Repaglarity

Scene at the Cute Gray House: Music on the stereo, little boy playing Hotwheels on the floor, dog outside, Mom on laptop writing her Ash Wednesday sermon.

Sammy Dog: Arf! Arf!
Mommy: Minky, will you go let the dog in.
Minky: Why don't you do it?
Mommy: Because I'm working.
Minky: Well, I'm working on my repaglarity (pron: repp-uh-glare-ity)
Mommy: What's that?
Minky: I don't know, but it's important.

Guess I gotta go - I certainly don't want to get in the way of repaglarity. :)

Arwen the Brilliant

Arwen the bulimic cat is at it again. Before I tell the story, I need to explain that Rab's office at the Cute Gray House has two doors - a slider that leads to the living room and a regular door that leads to the hallway. The doors are on the same side of the room, about 8 feet apart - one on the East wall and the other on the West wall.

A few days ago, I closed the hallway door so the dog could not get into the living room. Arwen was in the office when I closed the door, so I made sure the slider was wide open. About an hour or so later, I opened the hallway door. Arwen was standing on the other side, in an absolute panic, meowing and whining...thinking she was trapped.

I'm surrounded by brilliance.

First Call is a lot like...

The anticipation and preceding events prior to one's entry into ordained ministry are akin to labor - for some, it's all pain; for others, it is smooth sailing; for most, it's a mixture of the two. Along the way, midwives encourage, nurture, support, and gently guide us along while acerbic but necessary and indispensable nurses offend our sensibilities and goad us further along to the next necessary step. The transitions of CPE, internship(s), and the occasional difficult paper or text dot the labor monitor until the contractions of interviewing and the call process emerge full throttle. The negotiations, the housing arrangements, the panicked breathing lead up to the birth of the long-planned, long-awaited, long-anticipated Letter of Call. Finally, ordination arrives with its own unexpected experiences and realities that nobody could have put into words for you even if they'd tried.

The similarities don't stop there. I've decided that being a first call pastor is akin to the experience of becoming a mother:

• I am tired all the time, but it's a mostly good tired because I love what I'm doing.
  
• People seem to think I know what I'm doing and entrust me to do it, even though there are many moments I'm not so sure I know what I'm doing.
• There is an important need to establish contacts in order to maintain (or discover?) one's sanity (e.g., pediatrician, pediatrician's nurse : seasoned colleagues, friends)
• People look to you with excitement and joy about your new role. While you find the new role exciting and a dream come true, you also find the new role frenzied, exhausting, disorganized, and befuddling at times.
• Illness, yours or another's, tends to no longer just be an inconvenience - it now has the potential to turn your day (or even your week) completely upside down.
• Everyone has their own experience, wisdom and horror story to share.
• All who are further along in the journey become a bit wistful as they remember and share stories of their own beginnings in the role.
• There's a process of growing into the new role and label. "Mommy" and "Pastor" don't automatically equate to "me." Sometimes, I feel like we're playing church or like I should look over my shoulder to see the pastor to whom others are referring.
  
• In some ways, it's like entering a new club, a fraternity of sorts, a group of like-stoled people experiencing the joys, trials, and holy ground of ministry.

Like parenthood, the pastoral journey is what I expected, is not at all what I expected, and is full of both challenge and serenity. It's a great deal more disorganized that I expected, there's a great deal more that people assume I know, and there's also the indescribable love. The birth has now occurred and the toddling is underway.

People in Jerusalem that I just love

1. The sidewalk and driveway clearing wonder boy who lives 2 houses away! I've got him on standby - it snows, he shovels and plows, I pay. Worth every penny.
2. The 3 anonymous passersby who just pushed by van out of the snow pit I discovered - they saw my plight and didn't think twice about popping out of their cars and pushing away. This is a great little place.
3. The after school, calls to see if I need her, does my dishes babysitter. She rocks. Great kid.
4. The new IEP team is coming close - I think we may actually be on the same song sheet now.
5. Oh yeah...and who ever created dog kennels. My carpet thanks you.

What I miss, what I don't miss, what I love

What I miss:

• going out to lunch and coffee with friends
• knowing all my neighbors and living around people in the same boat as me and my family
• daily coffee hour after chapel
• having a number of babysitters who understand and know how to deal with my boys
• the kids' youth room
• being known by my first name instead of by "Pastor"
• the school and teachers from the boys' former school - knowing them and being known by them
• the relationships, relationships, relationships
  
• the income of student loans, grants and scholarships
• knowing how to get everywhere, knowing how long it takes to get anywhere, and being able to run errands in the town in which I live
• being intellectually stimulated by brilliant people on an almost daily basis
  

What I don't miss:

• the student housing dishwasher from the 80s
• the small living space
• traffic (ok...there wasn't much there, but there's even less here)
  
• living in rental housing
  
• the chaotic schedule of being a student, wife and mom

What I love:

• my congregation
• my new dishwasher (from this century!)
• the freedom I have over my schedule
• the colleagues in my text study group
• living with all my grown up furniture that's been in storage for 3+ years
• getting paid for doing something I love
• having colors other than Castle Ice Cream on the walls of my home!
  

Can you go home again?

Today, I returned to the Castle to hear a wonderful speaker discuss Lenten and Easter Bible texts. In addition to learning a great deal and appreciating his take on the texts, I was able to see a few former profs and a number of former classmates. Yeah! It was so great to see everyone and to pick up where we left off. I shared a laugh with the gal who taught me about the concept of Midwest Nice, hugged a friend who just received a call, hugged another whose ordination I missed, and caught up with others as we shared our experiences of driving over that familiar Wisconsin bridge near the Castle.

For two of us, it was our first time back since ordination. We both got lumps in our throats as we drew near, wistful and full of yearning for what used to be while not wanting to give up what is now. I found that as I neared the bridge, I was singing a little louder (Queen Greatest Hits... awesome car music), had more energy than I'd had in a month, and felt filled with hope and joy. It struck me how my lower energy level this past month has been a sign of an ongoing grief.

As I drove across the bridge, the sight of the frozen, snow covered Mississippi River whispered home - a word I never would have thought I'd associate with the Castle land when I arrived there 4+ years ago. For sure, it was not the home - not my beloved Portland - but it was another experience of home, a familiar dwelling place with memories of ups and downs, challenges and celebrations, joy and pain. It's a place where I know the shortcuts, the phone numbers, and the best restaurants. I know how long it takes to get from one end of town to the other and everywhere in between.

After the conference, I had an appointment and then a list of errands to run. A part of me wasn't quite ready to leave once the errands were complete. The drive home, at 7 p.m., was dark and a bit heavier than the bright, hope-filled drive there. With a sense of assured resignation, I pulled into the driveway, no longer singing loudly, no longer energetic, no longer beaming. Yet I knew that at some point down the road, Jerusalem too will become home in its own way and time.

Now I know I've arrived

I received my first anonymous note as a pastor!

What did I do with it, you ask? Well, after sharing the news with PMC and Gotta Love Her*, I discovered this wonderful bin under my desk labelled recycling. Ummm....yeah, not gonna play those reindeer games.

* Gotta Love Her is the secretary of the church where I serve. She rocks.

At least I'm a warm idiot

This morning, the temperature at 7 a.m. was -19 with a wind chill that made it feel like -35. That's below zero. Fahrenheit.

I had to go up to the gas station to buy stickers for our extra post-move garbage. It's only a block away, so Sony and I walked up there. We donned our ski pants, sweaters, long johns, snow boots and parkas. One block was do-able. After all, it's warmed up to zero with a wind chill making it feel like only -15F. It's downright balmy.

Having survived the climate, I found some deeply-buried bravery and decided to head to the pharmacy to transfer a prescription. I walked in with my below zero wardrobe only to see the locals in regular shoes, regular coats, no gloves and no hats. For a minute, I felt like a fool in my bright yellow and green Oregon Duck coat. Then I decided, I'd rather stick out like a sore thumb as someone obviously-not-from-around-here then freeze my butt off or stick to the sidewalk like a frozen Oregon Duck popsicle.

Oh, sometimes I just can't believe what my kid does

Oh, TT.

We had a new babysitter tonight - one of my parishoner's kids. She was set up to watch the kids every Sunday so Rab and I could have a consistent date night. Aaaahhhh...the best laid plans. Looks like one date night was enough.

I've yet to get the complete story, but what I know now is that Rab and I were just pulling into the Piggly Wiggly to pick up a few groceries after a wonderful dinner. My phone rang and I answered it to hear a very distressed teenager on the other side of the line. Apparently, when she told TT it was time for bed, there was some sort of run in and he ended up grabbing Rab's Leatherman off the kitchen counter downstairs and threatening her with it. He got pretty close to her at one point.

I am so horrified I can't even see straight.

My weird cat

Arwen the bulimic cat has developed a new issue. She is deeply afraid of ceiling fans. She avoids the kitchen like the plague - hissing and growling if anyone takes her in there. When she walks in the living room, she slinks along the walls keeping an eye on the mean, nasty ceiling fan at all times. She will not avert her gaze, even if it means walking backwards.

Unfortunately for Arwen, there are 5 ceiling fans in our new house (for now, anyway, until we rip them out and replace them with new lighting). Luckily, she is not alone. Check out Gizmo the cat and his ceiling fan issues. Amazing what you find on Google images...

My First Funeral

My first funeral went well...except for the part where I was supposed to pray, "God of all grace, you sent your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, to bring life and immortality to light." My tongue thought it'd be more exciting to say immorality. Nice.

The Joys of Special Needs Parenting

Today, I met with the new school about Minky's IEP. Interesting discussion. As in, Midwest interesting. The teacher, the OT & the special ed teacher are all fantastic and on the same page. They are GREAT! The psychologist didn't say much. She seems cool. The administrator? Hmmm...I'm not convinced he gets it...any of it. But at least he's amenable to the IEP process.

After the meeting, I took Sony to the doctor again for a sore throat. While there, my visiting mother called to say Minky had disappeared on his bike. A half hour later she called to say the police had located him at the river near our home. He, of course, "wasn't lost" because, as he stated, "I knew where I was the whole time."

Really bad pastor joke

Rab and I were just getting ready to have some left over Jesus with dinner when I decided the wine might be a bit tastier with an ice cube in it. Not one to normally put ice in my wine, I kind of paused. Rab said, "Don't worry, honey, when it melts he'll turn it into wine for you."

Groan.

The First Service

Well, I survived my first Sunday in the parish. The first service was a bit touch and go from the sharing of the peace forward, between typos and me not knowing their communion style while the communion assistant didn't know mine, but we all bumbled along and made it through. I think I rocked the sensibilities of some of the old guard by sitting in the front row instead of in the holier-than-thou seating (no offense intended to you who prefer the up-front style - my take on it stems from childhood garbage). I also prayed from among the congregation rather than from a position apart. All intentional moves that were met with acceptance...at least so far. I thought if there was anytime to put my style and stamp on the place, why not do so off the bat? I'm fortunate in that each time I suggest something, the congregation seems very amenable. Is this what they mean about the honeymoon period? Funny enough, some folks even asked why I hadn't changed more. I'm sure they'll let me know if/when I've gone too far.
In my sermon, I shared the highlights from my week (see previous post). If they aren't clear that I'm human, flawed and anyone other than a messiah, they weren't listening. I also joked about the buzz around our small town: what's the new pastor like? I heard she bought a new desk. Have you seen her house? Why does she sit in the front row at worship? Naming the realities seemed to cut any tension that might have been lingering under the surface.
I come to love and treasure this place more and more each day. In those rare moments when God's calling is so clear, it's worth pausing to dwell in that realization. Installation is next week. My advisor from the Castle will preach. I'm hoping the weather doesn't give us any trouble and that all goes off without any glaring hitches.

First week in the parish

The first week of ordained ministry. Hmmmm....unpacking boxes of books (too many books, not enough shelves), ordering a girl-sized desk, setting up decor. These are things one should do during one's first week of pastoring. However, I don't recommend the following activities...and I'm speaking from experience:

• Getting pulled over by Jerusalem's finest for going 43 in a 25mph zone just on the edge of town (at least I didn't get a ticket...) I can hear the comments in the cars of passersby now, "Hey, Flo, isn't that our new pastor talking to that cop?!"
  
• Locking your keys in the secretary's office.
• Tipping the full paper shredder over while rearranging your office.
• 
• Bumping into your organist's car because you're not used to anyone parking next to you. Then, having to go interrupt choir practice to ask who owns the white Grand Am.

Being a pastor is a bit of a trip. The amazing amount of deference and respect is mind blowing (and feels undeserved). People have an eagerness to seek my opinion and input. I can't help but recall Mark's post when he talked about wondering when people might call his bluff. Yep, I can relate. Overall, though, I love my congregation, and I am so glad I am here. They are a great group of people and the area clergy seem like a great group of colleagues.

This morning, I said the Words of Institution as a pastor for the first time. There is something poetic and appropriate from a Lutheran theology standpoint about saying them for a woman on hospice care. She has a radiant name and an amazing presence that lent sunshine to the dark winter day of both her life and today's weather. I feel lucky to have met her.

Sunday's sermon is not yet written and, early next week, I've got my first funeral. It's for the matriarch of the congregation whose son is a pastor. Nothing like a big crowd and a little old lady's funeral to get the adrenaline pumping.

Life at home is chaotic but good. There are still far too many boxes to unpack, and we're eating off a card table because the beautiful table cannot be set up until the couch that didn't fit up the stairs is donated to the youth room.

Life is good but life is busy.

Just call me Pastor Doolittle

The Lord of the Rings theme continues....now in addition to Arwen the bulimic cat and Aragorn the escape artist cat, we have Sam (formerly known and announced as Max) the Shepherd-mix dog and Legolas the rat. The only problem with Sam's name is that my dad has called me Sam since I was a kid... Oh well. Here are our latest additions to the family:

This Old House

Rab and I are learning quite a bit about owning an old house. When Rab was sharing some of our discoveries, one of his co-workers asked him if we'd actually looked at the place prior to purchasing it. Yes, we did. We're just a bit naive.



Here's what we've learned so far:

• Houses built before the turn of the century tend to expect double beds are the largest bed you'll ever move up the stairs. If you desire to have a king or queen sized bed upstairs, plan on buying a split box spring or sawing your box spring in half.
• Rab's office has absolutely no electrical outlets. This is presenting an issue with his computer set up.
• The on-off switch for the dining room involves pushing buttons and utilizing 100 year old wiring.
• The outside door in the basement is siliconed shut. The cellar-like door outside that complements it is locked with a Masterlock that no longer has an identifiable key. These realities impede accessibility and impair the doors' abilities to serve as fire escapes. Not to mention the fact that it gives us 2 washers and 2 dryers downstairs because the seller couldn't talk her movers into moving her washer and dryer up the rickety interior basement stairway.
• We have a defunct cistern in the basement. It's not causing problems or anything, it's just kind of unique...after all, how many people can say they have a cistern nowadays?
• Our "carriage house" garage has a fireplace in it.
• Getting your internet and cable provider to wire your upstairs family room in a non-intrusive, aesthetic way could prove challenging.
  
• The weird hallway downstairs is angled in such a way that our couch could not make it up the stairs. Luckily, the couch was a seminary hand-me-down. Anybody need a couch?
  

ORDINATION!

It now seems eons away...but now is the first chance I've had to post something meaningful to my blog.

How do you even begin to describe it? Let's begin with a word of immense gratitude for Future Bishop. I truly don’t know what I would have done without him. He trained the crucifer, acolytes, and bearers; he relayed messages between pastors; he ran interference so I could have 10 minutes alone in the chapel before the ordination. Man, I miss working with him, laughing with him, and talking with him…it was great to see him and to have him (and his wife, a wonderful person and great photographer) be a part of the event.

The entire service went fairly smoothly, and it was a serene, melodic, flowing event. A sturdy, quiet, assured passion flowed beneath like an undercurrent with its subtle but sure ways. Along its more obvious current, there were waves of laughter and moments of truth telling, smooth waters of assurance of the grace of God, slowing streams as cues were missed or as technology slowed the movement, and a glowing, brilliant, unending sunshine sharing its rays upon us through the lovely stained glass images along the sanctuary windows. The lyrical muse sung her majestic tunes as the Spirit was summoned and as prayers were intoned. The ground upon which I stood was holy as springs of quiet, calm assurance bubbled up in my soul.

Up at the front, as I was making my promises, I have to admit that I wasn’t really listening. It was a touch surreal. I tried to listen. I really did. I also just tried to be present in the moment and dwell upon the holy ground of the occasion. I knew from previous seminary courses what I was promising to do. I guess it’s a good thing they go through those words during seminary classes – the professors have been there, standing before God, a group of pastors, and a congregation. They know it’s hard to listen while the words are being uttered. Best be prepared by knowing cognitively what will be said and to ponder it during the long journey toward ordination in case your ears freeze up and tune out during the actual ceremony. Yet another example of seminary training making sense once all is said and done. Rab’s gramma marvelled at how well I knew my one line…I repeated three or four times: I will and I ask God to help and guide me. That’s the great thing about Grandmas: they marvel at your every moment. It’s nice to have someone marvel over you from time to time, and I'm so grateful she was able to be there and be present on behalf of all my grandparents.

During the actual ordination and laying on of hands, the memory of the warm, almost hot, sensation of one pastor's hand lingers along the middle of my upper back even still. As the gentle, collegial presence of clergy hands were placed upon my head, back and shoulders, the Bishop grasped my head with both hands. After considering the amount of hairspray I had used, I re-entered the moment, feeling cradled in grace, affirmation, and confimation. There encircling me were those who each have trod along parts of the path with me – all at different times and in different stages. Each of them thrilled to be there, eagerly embracing the reality of the event, each celebrating alongside me. It was humbling. I was filled with gratefulness for all the moments – remembered and forgotten – that they each played a role in the path that came to a point of fruition at that altar. I was in awe of the ways each of them has formed me and played a role in how I will pastor, how I will ponder, even how I will enter a room or introduce myself on the phone. I have been truly blessed by such an enormous cloud of witnesses. It is really stunning to consider the slow, steady, plodding, somewhat goal-oriented work of God.


Communion

Communion had its own memories and moments. I gave each of the boys a wooden symbol as a memento from the ordination. Minky received a fish and Sony, a cross. I bought the necklaces in Germany last year. Minky told me he loved me even more after he put his on. It was too cute. The boys reluctantly wanted to participate, so I asked them to bring up the elements for communion. My sister-in-law, who attends a non-liturgical church, understandably missed the cue to send the kids up, so Rab ended up darting down the side aisle to move them along. Sony processed up with the bread, but, fittingly, Minky was in the bathroom (his favorite hideout when his anxiety strikes). A few minutes later, though, Minky was precious as he strayed in with the wine after the words of institution. I’m glad whomever made the call sent him up nonetheless – it was so Minky, so appropriate, and so endearing.

Serving communion provided so many special scenes. Future Bishop and I shared one side of the altar, while the Bishop and my Mentor shared the other. One of my nephews wore his Oregon State Beavers shirt just to mess with me – when I served him communion, I leaned down and said, “The body of the Lord, even for Beaver fans.” I was also blessed to serve my niece (who is also my goddaughter) and nephew their first communion. Prior to that, my family of origin: brother, sister, mother, father, all communed together beside one another. There was something mindblowingly holy about that. When I served the Bishop communion, I said the phrase for wine both times. Luckily, he’s very human and has a wonderful sense of humor.

Low High Church

I coined a new phrase for the event: low high church. This entailed: no robes on the kids who served as crucifer, Bible bearer, stole bearer and acolytes; communion elements coming to the altar in stages; room for the participation of many children; all worship leaders sitting in the front pews with nobody up top in the holier-than-thou seating; and a setting where the crucifer was encouraged to wear her favorite jeans and looked beautiful as-is.

Grinning with a fellow student from the Seminary Down South afterward as a snapshot was taken, I said “Former Advisor (aka Liturgy Nazi) would have hated this service.” Should Be a Professor responded, “Yes, he would have.” Unpastorally, I added, “That’s part of why I loved it so much.”

Dependence, letting go, and trust

There was an element of letting go inherent in being ordained. I could not be the one rushing around when things went awry, I could not be in the narthex worrying about Minky’s mood or Sony’s indifference regarding his participation in the event, I could not admonish myself (although I suppose I am fairly good at it some days…), could not ordain myself, preach, chant, read, sing, usher, record, accompany, prepare communion elements, hang banners, arrange microphones, train acolytes, lay on hands, present the ordinand … Surprisingly, it actually was not difficult to let all these tasks fall to others. I trusted all those involved. I relied upon them without reservation, without panic. When plans changed and people fell ill, which happened up to the last minutes, substitutes were readily available and participated beautifully in their unplanned, unexpected roles. The experience was a team effort in which each person gave me (and God) the gift of themselves. Each hand raised from the pews during the laying on of hands, each assigned role, each stand-in opportunity was a chance for another to have an active part in the Church’s ordaining of a new pastor. It was an experience of the whole church, a time for me to lay back, be in the moment, flow with the current, and breathe. It was a beautiful gift – both the service in all its parts and my God-given (and long strived-for) ability to rest in the flow of reality in all its flawed and precious beauty. To simply be, to follow my brother’s advice, to simply live the moment fully…what grace.

What I recall most clearly

Now, days afterward, what stands out most clearly are the hugs, hugs and more hugs from beginning to end; the resounding joy of each person present; and the grace upon grace experience of hearing the clear, distinct, unambiguous, reverberating, unquestionable stand that each of us are beloved children of God, knit together and created uniquely yet each in God’s image, called to fully live into our own God-given identities. The message echoed from the rafters and hung in the air as it permeated each soul.

So there you have it in a nutshell...the abbreviated story of another pastor joining a long line of faithful and not-so-faithful servants, hoping to serve on the faithful team as best she can.

I'm still here

What I've got...
* a new dog named Max
* a new house
* a seminary rental that is at least 2/3 clean now
* a new fuel pump on my van that broke down just after we signed the papers for our new house
*84 emails to check and sort
* a weird cold that has stolen my voice for over 4 days
* no time to read all the comments. Don't worry - updates and comment checking will begin on Monday once the kids start at their new school
* incredible neighbors who have fed & watched my children, washed my windows, cleaned my floors, driven over an hour with my husband to pick up our van and been pretty much indispensible

In a word, the big day was

GREAT.

More later. Now, would somebody please explain to me why I've been wide awake since 5:00 a.m.?