and reading tutoring

On Tuesday, I took Minky to his awesome psychiatrist in Cedar Rapids

On Wednesday, I took Sony to the doctor because his knee was bothering him (dx: post-strep complications)

On Thursday, I took the cat to the vet because he was being a brat. The vet discovered that the cat had a nasty abcess.

On Friday, I drove to Jerusalem for the house inspection on the Cute Gray House (all checks out well. I met the current owner and then my realtor took me out to lunch!)

My minivan is a fine, functional companion, but all this driving is getting a bit ridiculous.

Oh yeah, and also on Friday, Rab drove Sony back to the doctor to find out that the strep is back, drove cat #1 to the vet to have the abcess rechecked and while there, cat #2 came hobbling down the stairs with an injured front leg. Rab returned home and took cat #2 to the vet then brought both cats back home.

Roller coasters are part of the deal

This is another thing I would have told the mom in the waiting room today: that some days are nothing but a roller coaster. One minute, you're encouraged and you're hopeful, the next minute (or hour), you're so desperate that you can't even begin to consider your own emotions. Yesterday, as Minky adamantly refused to finish his homework on the way to LaCrosse, I wrote this as tears fell down my cheeks:

I’m too tired to swim up river today,

To care when you don’t,

To encourage when it’s met with scorn

To make excuses for your resistance.

Earlier today, those words felt so far away - we'd had a great check up with the vision doctor yesterday that showed promising results and then we had a promising appointment with the psychiatrist today. Since then, however, I have literally spent 6 hours trying to get Minky to do his homework. Six hours. For the most part, I've been patient, encouraging, and good humored. He and I both lost our tempers for about 45 minutes. I went to Target to buy Play Doh that would serve as a reward when the work was done. It just caused further problems.

Now Rab is working with him. After 10 minutes, he's feeling frustrated. I can't blame him, but I also feel like screaming, "Welcome to my world!!!!" Sometimes Rab wonders why Minky isn't done with his homework by 5pm in the evening. Answer: because regardless of when we start it, it's a multi-hour venture.

Watch out Veruca!

Minky was watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on his DVD player in the van last night. The movie was at the part where Veruca is whining about everything and howling out, "But I waaannttt it nnnnowwwwww, Daddy." Minky rolled his eyes and said, "Mommy, if I were Veruca's Daddy, I would duct tape her mouth shut."

Prayers...I've been where you are

Today, I lift up prayers for the red-headed mom with the blonde little girl in the psychiatrist's waiting room this morning. As I sat down and Minky headed to his regular spot in the waiting room, this mom hesitantly struck up a conversation with me. Looking back, I'm pretty sure this was her first experience of taking her little girl to a psychiatrist.

"Do....do....do they provide you with notes of the discussion?" she asked as she saw me reviewing paperwork.

"Oh these? These are for something completely different and unrelated," I responded warmly but unengaged.

"What do they do? I mean...you've been here before? How does this work? Have they helped you with your son?" she continued after a pause, grasping her daughter's coat almost as if it were a blankie.

I answered her as best I could, at first not realizing that she was new to this whole shtick. I provided too much of the wrong information and not enough of the information that will get her through the day today. Just as I figured out her experience level and some of her needs, the doctor called her to come to her office. Like that, she was gone.

I wanted to yell out, "Wait! There's so much she needs to hear!" I wanted to tell her that there will be days she has no idea how she'll cope for another moment (she likely already knows this...), but that caring professionals do exist and will help. I wanted to share our experiences of experimenting with medications, of living in trial-and-error mode, of wiping the diagnostic slate clean and starting anew when the hoped-for answer to all our problems ended up being the wrong diagnosis. I wanted to hug her and hold her and reassure her that being a special needs mom never stops, but it is a vocation full of as much blessing as challenge.

I wanted to be able to hand her a card with my e-mail, a list of a bunch of great websites, a chance to ask all the questions that never seem appropriate for the doctor. I wanted to make sure she knew that she isn't required to go through this with fear nor by herself. But, just like that, she was gone.

So prayers, prayers, prayers for you, dear mom in the waiting room. Prayers for strength, prayers that God might catch all of your tears and calm your rampant fears, prayers that your little girl obtains the medical interventions she needs and that you, dear mom, are able to find hope in the midst of the foggy realities of special needs parenting.

Almost fired at age 7

This afternoon, TT almost got fired by his reading tutor. Seriously. I’m not kidding. His refusal to sound out words that he was writing and to cooperate with instructions landed him as recipient of an honest to goodness lecture and ultimatum.

When the tutor first paused and then said, “Do you want to be here, TT?” I thought, “Oh this should be good…” I thought maybe the teacher was doing some sort of Jedi-reading-tutor-mind- game and knew what he was doing. As the words and discussion continued, I began to wonder and to worry that TT was going to be fired. Fired at 7 years old. What a resume.

The tutor led up to the ultimatum, “Either work with me or let’s be done with this. You’re not doing the homework, you’re not cooperating with my instructions. Let’s just be honest,” he said. “You need to do what I ask and you need to want to be here or otherwise, why bother?” I began to think, “This is really not good.” And inside, I was screaming, “NO! Don’t give him an ultimatum. He’ll only answer back with threats! We’ve tried this at home – it doesn’t work! STOP!!!"

Then the teacher asked TT why he didn’t like reading and wouldn’t accept “because” as an answer. The tutor began to answer the question himself in a creative way, “I’ll bet that sometime when you were first learning to read, somebody, maybe even a teacher, made fun of your reading and you decided you weren’t going to do it anymore…I’ll bet some other student giggled at the way you said a word or made fun of your reading so you made your mind up that ;you just didn’t need to learn to read. But the truth is, almost any job you want to do when you grow up will need you to be a good reader. And when you work with me, you can be a good reader. I know how to help you and I want to help you, but only if you work with me.” In those moments of truth, something happened. Somewhere between the litany of truisms about TT’s lack of work ethic and the tutor’s other words about how lucky TT really is because he actually understands the work and comprehends the assignments very quickly when he applies himself, something clicked.

The teacher reiterated that TT was very, very smart – smarter than most kids his age – and that his vision problem, which is getting so much better, is what caused the problem. Even if someone ever called him stupid or even if TT himself thought he was stupid, we all knew it wasn’t true. TT is a very intelligent, smart kid with eyes that don’t work the way they should. Suddenly, TT sat a little taller.

A few minutes later, he was actually smiling and laughing as he read Owl at Home. He was smiling even as his feet were wrapping all over the chair legs as a sign of his great anxiety. He was reading, truly, better than we had ever heard him read before. And he was enjoying it!

I can only pray that a permanent effect continues to be shown. Even so, he glimpsed the truth – the good, the bad, and the painful honest truth. For a turnaround moment in time, TT understood that he is a brilliant boy full of potential if only he trusts those who care about him.

As we got in the van, after the end of reading therapy, an hour plus break at Burger King playland and then a stint with the vision therapist (that went great, thank God!), I said, "I'm really glad you are in such a good mood and had such a good session with Laura (the vision therapist)." TT answered, "Yeah, me too. You know, Mom, when Mr. E got so frustrated with me, at first I thought, 'I don't want to work with him anymore.' but then I did. I don't know how it changed, but it did."

Tag, I'm it

Cool. Susan has tagged my blog. My first tag. At this point, it's cool. If the rest of you begin inundating me with tags, it could get old. ;)

So I'm supposed to tell you 6 weird things about me. That shouldn't be hard...I'm kind of weird anyway. Although I tend to prefer the terms funky, ecclectic, and creative. Now what haven't I already told you, my dear readers, that would make for an exciting tag?

1. I have an "I'm a Native Oregonian" obsession. See, few of the people who live in Oregon were actually born there - the Californians inundated Oregon in the 80s and 90s and tried to take it over. Much of Oregon is made up of transplants. I, though, am a 4th generation native Oregonian. My great-great-grandfather, Francois Xavier Matthieu (old dude in the center), was actually involved in the decision about Oregon's statehood. He was born in French Canada in 1818 and was an early Oregon pioneer. He voted for the first provisional government in Oregon and my grandparents always told me he was the deciding vote. He also survived all the other voters and, when he died, the DAR placed a bronze plaque at Champoeg Park to old Frank that says "To honor one of those patriots who on May 2, 1843 at Champoeg saved the Oregon country to this nation." So I'm not only a native, I'm like an Oregon version of the Daughters of the American Revolution Native. He was in the Oregon Legislature and he even renamed a city (I guess he had the authority to do so...): Oxford became Butteville. Nowadays, Butteville is a teeny tiny town with some cool antique stores. Rab and I even bought some antiques there once. Maybe the tables we bought used to belong to Old Frank...who knows?

2. Speaking of Francois, he was married to an American Indian (or maybe that was his dad...). So, believe it or not for those of you who have seen my Scandanavian skin, I am 1/16 (or 1/32 if I'm off a generation) American Indian - just enough to not benefit from the great Federal Government scholarship opportunities.

3. My dream car is a Jeep Wrangler.

4. I own a sweater that Mark the little brother I never had calls my Magic Carpet Sweater. The first time he saw it, he asked how many magic carpets had to die so I could have the sweater. It's one of my favorite pieces of clothing! In fact, I think I'll wear it TODAY!

5. One of my dream careers is to be an orchestra conductor.

6. One of Rab's pet names for me is Sally - as in When Harry Met Sally - because I like sauces and dressings on the side and because I am high maintenance but like to think of myself as low maintenance.

7. As long as we're talking about food, I'm going to add a 7th weird thing. I tend to eat all of one thing on my plate before moving on to another thing.

Missing the hero

Minky and I were just sitting on the couch watching TV when a preview came on about an interview with the Crocodile Hunter's widow, Teri. Minky became sad and wistfully said, "I wish I'd known Crocodile Hunter...I coulda been his little mate."

It's looking good...

Today, we headed to Jerusalem to meet the congregation and to show the boys our new house. I had expected indifference as a reaction to the new house, but instead, the boys were SO THRILLED with it! They were jockeying for bedrooms and imagining where the TV would go and where they could play Hide and Seek. It was so great. Minky came downstairs and announced that he would take the big room upstairs...as in, the family room. Yeah, dream on, Minky, dream on. Sony helped Rab measure the carriage-house garage (18' x 18' - think we can squeeze 2 cars in there?). I took tons of pictures so I can begin to imagine our stuff inside the house. We will close on the new house and also move on January 3. What a thrilling ride!

After seeing the house, we headed over to Jordan and met many of the folks of the congregation. They are a great bunch. I was able to get to every table for at least a quick chat and many people approached Rab and introduced themselves. The boys not only behaved themselves but also made a few new friends (which makes it SO much easier for them to be happy about the move). It was wonderful to see the boys running around the church as if they already knew the place - they were right at home and nobody seemed to expect them to be perfect-pastor-children, which was wonderful too!

It was a great experience and only made me more eager to begin my ministry there. The Quilters are already planning on visiting more on the 2nd and 4th Tuesdays (or whatever day it is...) and seemed to appreciate my zebra-print scarf with butterflies rather than being put off by it. Then again, there is that Midwest nice thing we contend with in these parts ;) So, I guess I can at least count on them having found me entertaining.

I feel so deeply called to this congregation and these people. They are not perfect - none of us are - yet there is something magnetizing about this place and this group of God's children. I can't wait to be their pastor and they are equally excited. During the call committee interview, I realized that they were not only interested in me in spite of my somewhat creative free spirit, but they are interested BECAUSE of that. Being myself was not only accepted, it was the clincher! That is a great reminder for me in this long journey toward living into my true identity and loving who I am. It feels so freeing to let go of pretense and formality and to simply BE myself.

The Castle has been a great place for me to explore and learn to do that and I believe this congregation will only further reinforce God's call for me to be who I am, fully created in God's image. It reminds me of the story told by Rabbi Gellman*. I've come a long way since those nervous, scared days at my first teaching parish. It was a wonderful place for me to begin to learn these things and I had the honor of having had two wonderful mentors who helped build some solid foundations for how I view and approach ministry. Now, those foundations have only been further built upon.

Oh, and the church sent us home with 2 boxes of left over treats - I guess they've heard that the quickest way to their new pastor's heart is through chocolate and Krum Kake. They are a smart bunch. No wonder I want to be their pastor. ;)

* The Rabbi Gellman story:

The most famous Hasidic story is about Reb Zusia who was crying at his impending death. His Hasidim, gathered around him, were surprised at their master's tears. “You were a great rebbe, you are going to the world-to-come with honor. Why are you crying?” He answered, “Now finally I understand that when I am called before God after I die, God will not ask me, 'Zusia, why weren't you Moses?' God will not ask me, 'Zusia why weren't you Abraham?' God will ask me, 'Zusia, why weren't you Zusia?'