Ahem

Although I don't always stick with the lectionary in preaching, one of things I appreciate about it is how often God uses it to nudge me and say, "Ahem."

By "appreciate," I mean alternately find a little annoying (Thanks, God, but I don't care to be nudged in that particular area today), a little amusing (Wow, isn't it funny how I keep forgetting all these things I thought I'd already learned?), and quite stretching (in that painful but good way...like Pilates for the soul).

One of the texts for this week is from the first chapter of Jeremiah. I feel a strong connection to Jeremiah. We are sympatico across the millenia, although I hope never to have to wear a literal yoke. And yet, I forget the many life lessons of Jeremiah. How good of the lectionary (and God) to remind me.

So, I've been studying and pondering Jeremiah's call narrative this week. Again. Meanwhile, I've been dealing with my own sense of failure, idiocy, and general unworthiness for my own calling. Cough, cough, nudge, nudge...

I am a terribly imperfect human being. We all are. But it seems more problematic somehow because of my vocation, because some people expect me to be (or at least appear) more perfect than most, because I expect myself to be (or at least appear) further along in the perfection process. In my more self-critical moments, I suspect that other ministers really are more perfect than me. In my less self-critical moments, I think that at least their personalities are more suited to this calling, more naturally given to propriety. They don't play in bands, dye their hair pink, spit out the communion bread, or vent on public blogs. They say and do the right things and respond in the right ways. They're fluent in the language and ways of church people. I, meanwhile, feel like every time I'm being a minister in a way that is true to me, I'm somehow breaking some taboo. Surely God made some kind of mistake in calling me to this, no?

"Ah, Lord God, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy."

Ahem.

God has a way of wading through the mire I create for myself. Yep, you're imperfect. Yep, you're a work in progress. Jeremiah's life was as much a picture of what God was doing as his words. Maybe the process is as important for people to see as the finished product. Maybe God gives what is needed as it is needed. Maybe someone in the world wants or even needs a minister who plays in a band, dyes her hair pink, spits out communion bread, vents on a blog, and cringes when she hears Christianese; I would, if I weren't already being that person myself. Maybe God's okay with a few taboos being broken. Maybe it's good news that God isn't terribly concerned with our limitations.

It certainly feels like good news to me.

Death of a Pedometer

I regret to inform you that the faithful pedometer, having served me well over many miles, has passed from this life into another, its battery cover and the battery itself having popped out, flown under the stall door, and disappeared into the depths of Concert Bathroom World. There's only so much floor searching one wants to do in such a place. Perhaps the battery will find new life in someone's needy watch.

The measurement of the Campaign has been thwarted, but the Campaign goes on!

(Not so) Deep Questions

How is it possible that someone who owns as much clothing as I do always has so little to wear?

Why is it so easy (way too easy) to spend money on clothing, but so hard to just suck it up and admit that my microwave and coffee pot are on their last legs and need to be replaced?

Why does God think it's a good idea for me to be a pastor, when there seem to be so many other people who are so much farther along on the Way, and I'm just so often an idiot?

How necessary is a neurology appointment, really, when it can continually be postponed for another month? (Yep, the neurologist rescheduled. Glad I didn't keep waiting for today's appointment to start driving.)

And, a couple of celebrations:
- people showed up for this week's class, and it was really good, even though I'm pretty sure most of them could be leading the class rather than being led by me.
- the Campaign is progressing, and I've lost five pounds as of this morning. The first five is always easy and quick for me...we'll see how it goes after this.

A Few Things I Didn't Say While Ranting

Did I mention I sometimes speak hyperbolically to make a point? Or perhaps you may even have noticed for yourselves? The last post was not intended to be a complete representation of all the complexities of how I make decisions or interact with other people, or of what I believe about Christian community. It was a snapshot, from a time of particular irritation, about a particular issue. The side of things that points its collective finger at me and tells me I am too independent is well represented, so it seemed timely to put the other side down in words, and then try to work toward a healthy middle ground. This is how I do things. Me = Extrovert. I barely think if I'm not putting it into words and bouncing it around to other people. This is why I blog.

Let me make this clear: my entire philosophy on life cannot be summed up by the song, "I am a Rock, I am an Island." Although, I do like that song.

Also, I do actually appreciate being cared for and helped. My parents, despite encouraging me to be independent at every turn and treating me basically like an adult long before I reached the legal age of adulthood, have always loved me and helped me out when I've needed help. I have lovely friends and family who have done really great things for me. Like the one who basically moved up here for a month and a half to drive me around. And the ones who sat with me in the hospital, and brought me enough of my stuff that I wouldn't go insane. And the ones who gave me a picnic table and a new fridge...and the other one who hauled away the old fridge. And the ones who have helped me move 18 times in 10 years, lent me money, listened to me, called me on my crap, etc. I love those people, and my life would be pretty empty without them.

Nonetheless, I maintain that:
- Criticizing someone's decisions and their very personality is not the same as offering understanding and assistance;
- Sometimes that assistance can even be offered by questioning the wisdom of someone's decisions, but that, done in a caring way, is still very different from making random observations about people's problems;
- I need to be reminded of these things just as much as anyone else;
- I'm still not good at asking for help, even when I really need it. For now, I'll work on the "when I really need it" part.
- I seriously need to get back to work now.

A Little Rant on Independence

Today a certain TV rerun was playing in my house as background noise while I worked. I'm not telling what it was, because it's kind of embarrassing - but if you recognize the plot, ha! Good to know other people watch unfortunate daytime TV. Anyway, in this show, a group of young adults was moving into the big city, amidst many tearful goodbyes and much wondering about whether they could really make it on their own. Note that said young adults were indeed adults, finished with college, in some cases married, and they were moving perhaps a four-hour drive from their hometown. Together, no less. But, oh, the weeping! Oh, the worrying!

Please, pardon my cynicism. It's sort of sweet that the people in this show have such an enduring friendship and go off to face life together, I guess. Watching it just made me think about my own major decisions and moves, and the fact that I've made every one of them alone, which in turn made me think yet again of all the comments I've been getting lately about being too independent and not being willing to ask for help.

I'm not really sure what people expect. I was raised to be independent. If I proved myself trustworthy, independence was the reward. If I was independent, my parents respected me more. The less others had to look out for me, and the more others could depend upon me, the better off I was. I feel like this was a fairly effective parenting strategy, as I have indeed grown up as a person who is able to take care of myself. I moved out of my parents' house twelve years ago and went to college without knowing anyone else who would be there. I've moved from state to state for school and jobs, alone. I've handled my own schedule, housing, transportation, finances, and health matters (sometimes more wisely than others), alone.

I don't know how I would stop doing those things for myself, even if I thought it was a good idea, which I'm pretty sure I don't.

Sometimes people have helped me with some of those things, and I've been grateful for their assistance. The best help has been the unexpected, unsolicited kind. Maybe I only say that because I so seldom ask for help. But then, it seems that when I do ask people for help, even with small things, they don't follow through, and I get left with the mess. So why would it be a good idea to trust people to take care of me in big things, especially if I can manage on my own?

I guess the thing is, I'm turning thirty in less than two weeks, and I've spent all of those thirty years doing whatever I could do for myself, and I'm not really sure that I can or want to give that up, and I don't understand why anyone would want me to. And I know that people think they're being helpful, but it's getting to be a bit much.

Empty-ish House

As I think I've mentioned, the chauffeur left last week. I confess that mostly I'm happy to have my house back to myself, but strange things happen when you get used to having someone around all the time. For example, when he was here, all the snarky and/or frivolous little comments that pop into my brain could just come out of my mouth. I could wax hyperbolic, as I am prone to do, and we could chuckle a bit and then move on. Now, only my dog is here to hear my running commentary on life, and she looks at me disapprovingly with her big liquidy eyes when I get snarky. As I am of the let-no-thought-go-unexpressed personality type, I then think that perhaps I should blog about the things that come into my mind, but we all know that's a bad idea.

Some Random Stuff

In the last 2 days, the Campaign has progressed quite well.
26,778 steps; 12.6 miles. 4,194.2 miles remaining.
Updating every day was a stupid idea, and not just because today was a 2,000-step bomb. I'll be tracking weekly or so from here on out. I know at least two people who are with me on the Campaign, so we almost have our relay team.

People keep telling me that I have issues with being too independent - more in the last couple of weeks than usual, which is saying something, since if I'm going to get called out on something, that's likely to be it. I sense a post on that coming soon.

Tonight a state trooper nearly ran me off the road when he came flying up behind me, no flashing lights or anything, and tailgated me until I could get past the car in the right lane. It really, really irks me when law enforcement officers drive so unsafely. And yes, I am driving now. See the paragraph above, and note that many of the aforementioned comments relate to this very subject.

Day 5
Well...it seems there is a flaw in the plan. The pedometer left an unsightly bulge in the outfit I was wearing, so I made it about 3,200 steps before I ditched the thing. We did walk a lot that evening, so I think I'm going to give myself a 4-mile day, which brings me down to:
4,212.8 miles to Rome.

Day 6
Yet another flaw in the plan: somewhere between 4,000 and 5,000 steps, the battery came loose, and the pedometer reset itself. So, after I discovered this and secured the battery, I walked another 8,378 steps yesterday, which is approximately 4 miles. I'm guessing I lost about 2 miles in the battery failure, which gives me:
4,206.8 miles to Rome.

This really is going to take about 3 years (another flaw in the plan...sometimes I decide things without thinking about the details involved). I'm seriously thinking about making it a team effort.

Now, off to write a sermon about cheery things like destruction and families divided against each other.

Anti-Spread Campaign, Day 4
14,439 steps
7.2 miles
4,216.8 miles to Rome
Potato chips replaced by General Tso's chicken. I am not good at this whole healthy eating thing.

I could have sworn there was something significant I was going to write after that, but I cannot for the life of me remember what. Perhaps I'll edit later.

Day 3, and Purpose Behind My Insanity

Day 3 of the Anti-Spread Campaign
9,350 steps (a bit short of the goal)
4.5 miles
4224 miles to Rome
Too many potato chips

I am determined that the Campaign will work (whatever "work" means in this case), in part because there are just so many things in my life that are not working right now. I was taking inventory this morning of the various projects and areas of my life, and things are not looking so good.

I like results. I would like to be able to say that things at church are moving full steam ahead into fall, but in truth things are sputtering along in fits and starts. I'd like to say that my current class is going fabulously, but as I wrote yesterday, it's not going at all yet. I would like to say that the church I'm supervising is well on their way to calling a pastor, but they've actually just begun a path of healing and reconciliation that puts them back at square one in the search process. I would like to say that the Friday night services in Albany are a raving success; alas, not so. I would like to say that my band has moved into playing a consistent schedule of gigs, but we're experiencing yet another setback.

I don't seem to be able to control any of these things, which is annoying, and frankly, I'm developing a bit of a failure complex. So, it's good for me to do something that has measurable progress, and is more or less within my sphere of control. Behold, The Campaign. Now I just need to make the potato chips leave my house...

In Which I Have Mixed Feelings and Second Guess Myself

I am the pastor of a small church. Accordingly, I expect attendance at events and classes to be relatively small. However, there is a certain critical mass that is required for things to really work.

One of the things I really love to do is teach, so I try to have some sort of class or Bible study going most of the time. However, people are busy, and many activities demand their time. So, despite apparent excitement about my last class, it ended up with an attendance of one or two people, which just was not critical mass to do service to the topic.

This time, I tried a new tactic: I asked people to RSVP for a class, so I knew I would have enough people to make it worth their time and mine, and so I would have the appropriate amount of materials. For my congregation and the class topic, I deemed that number to be four. I had commitments from six. Three showed up. I want to make it clear that I am not complaining about this or trying to make people feel guilty; one called in advance to tell me she wouldn't be there, and I'm sure the others probably have reasons for not coming as well. That is not the issue at hand. The issue is me, and my reaction to this, for I am never certain of what to do in such cases.

Do I hold the class anyway and just try to make it work? Do I postpone to the next week and remind people to come? Do I cancel altogether?

Tonight we decided to postpone for a week, and then we sat around and chatted for a while. But now I am home, and I wonder, why do I think three people are less worthwhile than four? Why did I do all this work planning this session and then just put it off? Why do I keep trying to teach classes to which people don't care to come? Am I picking the wrong topics? Does anyone even care? Should I just give up on trying to offer people educational opportunities? I really have no idea.

Drivedrivedrivedrivedrivedrivedrivedrive

My chauffeur left approximately nine hours ago. I am already dying to jump in my car and drive somewhere. Anywhere. Not because I actually need to go anywhere, but just because it's still a pretty bad idea for me to drive, and that makes me feel like I'm trapped here. Eight days until I see the neurologist. When I am speaking hyperbolically, I almost always do so in multiples of eight, as in "I waited in line for eight years," or "We walked 800 miles to get there." Coincidence? I think not.

Day 2 of the Anti-Spread Campaign

Steps walked: 10,066 (nothing like just barely scraping by the goal)
Mileage walked/run: 5-ish miles...I forgot to check the other pedometer setting before I reset it for today.
Miles remaining: a mere 4228.5 miles to Rome.

My chauffeur is leaving town today, so my morning run has been interrupted by the packing and car-loading frenzy. However, with the chauffeur gone and the whole driving moratorium still an issue, I suspect I'll be walking plenty in the next few days. Speaking of which, my appointment with the neurologist is on the 23rd, and I'm praying for full clearance. What are the chances?

Anti-Spread Campaign

Perhaps seminary should have told me something about the ministerial life that was to come. I gained somewhere in the realm of 20-30 pounds in my three years there - and when I began, I was still carrying the Freshman 15+ from college on my not-small-even-when-in-great-shape hips. Well, when I came to my current call, I couldn't deal with aging and growing at the same time anymore, and I was sick (literally) of being unhealthy. Some of you were probably reading when I was steadily dropping weight, and not steadily but still dropping. I lost about 65 lbs. in all.

Yeah, those were good times. Then the sedentary life and convenience food took over. So, now I've gained back 10 lbs. Um...scratch that. After the conference last week, where we ate HUGE meals, and exercise consisted of wiping sweat from our brows in the overheated rooms, it's probably more like 15 lbs. I'm afraid to check. The pants I jubilantly bought last winter when I was at my lowest weight don't fit at all. My suits are feeling a bit stretched. Not good.

So, with all of this in mind, and also after some conversations with other women at the conference about our desire to at least cease expansion, I am beginning the Anti-Spread Campaign. I'm going to start running/walking regularly again. I'm going to wear a pedometer and shoot for at least 10,000 steps a day. And I'm going to see how long it will take for me to walk the distance to Rome - 4239 miles - and hope I make it before they start ordaining women...or maybe that I don't. Now that's a lovely thought. Anyway, anyone with me?

Day 1: 10,880 steps; 5.5 miles

You can find the distance from your town to Rome at this site.

Going Home

I'm on my way home. Sort of. Which means that I'm actually sitting in Dulles airport, hoping like mad that this flight actually has a flight crew and will depart at something resembling the scheduled time. I've lost Pastor Peters in the chaos of ticketing counters and security checkpoints, so I don't even have a shopping partner; hence the blogging. I'm also noticing that there appear to be two flights leaving from this gate at the exact same time. What are the chances that's actually going to happen - and if it did, how safe would I feel?

Anyway. It's been wonderful being around young clergywomen all week. I don't think I realized exactly how few of us there are at clergy and denominational events until this week; it's a good thing to know that we're not alone. The schedule has been intense, the mornings have been early, and the rooms have been hot, so I am excited to get home and get back to regular work, a more normal sleeping pattern (for me), my own bed, my own air-conditioned bedroom, my own house, my dog, and a whole host of other people and things I've really missed being away much of the last couple of weeks.

I still can't drive, so I'm not sure how all that is going to go once I'm back home and have to get places again.

Oh yeah, and I have to preach in the morning. Aaaaiiiiieeee. Must go finish the sermon...

Another Morning at the YCP Conference

Have I ever mentioned that I am not a morning person? I think I probably have, but I'll just reiterate. Conferences always start too early in the morning for me, so I inevitably start most days tired and irritated. This young women preachers' conference is no exception (and yes, I realize this is my issue, and not that of the other women here). Also within my pondering is the subject of morning worship. Now, I realize that we're not a praise band, jump up and down, Jesus-is-my-boyfriend music sort of group, and I'm glad for it. But wouldn't it occasionally make sense to plan morning worship to convey a sense of joy and energy to launch us into the day, rather than a lot of silence and stillness that mostly makes me want to go to sleep?

Clearly this falls into the ugly territory of "If I ran the world, things would be different!" statements.

Yesterday we had the afternoon and evening free, so some of us wandered around the Mall area and Dupont Circle. Some of the more interesting events of that trip include:
- the story of the woman caught in adultery and Jesus writing in the sand being acted out on the Capitol steps;
- Psalm 79 being read loudly from the Capitol steps by Amy, and followed by applause;
- nearly being trapped by Scientologists who didn't seem to understand the phrase, "No, we're all ministers;"
- walking 8 bazillion miles and then discovering that we were not in fact on the right street;
- ice cream (finally);
- talking to a lot of random strangers, one of whom sadly could not yield an explanation of what a Progressive National Baptist is.

In other conference-related subjects, I have begun to mentally shut off all the examples related to children and motherhood - not on purpose, but because it just doesn't connect, and I'm too tired to translate. There are a lot of references to children and motherhood happening here...and hence I am blogging. However, what I should really be doing is working on the sermon I have to preach in about 4 hours. I'm wondering if my group will flog me if, instead of actually preaching, I share some of my thoughts and have us talk a bit about the sermon preparation process, because that would be just as helpful to me as trying to come up with a sermon by 2pm.

The Conference

I did finally make it to D.C., and now I'm here in a room full of young preaching women and a lot of really cute shoes. I think I am the only one with pink hair, but I am definitely not the only one with fun shoes. One good thing about being here is that, for a whole week, no one will refer to me as "that girl preacher." The fabulous St. Casserole is here; it had been too long since I last saw her. Many other bloggers are also here, people whose lives I've peeked into for two years, people who have occasionally or regularly peered into mine, people with whom I've traded encouragements and thoughts and sermon ideas - and now they are people with faces. I'm a fan of this. Not such a fan of sitting in seminars, even though they're good seminars, but I guess that's kind of the nature of conferences. Speaking of seminars, I suspect it's time to listen now.

Airport Blogging

I'm on my way to D.C. for the conference of young women preachers...or I would be, except that my flight has been canceled. Why, you ask? Because there is no captain available to fly it. How much does this inspire my confidence in the whole airline system? Not so much.

I am annoyed.

But hey, there is internet access in the airport.

So, I just got back from camp on Saturday. Camp was excellent, except the part where I towed a sailboat across the lake with a kayak. That was a bit more of an upper body workout than I had hoped for. It was a rather quiet but great group of campers, and a fabulous clan of cabin counselors, so all was well.

I just realized that I am going to a conference full of women who all introduced ourselves by talking about our cute shoes, and yet I have forgotten to bring my cutest pair of shoes, which matches my hair.

Did I mention my hair is now pink? Pictures will be forthcoming.

Okay, I need to go pick up some chocolate and caffeine before my new flight departs.