Satisfaction

After a day of piddly tasks and general busyness which I started to write about and bored even myself, though I'm vaguely proud of all that I've done, including checking my email multiple times, including the three web-based accounts that I maintain and my blog, my sitemeter, my bloglines, and conquering the horrendous mail pile that was threatening to take over my desk.
But the most satisfying of all?
Cleaning the kitchen counter tonight, and bleaching the sink.

Place

She waited in the small lobby
between front door
and library, that space
that creates a vacuum
to keep weather at bay
during cold winters
and hot summers.
Hunched over a notebook
or a magazine,
I couldn't really tell,
her heels were tipped back,
and her legs scooted out,
on the bench but not.
Muscles flexed, flesh
not touching the surface beneath.
Had she stood she would have been tall,
thin, even awkward perhaps.
You don't need
to sit thin, I thought.

It wasn't until the snow
bussed my cheeks,
that I realized she might
simply have found a comfortable
position.

Perhaps

"Is something wrong?" I've been asked this several times recently, and I can't very well figure it out -- I can see why the person is asking, as I've probably appeared a bit more withdrawn and quiet than normal. However, I can't figure out what's making me that way.

Perhaps a combination of exhaustion, Lent, stress about things happening at church and home, paying bills, wanting to do some things more (like write, exercise, eat well, the standard litany). But it's nothing that I can put into a concrete sense of being. Eh. I don't like it, but it is what it is.

Friday Five -- Artsy Craftsy

1. Would you call yourself "creative"? Why or why not?
Calling myself creative has always seemed very presumptious. However, I know that I have creative tendencies and love to make things, to create. So, yeah, I guess. And, these days, I sometimes forget that my concentration in college was writing, particularly creative writing.

2. Share a creative or artistic pursuit you currently do that you'd like to develop further.
I do some collage and some altered image things that I love. There are a couple of pieces in process in my nook that I am growing pleased with, though having the time to work on them has proven a bit difficult.

3. Share a creative or artistic pursuit you have never done but would like to try.
I'd love to try glass blowing. I have the sense that it's very powerful and beautiful while being delicate.

4. Complete this sentence: "I am in awe of people who can _____________."
Sew or knit or crochet really well, or draw to create beautiful pieces of art, or take stunning pictures. I'm also in awe of people who finish a project before starting something else.

5. Share about a person who has encouraged your creativity, who has "called you to your best self." (I'm pretty sure that's from the Gospel of Oprah.)
Hmmmm... that's a difficult one. There are a number of friends in my life over the years who have made comments that cut through all of the crap in my head to allow me a glimpse of how others see me. These have been gifts that have propelled me forward.

Notes

We had three minutes to move from class to class, giggling and jostling into one another. We learned early, as this was our building for 7-12, which hallways were busy, and which ones we could move quickly through, threading our way from room to room. I knew which classes someone else had at a given hour so that I could make sure to see them in this designated shuffle, or not -- a quick brush of the hand, a glance from the corner of his eye, the crush as three or four tried to move should-to-shoulder together -- not wanting to be apart for a moment more than necessary, part young, intense friendship, another part wild insecurity that if not bodily present the conversational gossip would turn. And in those moments of movement, a note would pass, furtively written during the past hour, containing random information and acronyms that we thought no one else would know, heartbreak or hope, conversation snippets. Written and then folded, notebook fringe still attached, into a small square or triangle, and palmed to that best one, containing secrets and plans and phrases that fluttered our hearts or made us blush.
We were taking notes on all around us, learning as we went along, notes to be hidden in a shoebox, slid under a bed, uncovered years later to reveal poignant messages bewteen friends, more-than-friends, hoped for romances, trite arguments, bitter words that make mindful scars.

This Cup

Last spring my grandmother died, which I blogged about here, and here, and as always happens when a generation ends, the impact of her being gone continues in little ways. I find myself thinking of her and the farm during worship or when I'm driving.
After she died and my family took on the task of cleaning out her apartment and later the farmhouse, my mother kept asking me what I want. I live states away and wasn't, for a variety of reasons, able to be with them when they boxed everything up and put it in my uncle's storage barn. I have a couple of her coats -- a fabulous red vintage rain coat, and a darling round-collared long camel-colored dress coat. And it's fun to proclaim when I wear them, "It was my Gran's." In addition to some pictures, I also took her pin cushion, still full of pins and needles, and an old clothes hanger -- which has her name on it -- her maiden name, so I figure it has to be more than 70-some years old. She was 96 when she died.
I told my mom that I couldn't think of anything specific -- there wasn't a piece of furniture or a really special painting that I associate with her. Instead, I said, I'd like a coffee cup or one of those bowls, I said. You know, the kinda ugly yellowy gold ones?

So it is that some of her cups have made it into our rotation. I don't save them for a special morning, but it's on a morning like this when I grab one out of the cupboard, fill it with hot coffee like she did on so many mornings, that I'm filled with longing and nostalgia, and a sense of memory.

In a bundle

I had/took some time this afternoon to read the magazines that I'd been carting back and forth between home and the office for the past week or so. I sifted through some worship pieces, marking ideas that looked interesting for Pentecost and Ascension and then leaving them in my colleague's mailbox. After all, in the division of duties he got worship -- though I get input. I glanced at the cooking magazine that a parishioner had loaned me, which reminded me that I need (okay, need is a strong word) to buy capers the next time I'm at a store other than Costco. That's really not the place I should buy capers. I read a couple of newsletters and checked them off and passed those along, also.
All in all it was a good afternoon of reading and idea-generating and pile depletion.
But I also discovered that part of the passionate response reflex that I have within me isn't gone/tamed completely. I thought that perhaps I had worked it out or matured or grown up or mellowed or become more something..... calm? I read a story about recruiting folks for the ministry, young folks in particular. And the questions for reflection at the end of the piece sank in my mind, attached to tags like, "condescending," "out of touch," "not accurate," "distasteful." I grabbed my pen and started writing in the margins, deep grooves forming on the other side, visible for pages I later discovered.
The premise of one question, as I understood it, was that "we" (the church? the existing? the....?) recruit young adults/people (which evidently, "we" aren't). Another probed whether or not it was a good idea to focus efforts on young people.
This is one of my hot-button clergy issues. I'm young. I look even younger. I got carded buying wine last month, and the clerk remarked that I look *really* young for my age. No longer am I fresh out of college (I've been to seminary afterall), however, by most clergy standards, I'm young. Regardless, I am part of the church -- and am part of the church leadership. Yes, I still have a lot to learn. Yes, I see the fact that at meetings of other clergy I'm young enough to be their daughter, if not in some cases granddaughter. I see all of this and I understand it, but when I read things that are directed at clergy and the blatant assumption is that the readers (clergy/churchworkers) are of a certain age (I don't know.... 40? 50? 60? older?) I get angry.
And now, hours later, I get angry again and a little bit sad, a little bit incoherent. There's so much wrapped up in this whole concept -- who is young? who is part of the church? who do we expect our leaders to be? who do we want in our pews and in our pulpits? what do we value? how do we express that value? how do we support the whole church and its leaders, regardless of a person's age? where do we focus our care? what are my own biases that I'm missing and that someday I will recognize, if not fully understand?
Perhaps on Tuesday I'll read the article again and realize that it's far more gentle than I've made it in my mind. Perhaps I won't, and my undies will be all in a bundle again. Perhaps at that point I'll formalize my thoughts and actually write a letter to the editor.

A-twitter

Pastors who have been leading worship for awhile (and some who haven't) often have really great stories to tell about events that happen while leading a congregation. Children who perch inside of pulpits, women who interrupt a sermon for an announcement, various outbursts, quick-thinking ushers, seething parishioners. OK, maybe some of these stories aren't all that "great" but often they make for good conversation, even if we must be well-removed from a current situation.
Until yesterday I had few of these stories to share. There were a couple of cute-kid in the children's sermon stories that I could pull out if I needed, but for the most part my interesting worship experience was limited to second-hand knowledge, or things that had happened while I was sitting in the pew rather than presiding at the table.
I bowed my head to soak in the prayers at noon and we weren't halfway through (I knew, because I'd written them, even though I wasn't speaking them) when I heard a twitter arise from the other congregants. I was a little irritated. I mean, it's Ash Wednesday afterall, a little respect? But when I turned to greet people with the peace, I myself became a bit flustered. Flying around the sanctuary was what I first thought to be a bird. I was somehow ok with that. But when someone called out that it was not a bird, but a bat, I became all a-twitter.
I consider it a gift of grace from God that I was still able to preside with some level of decorum, considering that there was a bat swooping about the sanctuary.

Excuses

Around these high holy days, I find myself being drawn to going to worship someplace else. I've long professed it to be a good idea, but rarely does it fit into my schedule to find another house of worship that offers a service at a time when I'm not actually presiding.
Now don't get me wrong, it's not like I've done a lot of looking, and I know that there's a huge Catholic parish not far from here that probably has worship every hour today. And, I'd be content to just sit in the back and pray for a moment or two, as if in a hospital chapel -- which might be what I find today.
But this afternoon, after we've had worship and in the midst of doing shut-in visits and hospital visits, and picking up the child and returning for more worship tonight, I feel the need to sit someplace holy, someplace that's not *this* holy "work" space.
I'm great at coming up with excuses not to do something -- go to the gym, or eat right, or pray more, or visit people I don't like, or talk about my faith, or call home -- and my excuses usually have to do with time, as in not having enough to do something else.
I drive right past one such house of worship in the morning, and while I put my blinker on, after I saw the number of cars, I turned the other way. I don't want to interrupt, I thought. I don't really have the time; there's a staff meeting for which to prepare, and, I need to get gas. These are little excuses, but indicative of other areas, too.
But this afternoon, in the midst of everything else, I do hope to find a quiet space in which to pray. No excuses.

It's going to be a good day...

In my world a variety of things can indicate a good day -- well-rested from the night before, a busy but not overwhelming schedule, some cute kid thing, nothing that's hanging dauntingly over my head, not having an evening meeting, etc. Today, being Fat Tuesday, also means that it's paczki day. I'm not of a background that this was celebrated growing up. We acknowledged that tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, but didn't do much to whoop it up the day before. Perhaps if my dad had known about the paczki, he would have tried his Scandinavian hand at making these Polish delicacies. Around here, though, where I live now, nearly all of the bakeries have been advertising to order these delights early -- and by the bakers' dozen.
So, on our way to text study this morning, we made a detour to our favorite local bakery and picked up a half dozen. There was a line in front of me and when I turned to leave, a not-insignificant line behind me. We acknowledged around the table as we read through the upcoming lectionary, that none of would probably give something up for Lent -- that fasting probably wouldn't be part of our discipline. And yet, we indulged anyway.
Today is Paczki Day, and in my world that means it's going to be a good day.

Friday Five

From the RevGals.

1. What is one place you make sure to take out-of-town guests when they visit? (you can be vague to preserve your anonymity if you like)
There are lots of tourist destinations in the area of where we live. At this point, though, most folks who visit us have been to see them all, or at least the ones they want to see. So, we find a local (non-national chain) restaurant, or a quirky children's museum, or (even I find this funny) we make sure they see the church where we do what we do. Hee hee. Suburban, mid-sized church as destination.

2. When visiting another city or town, do you try to cram as much in as possible, or take it slow and easy?
I like to strike a balance -- one planned thing per day, but time to relax and have a cup of coffee, too.

3. When traveling, where are we most likely to find you: strolling through a museum, checking out the local shopping, or _________________?
Oooo... that's tough. If I'm alone, I'll spend a short amount of time in a museum and then more time in the gift shop, and then I'll find a part of town with interesting stores and people to stroll through. It's not even that I like shopping all that much, but the variety of finding interesting things that help me remember my trip but don't scream souvenir is fun. For instance, last year on our vacation this was where I spent a whole morning by myself.

4. Do you like organized tours and/or carefully planned itineraries, or would you rather strike out and just see what happens?
I like to have a lot of information about where I'm visiting, but not necessarily a firm plan of when we'll do it.

5. After an extended trip, what do you find yourself craving most about home?
So many of our extended trips these days are to visit family, which means for us that they're packed with relatives gathering to see us (we're the only ones in the family who live out of state), and very little time for us to simply be by ourselves or to do anything besides sit and talk. I guess the simplicity of being home -- doing laundry, making my own meals, running errands.

Quiet

It's been cold, and snowing, and cold and snowing, and my blogging has gone the way of the cold and snowing.... becoming a bit blank and fuzzy. Eh, I think. I'll write tomorrow. Not unlike my attempts to go to the Y, though with my pretty new rockstar shuffle, that might be changing. In the midst of the cold and the snow, I've seen old friends, connected with a mentor, rejoiced over the birth of a new baby (not mine, not pregnant, not desirous of becoming so, just for the record), had a moment of clarity about change and transition -- I've had a lot of it, recently -- truly a moment of shock at the obvious, read something about hearing criticism about ones art that I was able to apply directly to my life in ministry -- after all, isn't what we do in the church all about art and nuance and creativity and perspective and as we move through life we can only control our actions, and not someone else's reaction to it -- positive or negative. Yeah, it was a good reminder for me, too.

Just as I looked out the window at the falling snow and felt a sense of quiet within (clearly I didn't need to leave the house at that moment, or my delight would have been short), as I tip-tapped across the well-shoveled crunchiness the next morning, there was a return of a grind. That's really far too dramatic for the situation, but I noticed the snow crunching and noticed the incongruity of my sleek high heels next to the startling white of the snow and discovered that some things in life seem silly and as if they don't go together and somehow it works. It just works. And other times we wear the most practical thing for the weather and still end up on crutches for 10 days in January (college experience, it wasn't the initial fall that hurt so much as the subsequent attempts at walking across an icy campus on crutches).

They might not make sense, these words on this page, even to me, but they are there. And that's a start again.

Late Night Randomness

I've always been a cyclical insomniac, which worked well when I procrastinated and needed to stay up late. Now, not always so much. Though it does provide an opportunity to get caught up on reading blogs, etc. Tonight I even was able to order energy-saving light bulbs for just the cost of shipping because I filled out some silly thing from our electric company that I never would have made a point to do otherwise. This is what my life has become.

The crazy-business that comes from being sick and out of the office, and then out for meetings, and then simply too busy to even return calls -- a little nutty. But who isn't busy, really? I'm feeling better, though am at that point of the cold where I sound worse than I feel.

I'm feeling the need/desire to get rid of some clothes -- things that don't fit and I haven't worn, that I know I won't wear, that aren't flattering, etc. Same with some shoes. However, I also would love to have a close girlfriend in my life who could help me with that process and then go shopping with me. Unfortunately that person doesn't exist in my immediate vacinity at this point.

As I become more fiscally aware/responsible/connected/budget-oriented/whatever-this-mortgage-is-causing-me-to-become, I'm recognizing that change is hard -- and I'm not always very good at it. But, I know that I type that from a place of privilege. I paid bills on Monday and was able to pay them all, in full.

And then the insurance-adjusted bill from our five-day hospital stay came. Of course I'm able to give thanks for health and life and insurance within the gasp of that expense (and experience) that was decidedly NOT in the plans.

I'm yawning, but not tired.

Product, Productive, Productivity

In college I discovered that I wrote papers much more efficiently if I wore shoes -- even hard-soled slippers often did the trick as I wrote, re-wrote, researched, wished I hadn't procrastinated, called my friend across town at 0300 to discuss our brilliance, made plans to meet him at the local breakfast place for re-writes and edits at 0500, made bad coffee in my room, and somehow managed to crank out a paper (or two).

I would have adopted a similar writing "strategy" in high school, if not for my mother and her penchant for bedtimes. I still wait until the last minute, though sleep has become more precious as the years have gone along, and the friends I can call in the middle of the night has dropped significantly.

This morning I'm paying bills, and soon will be filing them -- getting ready for tax time, though April has lost much of its focus since we pay things quarterly. Instead, there are four dates that I dread. However, I find myself walking about the house this morning -- slippered feet wearing a path about, and my jeans presenting a more put-together and washed presence than the rest of me. I'm paying these bills and being productive, but the methods remain, smooth like grooves.

Flavor shots

Chocolate: that which can bring and hold a group of women together like nothing I've experienced before. We laughed, we cried, we dipped marshmallows and strawberries, we ate too much and sat too much and I called it work.

Baklava: one of the first desserts that I shared with the one who was to become my husband, on a dreary spring break trip. He shared his dreams and I relished the sweetness of honey, flakiness of the dough. It was ten years ago this spring.

Cashew chicken: a meal alone this week, that I kept making spicier in the hopes that it would clear my head. It didn't.

Lemon: tonight, in my tea, with honey. In my plop-plop, fizz-fizz, that I hope will help me sleep.

revgal Friday Five

Per the revgalblogpals friday five, "In this week that looks unlikely to hold a complete day off, I am pondering renewal. List four ways you like to relax or give yourself a break. Then name a fifth, something you've never been able to do, a self-care dream."

I used to be the great upholder of Sabbath and self-care. That sort of ended at some point along the way and I'm mourning the loss. However, I'm excited to be working with this new colleague who actually said to me a couple weeks ago -- "So, you're going to take tomorrow off to compensate for the confirmation retreat this weekend, right?" And was pretty insistent, too. Anyway... onto self-care.

1. Massage.

2. Pedicure, even better if I'm able to spend some time reading (trashy novel) while having this done.

3. Library time. Alone. Untimed. No agenda.

4. Sleeping in. Little chance for this to happen since the birth of the kidlet nearly two years ago, but still a lovely idea.

5. The dream? I always have great ideas about a time away -- a retreat or vacation, waking up without having to tend to anyone else, perfect weather, etc. I know, it's a dream. This dream also involves chocolate, wine, candles, reading, etc.

How about you -- what's your self-care all about?

Because all the cool kids are doing it

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Duchess Pink Shoes the Sophisticated of Heffton St Mallet Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

A bit like marbles

Someone pondered about me once, Do you hear the words that come to you, or do you see them, when they first enter your mind. That would be interesting to know about you, she said.

I remember feeling flattered, that somehow she -- this woman I admired and viewed as an artist, from the way she carried herself to the way that she spoke and the glasses she wore (because they make all the difference, I know) -- that she wanted to know about what happened inside my brain, that she somehow thought it to be a process. That the words that I was bringing forth had something of a creative origin.

Some of them do, I know, though I don't always admit it. While I'd never thought of it before she asked me I know now that I hear them, that they take on voice and character, spunk and sass, that if I'm to speak them, they might have a head-tilt or a lilt, or a coy little flutter about them, even while in my mind. Others, of course, have to be pulled out of me as a deadline approaches, with dull and voiceless often being the result.

For a few days now I've had some ideas rolling around in my head, nothing of great inspiration or worth. Ideas that could become essay-like blog posts, or that might develop into a conversation with a friend, if that were to happen. One of them has to do with modesty about the body -- our personal modesty and how it changes in different situations. I know that as I ponder and project statements about modesty as being "cultural" I have to force myself to distill my own statements from the wider public. I am not the culture, though I reflect and partake in it. I can't give my baggage or issues or passion to the culture without owning it as my own.

Another has to do with personal evaluation and leadership roles for me in the congregation. A new paradigm has begun and we are working hard to be intentional and healthy, but at the end of the day, after I've done it all or tried, I'm scared and tired. I know that's normal (whatever), but I'm also trying to get my own stuff together.

Doing what I do, day in and day out, has a lot to do with words. Maybe not all pastors see it that way, but my life has always had a lot to do with words, so that didn't change when I went to seminary or was ordained. Perhaps it's more true to say that I have a lot to do with words. These ideas in my head have words that go with them -- some loud and uncontained, others smooth and beautiful. I see the images, hear the words, that tonight are all a bit like marbles.

Reading again

Looking for a good, somewhat quick, read that weaves spirituality in between travel (Crete), romance, and creativity? I'd recommend Rosanne Keller's A Summer All Her Own. It came as no surprise to me that Ms. Keller has two theology degrees, but not in that sickening, I-feel-like-I'm-reading-something-for-work way. Instead it was more like finding delightful little depth-connections that I didn't expect in what I thought was simply going to be another semi-fluffy girly read.

And, on the other end of the spectrum... as if there aren't enough alphabet books out there, and already in our possession, I couldn't resist the Z is for Zamboni board book the other day. It made my MN roots sing as I recalled days in high school during state tournament time when instead of having actual gym class, we watched the games that were being broadcast. My hometown is too small to have a team, but that doesn't mean that most folks there don't know someone who plays or who did. Over Christmas the game with my in-laws became, "Name everyone we know who plays or has played in the NHL." The bonus of the book is W, "for Wickenheiser and other women who paved the way." For the last two nights, our son has asked to read "Hockey" as his bed-time story. We're working on Zamboni.

(FYI: I get no proceeds from the links.)

Little One

I don't do a lot of the things that (maybe) other mothers do -- I didn't write letters to the unborn child, though I think it's a brilliant idea. I did save some emails that I sent to friends, and wish I hadn't hit delete on some others, though. We haven't done as much videotaping and montaging as we should. I have a couple of baby books started, but well, that's it.

I've saved every update from the pediatrician and they're all in a box -- one of many boxes currently waiting to be unpacked in the basement. I've made some digital photo pages that I'm proud of, but he'll be hard-pressed to brag about the impeccable record-keeping that we did with him. And yet.

There have been moments this past week, as he's fully felt better and we've all been settling back into a new routine of working (Mommy, office. Daddy-office. Coffee-office.), and daycare, and my mother (Grammie) being here and leaving again, there have been moments of pure bliss. Little tender moments of him sleeping, or not -- staying up far later than he ever has, and we as his parents simply rolling with it. Because really, trying to reason with a non-tired toddler... yep. He rolled a choo-choo into a spot that he couldn't get and proceeded to squish his face down into the space and ask, "Doing down there?" with perfect inquisitive inflection. Indeed, little choo-choo, what are you doing down there?

Tonight he took a bath (which means I took one, too) and he wanted more and more and more lotion (which he calls "ocean") and so there were bubbles and bubbles and bubbles, because of course the bath ocean is soap. And I was astounded again at his understanding as I dried him off and he ran (naked) after the kitties, squealing the whole time in delight, and then he turned to me and said, "Comb, hair. Mommy comb." And we put him in his snuggly pjs and soon he was asleep.

I peeked not long ago and his hair is all squrmshed up in the back where it was still wet and he fell asleep, but he's clutching his bankie in his fist and there's a faint smile on his face. And I realize, more for myself than anyone else, that it doesn't matter how I catalog his height and weight, if I remember what his first word is or more importantly that I didn't write it down. It's not a competition between me and the "other mothers" that I've created in my mind. Tonight, more than anything, it's about being overwhelmed with the love that I have for him -- absolutely overwhelmed.

Magazines

Nearly a year ago, I confessed to loving magazines and several of you weighed in on your own reading habits and gave several good suggestions. One of the delights that I indulged upon the other day was to purchase a number of magazines that we don't subscribe to, and lazily leaf my way through them. Some were art, some were reading, some were trivia and collections. All were wonderful.

I'm in the process of compiling a list, but wonder what magazine(s) you'd add to it -- what do you look forward to every week, two weeks, month. What do you guiltily purchase at the checkout stand? What do you savor, night after night? What magazines do you save, long after you've read them -- simply because they're too pretty, full of inspiration, might be useful, someday?

Look for list coming soon!

Wednesday -- It's really Wednesday?

Wow, I have no idea where the past days have gone -- I mean, when I look at a calendar and realize that I've been consumed with taking care of my child and settling into a new house and starting back to work my new colleague, then it makes sense. (Not to mention the fabulous time with friends that I had in my own home on New Year's Eve.) But there's also that startling disconnect of remembering that I had a conversation with a dear friend the other day, and the realizing that it was yesterday.

That conversation is but one of the random floaties that I'm experiencing -- delightful things that I can't always seem to place in the appropriate time/space. Others include buying many magazines and indulging in their beauty; getting caught up on reading my bloglines, or at least skimming appropriately; actually leaving a comment or two around the blogs; procuring a library card for the new community in which I now live; smiling in delight at learning (via their Christmas letter) that a former boyfriend and his wife are expecting their first child; making many phone calls and getting -- surprisingly -- a lot done at work.

Groove

As in, back in.

My little one spent this week in the hospital.

We're home tonight, but it's been a really long week. We're thankful that it's over.

I'm on vacation until Tuesday, and feeling grateful that I don't have to think about this weekend, other than some meals, a doctor's visit, and administering drugs.

Slowly I'm beginning to feel like I'm part of the world again, as four walls had become far too familiar.

Someone really needs to tell this young pastors' kid that Christmas Day isn't the day to earn a hospital admit through the ER. I'm just sayin'. And I'm only saying it because he's on the way to being well. And I'm so very thankful for that.

Ten Things on Tuesday

1. Moving with a sick child is hard. Especially when the sickness involves many messy changes. He's better now.

2. We love to have phone service in our house, and high-speed internet, and when it doesn't work the way it's supposed to, we get really, really grumpy. Especially when the company doesn't seem all that concerned about fixing the problem.

3. Christmas is coming.... and I've done more to prepare than ever before, and yet I still feel out of sorts -- perhaps because all of my preparations are still in boxes, or not found.

4. I'm wearing the sassiest, least pastor-like boots that I own this morning.

5. Old homes have very little closet space.

6. And small-ish kitchens.

7. With white metal cabinets (which I love) that provide for magnetic storage solutions.

8. I'm still enough of a northern girl that I expect to see snow on the ground at this time of year, though for the sake of the move and getting things done, I'm glad that the ground is bare and dry.

9. With the lights on the tree and a glass of wine last night, I felt incredibly content.

10. Work beckons.

Books, Books, Books

Just in time to write a list, here are some book recommendations from readers. Feel free to add more recommendations in the comments. And, if these aren't enough books, there are more recommendations from last spring here.

Enjoy! And thanks for sharing your love of reading!


Nature Girl by Carl Hiaasen

The Time Traveler's Wife

The Solace of Leaving Early by Haven Kimmel


Don't Get Too Comfortable by David Rakoff

The Soul Is Here for its Own Joy

The Prophetic Imagination by Brueggemann

Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama

Poisonwood Bible and Small Wonder by Barbara Kingsolver

Leaving Church by Barbara Brown Taylor

Paris to the Moon by A Gopnik



Reading Lolita in Tehran


The People of Sparks Jeanne DuPrau

Moveable Feast by Hemingway

Eldest by Chistopher Paolini

Living History by Hilary Clinton

Girl Meets God Lauren Winner

Falling Leaves: The Memoir of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter by Adeline Yen Mah

Jesus and the Father by Kevin Giles

Myth of the Perfect Mother by Carla Barnhill

Dear Church by Sarah Cunningham

A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson

A Good Yarn Debbie Macomber

Generous Orthodoxy by Brian McLaren

Jesus, the Bible, and Homosexuality by Jack Rogers

Anything by David Sedaris (laugh out loud funny...)
Anything by Sarah Vowell


Almost anything by Jennifer Weiner (avoid the mystery novel)
Poetry: Rumi and Hafiz.

Quiet

It's one of those bitterly cold, startlingly beautiful mornings -- a morning in which if I still lived in the place from which I came, the trees would be cracking and the snow would be blue before the sun rose. Instead the sounds around me haven't changed much since the temperatures dropped and the snow fell -- sirens still howl and cars still zip past our house, ignoring the residential limit. But there is a moment of quiet for me this morning, a moment in which I've been able to read some blogs and get caught up on e-mail (if only the reading and not the responding with great care).

My blog has been quiet recently, and it's not for a lack of having things to write about or respond about or simply ponder. I've had bits of time for other things, so surely I could have found time to blog, but I haven't. Some of those "things" feel a bit too fragile, a bit too tender to post, and yet beautiful at the same time: an ornament made of glass, that after holding up to the light, I put back in the box instead of on the tree.

In the next week, because being a pastor in December isn't enough, we're closing on a house and moving. (I'd originally typed the next two weeks and then did the math, let out an expletive, and revised my statement.) Those are the things (both the worries and the joy) that keep me up in the quiet of the night, wanting to hear the snap of the trees, the crack of ice.

Reading

Way back in April I requested some reading recommendations and many of you jumped at the chance to share some of your favorite reads. I compiled them here and have remembered on occasion to bring the list to the library with me and work my way through the delights!

I was reminded of this today when I finished my most recent discovery from the library. It was a library stop during which I had a very limited amount of time, no books currently at home, nothing specific in mind, and full New Book shelves from which to pull. Among the ones that I grabbed was House of Many Gods by Kiana Davenport. I highly recommend it as a book about discovery, about Hawai'i, Russia, the environment, the role of the military on the islands, family, the power of women and relationships. I never wanted to put it down, but not in the guzzle-read that I discover with a lot of grocery-store reading. It took me a couple of days of intensive evening reading to finish and I found myself captivated and immersed with the story.

What are you reading these days?

Friday Five

Per the RevGalBlogPals... So this is a "Black Friday" Five (aka Buy Nothing Day) in honor of the busiest shopping day of the year:

1. Would you ever/have you ever stood in line for something--tickets, good deals on electronics, Tickle Me Elmo?
While in seminary, a major retailer opened a flagship store in the midst of one of the greatest shopping miles world. On the morning they were giving away a free pair of jeans to the first 50 or 100 people in line.... I didn't have class that morning (or anything else to do!), and I figured that if I waited two hours and got a pair of jeans out of the deal I had made over $25/hour. It was worth it to me!

2. Do you enjoy shopping as a recreational activity?
Sometimes. More than I like to admit, actually.

3. Your favorite place to browse without necessarily buying anything.
Any of the great discount retailers: Target, TJMaxx, Marshalls
I also love to browse at a nice high-end department store that has a cafe in it.

4. Gift cards: handy gifts for the loved one who has everything, or cold impersonal symbol of all that is wrong in our culture?
I don't really have an opinion -- though living hundreds of miles away from family, they make an easy gift to ship that allows young nieces to choose what they want instead of having to suffer the wrongly-chosen gift.

5. Discuss the spiritual and theological issues inherent in people coming to blows over a Playstation 3.
*sigh* It's sad, pathetic, and no different from the outrage that I felt at watching the news and seeing people fight over the first round of Lettuce-patch Kids. Yes, I wanted one, but even as a child I couldn't imagine going to that length to get it.

De-Lurkey-Turkey!

Happy De-Lurk(ey)ing week. Thanks to the RevGalBlogPals for this fabulous idea -- you don't have to say much, just "Hello!" Simply let me know that you're here and that you're reading, and I'll do the same in return. It'll be a grand week, and I might even post more, in honor of it!
Gobble, gobble!

It doesn't get much better

Really -- After about two weeks of having something in the evening, ranging from the fun (BNL in concert) to the ridiculous (a care meeting in which I felt attacked) to the beneficially necessary (a benefit dinner for a local school that really does amazing things, and the dinner allowed me to wear my really, really fabulous animal print heels the flair to a very otherwise understated brown and cream ensemble), I'm home tonight.

The baby is sleeping, the dog is enjoying a rawhide at my feet, the husband is at work, and in front of me is a glass of red wine and some lovely dark chocolate. The wine wasn't expensive at my favorite warehouse store (C*stc*), but it made me think of my friend K, and that was enough to warm my soul. The chocolate is dark and smooth and reminds me of a great weekend away when four good friends sampled chocolates and wine and beer what felt like the whole weekend long.

There was a joyful spirit in worship this morning and I had fun in my sermon and it feels good to know that I'm about to settle in to serving these folks for a good long while. There is promise in the certainty of longevity, and this morning it came in the hug of a delightfully curmudgeon who I sometimes think doesn't see the glass as being wet, let alone half-full. "I'm happy for you," he said. And when I responded that I was, too, he laughed, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in a way I hadn't seen before. It doesn't get much better.

Tired, time

I haven't been blogging much lately. Some folks have noted a decline in comments, if not visits, and I know my own reading/commenting trends have changed, too. It's not that I don't appreciate what I read. Usually I read it in such a hurry that either I don't have time to comment (or at least that's how it feels) or I'm days past in reading it.

So, the possibility of sitting down to write something that resembles a post, or even just a string of coherent thoughts, most days feels beyond me. I've missed a couple of deadlines recently -- a letter for a mailing, a small writing project -- both of which will be easily remedied this week, probably at the expense of something else. Little things keep telling me that I'm tired, and I'm trying to listen. Really, I am.

Hi

It was early, earlier than he usually gets up, and so I attempted to rock him. I knew he probably wouldn't fall back to sleep -- that's not really his style -- once he's up, he's up. But I hoped that perhaps he would nestle back into a quiet place and I could join him there, as I had many times when he would wake to nurse in the middle of the night. We're long past that point, and past much snuggling unless he's really tired. But this particular morning he appeased me if only for awhile.

We rocked and I leaned back, closed my eyes and rested. I could feel him lift his head off my chest occasionally and I imagined him peeking to see if I was sleeping, as I peek on him at night.

That morning he finally caught me with my eyes open, smiled and whispered, "Hi."

Hi.

10 Things

I was at a conference today that was supposed to make me feel rested and well. It made me feel crabby and tired. At one point the afternoon presenter asked us to share with our table when we'd seen something that reminded us of the breath of God, or a request equally inspiring. I couldn't think of anything. However, now that I can't sleep, I'm being thankful for some little things... at least ten of them.

New jammies from T-a-r-g-e-t. They were part of my costume this past weekend and they are super, super comfy.

Long-sleeved t-shirts

Having friends who are stylish and hip. I figure if nothing else they'll rub off on me or I'll be included by association.

A pedicure from a week ago that still looks amazing.

Taking my little lion out last night and hearing him whisper, "roar."

Thick hair that's growing, under the direction of my stylist who owns my hair far more than I do.

Being able to be in the office almost all day tomorrow. It's true that I'm looking forward to that.

Having a paycheck, something that I often take for granted.

Fall colors and warm jackets.

Phone calls from friends and hearing laughter across the miles.

Needy

A former teacher commented to me the other day about the status of a friendship of mine: I worried about you because he was pretty needy, emotionally, of you.

I didn't want to put it in those terms, but she hit the nail on the head. The friendship in question has changed and morphed over the years (close to 17, yikes) and I'd been wondering about the sense of dread that I felt during recent communication. While I hadn't expressed anything to her other than "we've been in touch again," she responded with the sort of insight that I had forgotten I appreciated about her. Needy.

Her assessment came earlier this week and the week so far has been a bear. One of those weeks when I constantly feel that big things are slipping past me and little things are sharp rocks beneath bare feet. I sat upright last night, filled with panice over two pretty significant things that I'd forgotten or neglected. Both can/could be remedied pretty easily this morning, but even as I calmed myself with deep breaths I wondered why my life felt that it was spinning out of control and all I can do is watch.

We have a generous assistance fund that I'm currently administering. Not a day goes by without an inquiry; some valid and some not. Often people call, often the come by. I have very mixed feelings about all of it -- some days I'm humbled by someone's situation and other days I'm outraged -- either at the injustice or the manipulation that I feel. This morning has been a morning full of people with needs, people who are needy. After not even three hours in the office, I am weary.

The unwashed coffee cups on my desk had grown mold and I finally carried them into the kitchen to wash, the hot water and bubbles from the soap cleaning the grime and stains away. Outside the window bright and vibrant leaves are falling from the trees, scattering across parking lots and yards. I stood there with my hands in the water wondering what would help lift me out of this place I find myself. What do I need, I wondered. Making the connections about all those around me who need something from me -- from the basic needs of my toddler child to the complex needs of poverty and assistance -- and my own reluctance to be needy, let alone my apparent inability to even identify my needs, brought a moment of clarity.

How do I ask for help, express my needs, garner support and use it, without being needy, feeling needy?

Not

For awhile I was reading blogs that said, "I don't have much to say. What should I say?" And I thought, huh, other folks out there are having a block, too. It's not just me. I chalked it up to exhaustion, to busyness, to pre-occupation with other things -- call process, child, looking for a house, life. I credited it to preaching more often and sinking into the office.

But I realized that there were other things not getting done, too. I'd get to the office and think, "Oh -- I have to call... and I have to do..." and the next thing I knew it was time to go home and none of those things had gotten done. I couldn't say what had, only what had not.

Now I read books and blogs and newsletters full of fabulousness from others and I hope that it will inspire me to do instead of not. I'm writing this, which is a start, but the stress-pain is back in my shoulder, even after a massage, and the piles around me grow and the books that were helping are back on the shelf. So I'm about to shut the door and do, instead of not.

Friday Five

Per the Friday Five at the RevGals, it's a word association game/meme. Below you will find five words. Tell us the first thing you think of on reading each one. Your response might be simply another word, or it might be a sentence, a poem or a story.

I'll admit that I've cheated a bit because I read through this before my day really started, but I'm just now responding. Which is not to say that I've been thinking about it a lot, only that these aren't necessarily first-glance responses.

whirlwind
Lots of colors. A quilt. My life right now.

foundation
Something that can be cracked. Faith for some people. An important part of a house. Something that doesn't always show. Giggling as a child when I realized what the semi-annual foundation sale at the local department store really was.

lightning
Storms. Love. Electricity. Movement. Dancing across the sky and occasionally reaching down. Best viewed from afar; brilliant when up close.

den
Foxes. A nice addition in a three-bedroom house. Cozy. An alternative to a library. Cigars and deep leather. The piling of covers on a bed or in a crib.

prey
Owls and mice.

Snow, Vacation

It always makes me notice and wonder when there are two seemingly different weather patterns at one time. It's currently snowing and at least through some of our windows the sun is shining brightly. Did you notice I said it was snowing? That's right.

I feel the same way about those summer days when the rain starts or stops and the sun breaks through to create lovely shadows and shimmers.

We're leaving for a few days of vacation today, and I'm giddy with excitement. We're going with friends and having little adventures. Last night, post Stressful Meeting, we were home, giggling, saying, "We're on vacation. Vacation." You'd think we'd never been on vacation. I guess it just feels that way.

Hopes for vacation? Sleep. Good food. Lots of laughter. More food. Lounging about. Playing games. Wine. Chocolate. Beer. Less snow. We'll see. Prospects look good.

Go in peace

They never figured out what was wrong, and I'm not sure what they finally recorded as cause of death -- there were many things that could have filled that space. At this point it doesn't really matter because tomorrow the faithful will gather to lay her to rest, to celebrate her life and to comfort one another in their grief and in their sorrow. We'll sing hymns and hear scripture and I will take many deep breaths to hold myself together.

I know it's not right to play favorites, and yet clearly this dear one was a favorite of many. She loved her children and grandchildren with fierceness. She did for others without ceasing. She held onto life, and was gracious to death. She laughed, throwing her head back and held onto your hand with a gentleness that made you feel special. She missed her husband and spoke of him fondly in a way that made me wish I had known him, and that I'd known them together. For two years I have loved her and tomorrow I will bury her. We will all take deep breaths, and when our prayers fail to be uttered, the Spirit will interceded with sighs too deep for words; when our memories fill our throats in a lump and the laughter can't chase the tears away and when it shouldn't, the tears will fall and the shoulders will shake and the family will cling to one another moving as one.

And we will commend her to the Lord, who has known her from the beginning and who rejoiced to welcome her at the end. Go in peace, dear one, go in peace.

Words

These are a few of my favorites:

Bus.
Mwwwwwah!
Wa-ter
Bop (the sound the "baffles" make coming out of the toaster)
Daddy
Doggy
No-no (in a pitch to match mine)

When I walked out of his room at daycare this morning and waved to him, he waved back and then blew me a kiss, complete wtih sound, "Mwwwwwah!!"

Puts the inefficient and confidence-blowing meeting that I attended last night into a bit of perspective.

Hair appointments, the least of it

Since writing about making hair appointments, I've thought about what makes me feel grown-up. I mean, by all practical purposes I am. I was mistaken for the mom of a confirmation student this summer, after all... (which would have required me to have been a mom at 17, biologically possible, but there's where the possiblity stops).

I know that age is a state of mind and that we settle into groups based less on calendar age and more on similar interests and location and perhaps the age of our off-spring. I know that there are 22 year olds who run companies and 65 year olds who work for an hourly wage at the big-box store.

But it's those little moments that jolt me out of my day-to-day thinking that I'm, oh, I don't know, 22? 23? Even though my education and my child should be the big things that remind me that when I really was that age, seminary and kid(s) were far, far, far from my mind.

Like making hair appointments in advance. Realizing that those just might be fine lines around my eyes -- the kind of fine lines that one could buy expensive creams for, if one were so inclined. Noticing that I really can't stay out like I used to. Being concerned about things like pensions and life insurance and saving for education (even though our student loans are, well, still loans). And this week, hearing my husband say in conversation, "Well, our mortgage broker thinks...."

So, what are the little jolts that remind you of your place in life, young or not?

Still learning

It never hurts to remind myself that I'm still learning as a pastor, that I don't know everything. Of course I fight that kicking and screaming, because if I did know everything, well, at least more than I can claim to know, wouldn't things be a lot easier? Granted it's not like I've been at this 40 years, but it seems part of our nature to want to know as much as possible as quickly as possible.

My DH, who is infinitely wiser than yours truly about *most* things, once said to me in one of my fits, "I don't want a chaplain or a pastor who has learned everything." It was a humbling moment for me, as we stood eye-locked before I walked out of our apartment, bound for CPE. I remember not slamming the door as hard as I'd thought I might.

So, this weekend I learned something about ministry. I'm working with a colleague again, except this time I'm the resident "senior." I'm thinking a lot about what it means to truly share ministry and what that actually looks like, how it really happens, and what collegiality can be, should be, could be. The process is exciting and scary and invigorating and has a lot of potential for creativity and growth, for all involved. What I learned didn't come from that exciting new development in my ministry with these dear people, but will certainly have great impact on it and how I see staff ministry.

I left the hospital Saturday afternoon in the driving rain, having sat with a woman whom I have come to care for deeply. She and her family are treasures for many folks and I feel blessed to count myself among them. No one -- none of the experts or doctors or caregivers or the cadre of nurses, herself included -- knows what's wrong, only that there are many things, all happening together. I don't know if she is dying, or not. And neither do they.

But as I drove away thinking about the inevitability of all of our deaths and the subsequent funerals and services, it came to me that she's not *mine* to bury. Whether I preside at her funeral or anyone else's, these aren't *my* people any more than they were the previous pastor's or the next. These are God's people, and God will be there regardless of my presence or claims.

I'm still learning. I'm still learning. I'm still learning. Thank God, I'm still learning.

RevGal Friday Five and a Bonus

(Flashback to me as a wee one)
1) Are you a baby about small injuries?
Um, somtimes? Other times I don't even notice the 6-inch bruise on my leg until it's purple.

2) What's the silliest way you have ever hurt yourself?
Actual injury: I sprained my ankle in college walking across a parking lot. I was on crutches for 10 days in January, in MN.
Simple silliness: Fainting when I got my ears pierced.

3) Who took care of your boo-boos when you were a child?
Probably my mom.

4) Are you a good nurse when others have boo-boos?
I think so... though I have this issue with hearing about injuries, which is worse in my mind than actually seeing them or being part of them.

5) What's the worst accidental injury you've suffered? Did it require a trip to the Emergency Room?
I tipped a table saw over onto myself when I was 3 or 4 (it wasn't running). One of the guide poles broke into my arm, requiring stitches (only 3!!).

Fall Love

There are things I like about each of the seasons, so it's always difficult if I have to pick a favorite in one of those "get-to-know-each-other" games. However, when we're in the midst of one of the seasons, or it's just starting, then I'm completely entrhalled with that given time. Today was one of those brisk fall days that made the leaves crunch under our feet and I put on a sweatshirt and made the Kidlet wear a hat (which he kept on, amazingly) and I loved fall today.

The leaves haven't really started changing, and admittedly we don't live in one of the classic leaf-looking places, but that time isn't far away. Some of them have fallen and rustle on the sidewalks or against each other. I love that there are pumpkins for sale and that soon children will start to carve them and folks will roast the seeds (mmmmmm... roasted pumpkin seeds).

People are returning to a routine, and that includes church. Our attendance was nearly double the past two weekends from what it had been most of the summer, which makes me both sad and excited. I've been a little afraid that the folks who hadn't been around for the summer were going to stay away on a more permanent basis given the transition we're going through. Apart from any sort of political issue, worship has had an energy and excitement that it's lacked.

All of this to say that today I really love fall: the brisk weather and the kids walking past our house on their way to school and the pumpkins on steps and the apples in the orchards and the people in the pews.

RevGal Friday Five

I read the Friday Five this morning and didn't really feel qualified to play. I've thought it about it all day and decided to play anyway.

David Letterman used to have a feature on his show called "Brushes with Greatness." Members of the audience would share stories of encounters with famous people. And so...

1. Tell us about a time you met someone famous.
I've been in the presence of many famous people, but actually met very few. I had the honor and privilege to meet Paul Wellstone, may he rest in peace. Barbara Brown Taylor, Leif Enger (Peace Like a River). Oh, and I was very, very close to Joyce Carol Oates and was so in awe of her. I kept repeating in my head, "I took a whole class on her. I've written papers about her writing. There she is."

2. Tell us about a celebrity you'd like to meet.
Hmmmm.... Natalie Portman. Or Dr. McDreamy, whose name I've somehow forgotten.

3. Tell us about someone great who's *not* famous that you think everyone oughta have a chance to meet.
My dad. It's so cheesy, but he's one of the coolest guys I know. Down to earth, great sense of humor, very laid back, and he knows lots and lots of things -- both practical things like how to change the oil on your car, and also brilliant out-there scientific things that he's able to explain to the average folk.

4. Do you have any autographs of famous people?
Barbara Brown Taylor, Leif Enger (see above)

5. If you were to become famous, what would you want to become famous for?
Writing a really great book. More likely? Being married to my brilliant husband, who I'm convinced will somehow manage to rock the world in his own sweet dorky way. Of course other days I'm amazed that he's even able to walk himself to work.

Bonus: Whose 15 minutes of fame was up long, long ago?
Donald Trump

Writing/Not Writing

I feel like I haven't written much recently. In some ways I've slipped back into the old me from my pre-blogging days in which I'd think things like: "I should journal." And for a few days I'd walk around with these brilliant little vignettes rumbling about in my head to write down and never did. They died in my head or I forgot to ever sit down with my journal or I would sit down and nothing would come or I wouldn't have the right pen or the right cup of coffee or I'd see a friend ambling down the street and decide that talking with her would be far better than writing anything down.

When it comes to blogging I've managed to maintain a somewhat regular pattern of posting. Maybe because my handwriting never matters or I can do this at all hours of the day or because sometimes people leave comments and my ego likes that, my desire to belong needs that.

When writing block hits during sermon prep, I often sit down and simply start typing (rarely do I write sermons long-hand, though occasionally it happens), often with a string of words that start: "I don't know what to say to these people this weekend and I'm not even sure that I want to preach but if I did it certainly wouldn't be on this passage from Matthew/James/Isaiah/name the identified lectionary text/Stewardship/Evangelism and I don't want to preach this because I really want to say..... but I'm afraid that I'm not brave enough." It's my own little slice of pre-sermon therapy that at least gets me to acknowledge what I'm afraid of and often when I get done spewing all of this onto paper, there's a decent sermon mixed in once I take out all (most?) of the stuff about me.

I need to write, I've discovered. It's balm for my soul and without even realizing it I'd let it slip away, not only from me but from my identity. Calling myself a writer always seemed silly, and grandiose, and far too vulnerable to be safe. As a woman who stands in the pulpit or wanders around the chancel, weekly, I feel vulnerable weekly, sometimes daily. I think I dropped the mere idea of writing because it was simply too much. Melodramatic? Maybe.

When friends from my former life asked if I still wrote, I'd hem and haw and mention sermons or newsletter articles. I'd try to explain how they were my creative outlet, but in their eyes I could see that they saw through my words. I've had a few writing gigs over the past year or so, for denominational publications or for preaching resources, and I've written some pieces for the RevGal devotional books. These pieces clearly come from my identity as "pastor." But they have opened me a bit, and I find other things rumbling about in my head, that occasionally find their way to paper or to this blog.

I still don't know if I'm claiming writer. Usually I just list it as one of my hobbies, like gardening or walking, neither of which have gotten much use recently either. However, in a conversation with a dear friend the other day, she called me a writer: "Yeah, but you're a writer," she said. She threw the statement out there lovingly, like a gift, and has probably forgotten it, but clearly I haven't.

Awake

Occasionally I can't sleep.

Tonight's one of those nights.

Night before last was another.

I'm tired, but can't seem to shut my mind off long enough to drift off to sleep. I do various things on nights like this: write things down, take a warm bath, drink some milk, maybe some wine, I read, do logic puzzles, work a sudoku or two, pick up my sleeping child, pay bills, read blogs, dream about the future ... I try relaxation techniques and sometimes they work.

Sometimes I just lay in bed, not sleeping. That's less fun when DH starts snoring, but sometimes it's peaceful.

I think about worship and calls and family and taking trips and planning stewardship.

I pray for my parishioners as they come to mind and remember that I need to try to call one of them again tomorrow.

I think about my friends in their many and various places and locations, and how I miss them -- for the ones about to give birth and those who still have months to go, for those who have calls, are waiting for calls, are discerning calls, and for those who don't want their call anymore, for the newly married and soon-to-be married and those who struggle to be still married.

Lord, hear my prayer.

Haircut

If I were to do a series of posts on things that make me feel like a "grown-up" this would feature prominently. I really don't see doing a post-series, but the little startling moments that make me feel grown-up are interesting to think about.

I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow, which is always a delightful experience -- and an appointment I've been looking forward to for quite some time. That's right, I made an appointment to get my hair cut.
More than a day in advance.
More than a week in advance.
Ok, honestly? I made the appointment when I left the salon after my last cut, 8 weeks ago. I used to ridicule women who did that (in my mind), thinking, "How are you going to know when your hair needs to be cut? What if you get bored between now and then?" And then I became one of them. Because while I made silent fun of them, they seemed so adult, so put-together. And while I might venture into the land of feeling like a grown-up.... put-together? Not-so-much!!

Raining

It's raining, or projected to rain, all day here. We don't mind the rain, really, but it sort of eliminates a lot of the ideas that we had for today's entertainment. And, because we realize that everyone else is trying to get out of the rain, many of the other options for going somewhere become overwhelmed with people. And, because it's Labor Day, many of our favorite outings aren't an option, like the library.

I feel horribly uncreative on days like this -- surely we can do something with our family that doesn't involve going to some sort of attraction, right?

I'll let you know what we discover.

Good news: I've brought us up-to-date on clothing mangement for the kidlet. We're ready to transition to the next size and weather.

Friday Five

Life in the fast lane (red because don't red cars get stopped more often?)

In honor of Will Smama and her recent fender-bender, this Friday Five has been created for her "in lieu of flowers."

1. Driving: an enjoyable way to clear the mind? a means to an end? a chance to be quiet with one's thoughts? a necessary evil? the downfall of our planet and its fossil fuels? Discuss.

I love to drive. Always have. Long trips, short jaunts about town, you name it.

2. Do you drive the speed limit? A little faster? Slower? Have you ever gotten a ticket?
On the interstate or the open road I drive a little faster than the speed limit. But just a little. I had the same idea about local roads until last fall when I got a ticket. My first one ever. I didn't even know what to do when the officer approached me.

3. Do you take public transportation? When? What's your opinion of the experience?
It's not convenient at all to do so where I live now on a regular basis. The 'burbs are built on the idea that everyone has a car. However, in other places and times I have done so for daily commuting and it's been a good (relatively) experience. Vacationing in places like Boston and DC make the use of public transportation essential.

4. Complete this sentence: _____________ has the worst drivers I've ever experienced.
Hmmmm.... I grew up in a really small town (no stoplights, not even a stop sign on the main street) so I feel with some confidence that small towns often have bad drivers. But that's only based on recent visits back to said small town and my realization that I simply don't know how to drive in that setting anymore -- I don't know everyone's car so can't anticipate that Elmer is going to the hardware store and will be turning left. I live in a major metropolitan area now and there are certainly enough bad drivers populating this area, too. Sorry, I can't pin down one location.

5. The 6th longest average commute in the United States is at 29 minutes each way. How does your personal commute rate?
Currently my commute rocks. 10-15 minutes each way, all local roads so length of time depends on stoplights and trains.

Bonus for the brutally honest: It has been said, and the MythBusters have confirmed, that cell phones can impede driving ability almost as much as drinking. Do you talk on a cell phone while driving?
Um, yeah. Not every time I get in the car, but if I know I'll be in the car awhile, I use it to catch up with friends who are out of state or my mom.
I was not on my cell phone when I got a ticket, though.

In case I forget...

I really like to facilitate visioning meetings.

I'm good at keeping people on task and on time.

We had fun at a meeting tonight. People laughed, reflected, dreamed.

We left at a reasonable time after covenanting to be done at said time.

I left feeling more energized and excited about ministry than I had in a really, really long time.

I feel like we set some good groundwork for moving into budgeting and stewardship. Really.

I keep wondeirng if maybe someday I could do this facilitation on a broader spectrum. How much of the response is because they know me and trust me and how much of it is because I communicated enthusiasm and freshness? Would I have been able to do so without having known them for the past two years? Those parameters have not been necessarily true when I've done similar things in other settings, though I think they help.

While tomorrow's another day, I don't want to forget the rush that tonight brought.

Decidedly fun and un-whine-y

That's what I want to be when I grow up. Decidedly fun and un-whine-y.

I took Oldest Niece to a science museum a few years ago. She was probably six. I'm trying to remember what summer it was. Maybe she was five. Regardless. At one point I told her in a sing-songy happy voice after she refused to pose cutely for a picture that there would be no whining on this outing. But I'm not whining, she protested. And then I realized that it really was just time to go and that we'd done all we could do for her attention span. If only I could recognize that moment for myself.

So, without further ado, here are some things that, for me, are decidedly fun and un-whine-y:

Shoes. Cute ones that complete my outfit and only occasionally scream, "Hey -- look at my shoes!" It helps if they're pink, clearly, but I will consider other colors. Today's were blue patent and conservative enough to be sold at Talbot's.

Gin martinis. Extra dry (just wave the vermouth around, if you would, please). Lots of olives.

A really great joke told by a masterful storyteller. My dad is good, and even better, he will laugh at a joke so hard that his shoulders shake and tears run out of his eyes.

Baseball. Really. I love to watch the game and know enough about it to watch it intently, with only the occasional question to my darling. We caught a minor league game while on vacation and that just does this girl good.

Turning up some trashy dance music in my car and pretending that I'm not a pastor, or at least am not on my way to conduct worship at the nursing home.

Hanging out with friends. Really good friends. You know, the kind you can just relax and be yourself around and there's good conversation about a random assortment of things and they're smart and funny and think the same of you.

Playing cards. It's especially great if that can be combined with the above, but if the friends aren't the best, you can concentrate on your cards. Or have another martini.

I know that there are many other things, some more nostalgic and sweet than fun: my DH (usually!), my gorgeous baby boy who giggled in his sleep last night as I held him in the middle of the night, coming across my grandmother's recipe for cookies and remembering her kitchen and the crisp white-and-red curtains.

What is decidedly fun for you? What un-whines you?

Rumbling about in my head

Warning: Not particularly coherent post ahead.

Being a pastor requires night meetings and other assorted things: wedding rehearsals, gatherings. I know this. I also know that when my life is a little bit out of whack, I resent them deeply because of the time they take away from my child, because of the costs sometimes involved with childcare, because of the costs to my own sense of well-being and/or balance in life.

For a long time now I've wanted to be a pastor when I grow up. Wanted in that sense of feeling called and truly enjoying what I do. Since we had a lot of time in the car over the past vacation, and it's what we do, DH and I talked about what we each want to be when we grow up. These days he has a much clearer sense of what he wants to do, beyond his current pastor gig, than I do. It's not a competition between us in the sense that because he knows I should know, too, but rather one that makes me think more about my own contentment/calling/discernment.

Just coming off of vacation (I'll stop mentioning that soon), I can see some of these things without a lot of drama. Of course a week, two weeks, tomorrow, I'll be ready to cry into my coffee cup again. The most frustrating part of all of this for me is not being able to really implement a plan to prevent the freak-out. In my head I know some of the coping things that would help (wider network of friends, regular exercise, enough sleep, eating well, all those healthy things) but I don't have the ability/gumption/something to implement them.

A bit of what I read

Upon the recommendation from several RevGals, I picked up Getting Things Done to take with me on vacation. I know, I know. Vacation reading? I know, I know. I am still reading it because I also read a Nora Roberts novel, another novel of like, and this book: The Girl's Guide to Being the Boss. I know, I know. Vacation, right? Well, it was good transition reading, given that we left Big City immediately after worship on a Sunday and drove to spend the night and then drive some more to get to Small Village. It was both time to let go of all the things that I felt like I'd forgotten to do, and read some in order to feel like I was doing something about them.

Of course, picking up Getting Things Done in the middle of vacation made me a little twitchy, if only in the sense that I couldn't actually do any of the things that Allen recommends without getting myself back into work mode, even though his approach is designed for the whole scope.

ETA: The Girl's Guide was well-written, fun-to-read, and vaguely applicable to pastor as "boss." However, so very often because nearly everyone who "works" for the congregation is a volunteer, the principles were too geared to office to be adapted. At the same time, the authors are accurate that there are few role models for women's leadership. How this is different in the parish vs. the office building, I'm still working on it. I'll admit that it was prominently displayed near the Allen book at my favorite big-box bookstore and that weighed heavily on my decision to purchase it. I loaned it to my mother-in-law who is a school district administrator; I'll be curious to get her read on it.

Routine

It takes me (everyone?) a bit of time to return to the routine after vacation. As much as I'm dreading going to the office tomorrow and diving head-first into a five-day marathon, I recognize that my routine is not staying home and therefore to the office I go.

There aren't any really great stories from vacation -- we had a good time, saw most of our families, spent some time with friends, splashed in a lake and pools, enjoyed phenomenal weather and yummy food. Baby Boy charmed everyone, did fairly well in the car, was really glad to be out of the car, and had his first lake-swim.

DH and I talked a fair amount in the car, discussed vocational options, fiddled with some hopes and dreams. It's always hard to visit the state we both called home and wonder if it's time to head back. I've always thought that if we were ever to move back, we'd never leave again. Perhaps I'm being melodramatic, but I also know that the pull of family is strong and will only become stronger as our parents age and we'd like our child to know his cousins. Who knows where our days will take us?

Tomorrow takes me back to the office. I've appreciated the extra day that I built in to run errands, do laundry, sort mail. These are the quotidian things that don't get done while away and that provide structure upon return.

Home

I'm back.

The trip was good.

More later.

Vacation

We leave tomorrow afternoon.

I'm not even close to being ready for worship tonight, let alone to be gone for ten days.

Packed? My mom asked. She should know better. HA!

This will probably be my last post for awhile -- the connection where I'll be is s-l-o-w. And the house will be full with kids and their parents and our parents.

Oh! And, it's been a year since I've started blogging -- August 11, according to the archives. The date sort of came and went in the midst of this past week's chaos, but it's still good to be here. If my blog is a journal, this is by far the longest stretch of consistent writing.

Now I should really take advantage of this time while the kidlet is napping; at the very least I should bathe.

Preparing and another quip

Leaving for vacation on Sunday afternoon, the first time I've really been away on anything I can consider vacation since March. A lot has happened since March (including the retirement of my dear colleague and the subsequent solo interim that I'm doing) and I'm ready, so very ready to be away. Four days with my folks and other family in the Up North Land -- I hope to fish, to read, to look at the stars (because you can really see them as opposed to where I live, Suburban Sprawl), to eat mom's cooking and play with their great dog -- the Almighty Chesapeake. And then another four days or so in the urban center of that state -- baseball game? time alone? seeing friends and playing cards.

Apart from all of the stuff that I need to get done before I can leave, I'm super excited to be going. This week has already been really full, but my husband has transformed himself into a domestic god and announced when I returned home last night: "Nearly all the laundry in the house is done, dishes washed, garbage out, Boy's been sleeping for hours, I've started packing and am nearly done, and the car is ready to be loaded." It also appeared that he'd had a beer (empty bottle) and had time to sit. There are times that I really love this man!

Quip:

I'm doing a wedding for some folks when I get back. Non-members. Second marriage for him, they're RC, so they turn to us. I know from our conversations that they (he) has a lot of money: he owns his own business (businesses?), the house is worth a lot of money (nearly seven figures, I'd guess), and a few other little things that have been said.
It comes out in conversation last night that they picked out her a wedding present recently. A car.

Me: Oh, wow, that's exciting. (Thinking to myself: Did I even exchange a wedding present with my domestic god of a husband?) What did you get?
Her: A Jaguar.
Me: I think my fee just went up.

If you got a Jag when you got married, please don't tell me. Or if you did, please tell me you compensated the minister appropriately after disclosing that information.

Quip

The following exchange happened at last night's Council meeting.
After I was patronized.
Before I cried.
After we'd already been meeting for longer than I thought we would in entirety.
Before I waxed poetic on the calling of chaplains.

President: Why would someone want to be a hospital chaplain?
Me: Um, no night meetings?

Pictures

There's been a box in the corner of our guest room since we moved here, a year and a half ago. A standard paper box without a lid, it contained as far as I could tell, random stuff. Only what I could see on top could I clearly identify.
I went through it tonight. Adrenaline from a wedding, a baptism, a reception with fabulous dancing, and worship again this morning, not napping when I should have, all of that spilled over and made me want to get something in order. This box met its fate tonight.
So what was in it? Most of what had been on top of our desk when we moved -- stapler, three-hole punch, pens and pencils, all of the random change from other countries that I've held kept after coming home.
And a lot of pictures.
Pictures mostly from 1996 until now -- not a comprehensive collection, but random rolls that have never been put in albums, some that people had sent to me. Fun, crazy, sad. There were "fat" pictures and "fit" pictures. Young ones and silly ones. From travels and home and school and weddings and scenery. And time just passed, right before my eyes.

Reading

It's Saturday morning in this house and we're reading:
I'm reading blogs online.
DH is reading the NY Times.
And when all was quiet from Baby Boy, I turned my head to see where he was:
Sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf with his books around him, going through each one of them.
He just crawled into the Big Blue Chair. All by himself. With a book.
It won't last long - there he goes down to get a different book - but it's certainly precious.

Friday (evening) Five

This week we have a treat: a guest Friday Five composed by NotShyChiRev. Enjoy!

1. Describe the last play or musical you saw. (At least provide the what, when, where, and why).
I saw Wicked, in March, in Chicago, as a result of a thoughtful Christmas gift from DH.

What was your opinion of it? I thought it was great.

However, I was surprised to see candy being sold in the theater as if it were a baseball game. I think because my first experience with a seemingly big-time theater production of a musical was at Ford's Theatre and Lady Bird Johnson was rumored to be "in the house" that same night. They might have been selling candy that night, too, (I doubt it), but I've wiped it out of my memory.

2. All time favorite play? Musical?
Oh goodness. I'm terrible at things like this, namely remembering names and/or titles... Ummmm... Some things I've seen and liked: Five Guys Named Moe, The Seagull, The Dollhouse....

3. “The Producers,” “The Philadelphia Story,” “Hairspray,” “The Wedding Singer”…all were movies before they were musicals (okay “The Philadelphia Story” was a play and then a movie, and they changed its name when it became a musical, but whatever). What non-musical movie do you think should next get the musical treatment?

I have absolutely no idea. None. But I'd love to hear your thoughts.

4. Favorite song from a musical? Why?
If I can't come up with a favorite musical, then I'm even more pressed to come up with a favorite song.

5. The most recent trend in Broadway musical revues is to construct a show around the oeuvre of a particular super-group or composer, where existing songs are woven together with some kind of through story. ... What great pop/rock singer/composer or super-group should be the next to be featured, and what might the story-line be for such a show?

Once again, I really don't have a good response, particularly for the second part of the question and begin to feel myself being outclassed (well, clearly), but I'd say Carly Simon...

Having completed this, I nearly feel as if I should turn in my English degree. Sheesh. That or get out more!

Temperature

It doesn't feel so hot outside, even when it's 99 or 100, if your internal body temperature measures at 103.6 or 104.0.

Today it's cooler -- both internally and outside. Thank goodness!

Mushy

My kidlet is nearly 15 months old. I have no idea how that happened. Really, I don't. People would tell me when they saw us out after he was first born, "Oh, it goes so fast... pretty soon they're (insert activity of their child here)." And I got tired of people saying that because I just wanted to enjoy him at 6 days or 2 weeks or a month and not think about when he'd be walking/talking/going to school/driving a car/going to college... I hate it when others are right like that.

Tonight was a night of meetings for me at church; I was away for bedtime and got home well after he was sound asleep. I, of course, couldn't (can't) sleep. So, I picked him up out of his crib and held him -- rocking him in his sleep, more to soothe myself than him, clearly. By the light of the hall night-light I studied him, breathed in his scent, rubbed his knees, marveled at how he no longer fits neatly in my arms but instead spills over my arms and the sides of the chair. He has gotten "so big" and toddles and babbles all over the place. And while it's different than when he was 6 days or 2 weeks, it's perfect.

Special thanks to Will Smama for the reminder to pay attention to these little times of quiet.

Take two

Ok, so I tried to post an uplifting, get myself out of the grumps post earlier -- even a list of things I was thankful for or things that had made me laugh today. It didn't work. My post sounded, er was, whine-filled (you know I hate to whine) and trying to write it made me (even more) crabby. But I'm back again, for take two.
In the meantime I went to the big super-used-to-only-be-fabric-store that now sells among other things, cameras and scanners and printers, oh my! I did not go there for fabric, mind you, but I also was not expecting to have the option of buying a scanner. But I digress.

Things that remind me it's not all bad:
1. I have a really pretty planner. Even if it's full of too many things to do, the pages are still fun to look at.

2. I am surrounded by an amazing group of people who help me (and my husband) to parent, including but in no way limited to: the people at day care who might just love my kid as much as I do; our pediatricians who always act delighted to see him, for routine check-ups and for the "Um, what are these spots on his feet?" visits; and the multitude of doting folks at our respective congregations who have loved him since, well, probably since we announced that we were expecting.

3. Friends who tell me that, actually, it really is *that* bad and it's OK that I'm tired and crabby and then they go on to validate the many and various reasons that I might be feeling overwhelmed and tired ... and then they make me a drink.

All of this to say that I can almost guarantee that at some point tomorrow I'll feel like resigning my call once again, as I did earlier today. And, to be honest, part of me thinks that knowing that's always an option (though not always a good one) is what's really getting me through. Cheers!

Friday Five -- Hot Hot Hot

It's Friday evening and here's the RevGals Friday Five

1. What's the high temperature today where you are?
Not sure what the high was, but it's currently 90 and feels like 95 according to weather.com.


2. Favorite way(s) to beat the heat.
Staying inside with air conditioning, a cool drink, and a book. Alternately, spending the entire day in water.

3. "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." Evaluate this statement.
Well, yes. But really, at a certain point, it's both.

4. Discuss one or more of the following: sauna, hot tub, sweat lodge, warm-stone massage.
Sauna and hot tub are fabulous when it's cool outside -- something about sitting in an outdoor hot tub when it's cold enough to make your hair freeze. Of course I am from MN, so that explains a lot. I've done a sweat as part of a religious/spiritual experience and it was amazing -- can't imagine doing that when it's already hot outside, though.
Warm-stone massage -- a lovely experience that I've had once.

5. Hottest you've ever been in your life
Hmmm... that's a really good question. While I can think of many cold experiences (see above), the super-hot don't leave a stunning impression. Extended periods of heat just drag on and are miserable.

Non-temperature related bonus: In your opinion... who's hot?
Oooo.... I, too, am skipping the obvious husband route. Uma Thurman, John Cusack, Timothy Hutton, Claire Danes, Richard Gere ...

Shadow

Tomorrow I'm being shadowed by a woman who thinks she might want to be a pastor. It's part of an assignment for a class of hers and I'm the "woman-relatively-new-to-ministry" component. It came up all of a sudden and I haven't really had a chance to get freaked out about it -- as in, "why would she want to shadow me?" Although I realize the answer to that question has less to do with my relative fabulousness and more to do with location and demographics. Regardless, I have been giving it some thought in the past 24 hours or so, particularly as she asked me on the phone if I'd be doing a "number of pastoral things that she could observe. Which caused me to think, "Isn't everything I do in my office pastor-like in some way or another?" Well, probably not -- particularly in the formal sense discussed by Lutheran Zephyr here.

I've wondered what I'll say to this woman at the end of our hours together as she "interviews" me to sum up my thoughts on ministry. All of this comes on the heels of a week of the severe crabbies, a sick child and a couple of anniversaries in my life. So, some thoughts...

Being a pastor this week for me means getting hugs in coffee shops from women who are grateful simply that I returned their phone call; it means seeing old men bury their head in their hands as I pray for their wife; it means being called sweetheart and honey and knowing that they love me for who I am.

Being a pastor this week for me means fielding phone calls from non-members asking if I'll do their wedding... in six weeks; from folks wanting to use our kitchen, our fellowship hall, our parking lot; from really, really persistent yellow page representatives; from folks wondering if I knew that so-and-so had been in the hospital for four days... they're OK now, though.

Being a pastor this week for me means trying to schedule the four weeks of vacation and two weeks of continuing education time that I'm allowed/supposed to take and still maintaining a congregation; it means wanting to take my Sabbath and not feel guilty; it means letting the tears roll down my cheeks out of exhaustion and frustration, in the privacy of my office.

Being a pastor this week for me means presiding at a service at the local nursing home and treating the people there with dignity and respect; it means taking time to visit the folks who are no longer able to worship with the rest of the community; it means holding my feverish child as he moans and whimpers in the middle of the night and folding laundry.

Being a pastor this week for me is all of this and more; it's reading the funny blogs and the sad ones; it's maintaining friendships across miles; it's thinking I should pray more and not; it's hoping that I, too, will hear a word of grace, a word of promise somewhere this week.

Here

Here is where I sit and make decisions about things I never knew needed decisions -- yellow pages ads and our involvement in programs. I take calls from people who need things and I'm able to help them -- writing checks and making referrals in the midst of writing sermons and lifting prayers.

Here is where I am, if only for the time being. As a pastor, I have a hard time living in the here and not thinking about the "what-next" when it comes to things like where I hang my hat. We have abundant space and sparse furnishings, but I think, "well, our next house might not be so big..." or "that would be a pain to move." We've moved so many times in the past eight years that our post-college, basement eclectic style hasn't really had a chance to evolve into something that feels like home.

Here is where I'm not always sure that I want to be, always being lured by the thought of what else is out there -- something better, bigger, smaller, closer to family or farther away, something else.

Here is living and that's what I need to do, embracing the dancing moments and the crying moments, the throw-stuff-at-the-wall moments and the rock back-and-forth moments. This is what I need to remember.

One year and counting

If you read my blog and aren't a RevGalBlogPal, be sure to check it out today -- It's our anniversary!

And now on with the Friday Five:

1) What is your first memory of the RevGalBlogPals?
I had been a lurker on St. Casserole's blog for awhile and when the initial conversation about starting this webring came up, I lurked for all 100 or so comments.... It was the last push I needed to start my own blog, something I'd been thinking about doing for awhile before the RGBPs organized.

2) Have you met any of the other ring members in real life?
Not that I know of... if we have, we haven't identified ourselves as such!

3) Of those you haven't met, name a few you would love to know in person.
Oh dear. I have to choose? I really can't.

4) What has Ring Membership added to your life?
A large and far-flung community with many common interests. It's hard to sum up what this blog and the RevGals has meant to me this past year.

5) Describe a hope for the future of the WebRing.
I love the ideas that are being thrown around of retreats and seminars, educational opportunities with women and religion in mind. I think that this group could have a really, really good time together and it would be amazing to have all of us -- heck, even half of us, all together in one place.

Here's to the RevGals! I raise my glass to all of us!

Summer Evening

When she was older
she would look back
to that day
in her friend's front yard
when their houses were big
and their daddy's were rich
She would wonder whatever happened
to that friend who had called after
the boy on the bike
with his hands raised, crossed
above his head
showing off in an innocent way
for too-young girls

She had said, just loud enough,
You're not that cool.
And in the wavering of his tire
they knew he had heard.