Why we go to church at Berry

This was read last Sunday, by the author, in our church here in Chicago. He’s a twenty something musician. It’s his response to why he’s part of Berry UMC. I asked him if I could share it b/c it touched me so as a profound reminder of how important the small church is in the world.

Here’s some background about his references to help make sense of the whole:
• Sherrie is the pastor.
• Ben is a 5 year old rambunctious boy, most often found almost tripping any number of people as he runs in and around our legs, during fellowship time. He's often chasing his twin sister or younger sister.
• Temma is the pastor’s daughter who has the capacity of about a 3 month old. She comes to church every Sunday, is wheelchair bound and 23 years old. Our sanctuary is on the 2nd floor and there is no elevator. It takes at least three strong people to carry her up and down those stairs.

Why I Go to Berry
by Matt

The first Sunday that I attended Berry around 5 years ago, the benediction was in the form of Wendell Berry’s “The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.”

I remember Sherrie’s reiteration of the final lines. “Go now… be like the fox, making more tracks then necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.”

At the time, I was visiting Chicago on tour, while still living in Michigan. In the interest of time, lets say that I was a hardened and withering Fundamentalist attending a 1,400 member congregation with 2 jumbo-tron screens, a neon backlit white plastic cross, and a sense that nothing could happen unless it was MASSIVELY visceral and overwhelming.

I say this, not to condemn that church or way of experiencing God, but to acknowledge the immaturity of my own perceptions and lack of engagement in that community. My judgments kept me from seeing anything through the thick “God presence” fog emanating from a hissing machine behind the plastic plants on stage. I always missed the message because I was so busy noting the production, which was so completely incredible that I was sure – through a well-timed fan letter – it would be featured on This American Life with the suggested title, “Weekly Circus: Super-sizing Sunday Service in Middle America.”

I had disengaged and to curb my frustrations, I was assuming the role of an anthropological scientist. “Just here to watch.”

It’s no surprise that the first visit to Berry was slightly alarming. Everything was completely other to me. It was small. There wasn’t a safe 400th row to bob and weave my way through toward the door. Sherrie took long, considerate breathes between thoughts, which was a revelation in itself. “She’s actually thinking as she talks.” I was in love with the unrehearsed, unpolished, and sometimes down-right raw way that things occurred. Children showing me Jesus by freely running amuck. People shared defaming prayers of joy and concern in the safety and trust of the community.

“Who will serve communion?” How about you and you? And there was communion, without spiritual hierarchy or micro-management. It made sense to me. I could not remain anonymous because this wasn’t a drive-thru window. And though I maybe thought that was what I wanted, it wasn’t. This was a meal at a small table in a friend’s home. It was honest and loving, and that was about all that it needed to be. A community of engagement.

I’ve been here ever since, and I’m a part of it simply because I love it. I see Christ in the minutia here and at times when I’m most uncertain of belief, that is exactly what I need. A still small voice. It could be Ben singing “Jesus Loves Me” or it could be a few of us and Temma making our way down the stairs.

I want to end with a quote from Nelson Algren’s Chicago: City on the Make…

Yet once you've come to be part of this particular patch, you'll never love another. Like loving a woman with a broken nose, you may well find lovelier lovelies. But never a lovely so real.

Berry: Community on the Make

anonymous

Maybe you are visiting because you have followed a link from a mean spirited “troll” who copied a recent post that I made here on his/her blog (the author is anonymous). If that is the route that found you here, then welcome. I invite you to read through our posts from the beginning. Know that we write to share our story--our life with and following my husband’s battle with testicular cancer.

We are blessed to have a huge number of people, family and friends, who keep us in their thoughts and prayers. Using a blog to communicate with them is one of the gifts of modern technology. We hope that if you are going through similar difficulties times in your life that our honest sharing is something that can help you find wholeness during a stressful time.

If you are one who follows our blog, please know that I’m not sharing the "troll's" site address because I do not want to support or advertise the thoughts of an unfortunate soul who seems to have problems with adoption, the church, people of faith, and a whole host of other issues AND who hides behind the veil of “anonymous.” I find it to be cowardly: it doesn’t allow conversation, just verbal arrows shot from a heart that would be empty save all the hate that is held within and shared, “anonymously”, with the world. I do, in all seriousness, hope that whoever it is has someone other than the world wide web to speak to about the things that are troubling them.

I debated about even responding to his/her post. To respond gives power to the other, but not responding can make one feel powerless. And if you are someone who frequents this site, you know that I’m someone who likes conversation, not anonymous mean spirited attacks. I am taking back my power and standing up for my right to share openly and honestly what is happening in our lives, it's our blog after all.

Said blogger commented on my most recent post. It was posted to our site less than 30 minutes after I’d blogged. It was so scathing that Frank deleted it before he even let me read it. He does not usually protect me in this way, so I can only imagine what it said. (He is also much better at dismissing people who don’t share his perspective than I am. I’m softer than him in that respect, I dwell on things. It is who I am.)

Frank, gifted surfer of the web, was able to track the source of the post to the blog where I found myself quoted (out of context of our story) and ripped on. It is one thing to disagree in the context of a conversation, but it is mean spirited to “proof text” or take out of context (what so many Christians unfortunately do to prove their well intentioned however erroneous points) part of a story and pass judgment on a person’s character and profession.

Frank posted, with full disclosure of who he was, to this person’s site inviting him into conversation. S/he erased his comment quicker than s/he was erased by Frank on this site! Conversation halted by the one who seemed so eager to point out how wrong, selfish, mean, and hypocritical I am. Hmmm.

As a clergy women I have never claimed to be anything other than human, complete with all the complex issues that everyone faces. I’m not immune to selfishness*, nor pain. It is thought the grace of God that I work and strive to be in right relationship with God and neighbor. But, if you are anonymous, you, neighbor, prevent that relationship from ever having a chance.

So, all that is to say that we have no intention of engaging in fruitless battles where everyone ends up loosing, and thus we are limiting our comments section to those who will identify themselves in a way that can lead to conversation. That does not mean you have to agree with what we say, for everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but you have to have the balls, or in the TC world—the ball, to claim your ideas and the arrows you sling with them as your own, not some cowardly anonymous doofus.

*As an aside, I do not feel my/our desire to adopt an infant is selfish. I view those who have attempted the adoption process after not being able to conceive themselves as brave and courageous.

For most of the world, it doesn’t take much to make a baby, but if what you have doesn’t work, and if you desire to share and grow a life with your partner, and you have the means to do so—it is in some cases selfish not to.

The many layers of paperwork and questioning that couples go through to get to where we are is astounding. There is a “reasonable” reason for everything from personal financial records to a note from the vet saying that that household pet is up to date on shots. The reality remains that people whose “parts” work rarely if ever have to justify to the government that they are fit to be parents. To actively purse adoption means that you’ve overcome or are at least dealing with in a healthy way a lot of anger—at your body, at the system, etc.

Therefore the choice to enter this process is a very personal decision for each person or couple. From the adoptive parents' perspective, each has to determine the threshold of heartache, the willingness to lay your heart out, open to be able to accept a blessing or be prepared for it to be smashed into the ground. It is knowing that what ends up being “best” for the baby may be something other than what you thought it should be. It is about being “all in”, knowing that there may be pieces of your heart that will never be gathered up together again, and that is ok. I’ve heard it said that being a parent is like having your heart walking around outside of your body. For adoptive parents, that often begins years before their child is even conceived.

Additionally, I have GREAT respect for OUR birth mom. We would not be where we are or who we are with out her. She is doing something that I could never imagine doing. I may not always agree with her choices, but I respect that they are hers to make. Frank and I are doing everything with in our power (and within what the state law allows us to do) that we can to support her. Her time is close, she is, to quote her “so done with being pregnant.” We recognize that there are still things that could happen and this is not a “done deal” by any means. We just want to be parents. If she is carrying the child we are to parent, then it will all work out. If not, we’ll grieve what we'd hoped and longed for, regroup and move on. I have faith, I have hope that at some point, at some time we are to give a significant portion of our life to help someone grow into an amazing person.

We did get to see the baby blink, look around, and "breathe" on the ultra sound yesterday! Wasn't the 3D one though, the little stinker faced backward during that one last week. He's coming right along.

So much for trolls.

-the rev

P.S. As of the evening of February 28, the troll's website has been closed to nonregistered users.
Vinny

Prepare the Way

It's finally hit me: this season's time of busyness. And I've go a sore throat.

In preparing the way I've got the following to prepare:

• A Longest Night service tomorrow evening.
• A funeral on Saturday for a beautiful 92 year old who reminded me of my Grandma, esp. her beautiful white hair.
• Two services for Sunday
  

And while Sunday is Christmas Eve, it is not "eve" until after sun down and thus during the day it is the 4th Sunday of Advent. That means two different services--even though most folks will probably only be attending one or the other; why go to church twice on one day if you can have the convenient excuse of hosting "family". I fear some are using that excuse to stay away altogether, too bad, because when they do they are missed, more than that they really do miss out on the gift of grace that is given when the people of God gather....but I digress. Come see us defy the laws of physics while two things (4th Sunday of Advent and the celebration of Christmas Eve) occupy the same space at the same time on Sunday MORNING!

Following is a picture of the season that I wanted to share, to remind you and me that our preparation isn't all about us, nor is it about this crunch of time, but it is indeed timeless.

The Holy Family is always looking for shelter, a place to rest, a place to be to host the Christ child.

Claremont UMC has put the finishing touches on a provocative unconventional display on the church’s front lawn. Instead of the traditional wooden stable, hay bales, and illuminated plastic figures of Mary, Joseph and infant Jesus, a group of artists designed and built a life-size homeless encampment adjacent to Foothill Boulevard in Claremont. Visible from the street, the display features two figures huddled around a small cardboard shelter protecting an infant’s child seat. A neon sign illuminates the shelter containing the word “Love” in script. A neon star hovers over the scene, atop an eight-foot block wall on which the words “Peace on Earth” have been spray-painted. “People get so busy with ‘holiday events’ that it’s easy to forget for whom Jesus came,” commented Rev. Dr. Sharon Rhodes-Wickett, pastor. “We don’t want to keep Jesus as a sweet first century story, but rather as a 21st reality, who shakes us up and provokes us to act in behalf of justice and peace for all.” The display is illuminated at night and will continue through Christmas.

Merry Christmas everyone.
The Rev.

Rev. Unplugged

The United Methodist Church in Missouri is presenting a series of devotional podcasts during the Advent season (for you unsaved heathens, that's the four weeks preceding Christmas day). Every day a different pastor gives a short 2-3 minute message. The Rev. is on tap for today (December 6). Note that this file may have some issues - I had to crank up the volume to hear what she was saying.

Your browser doesn't support the EMBED tag, but you can still listen to The Rev.'s message by <a href="http://progressive.powerstream.net/002/00361/20061206_Evans.mp3">clicking here.</a>
Meanwhile, we're still dealing with the consequences of a 15-inch snowfall here in Mid-Missouri. Our fair city, for some reason, uses cinders from the municipal power plant, mixed with salt, to spread on the roads. Once the snow melts and evaporates, we'll be left with dingy streets reminiscent of a Charles Dickens novel until a good rain comes our way.

back home

After nursing our hearts, from VA to GA to MO, we are home.
We "re-enter" our respecitve worlds tomorrow morning.
I will hit the ground running with a 7am meeting. For those of you who know and love me, you know I don't do mornings often or easily.
I for one would like to have a stern talking to with the crazy woman who scheduled all the church meetings for the month of September. (Yes, that would be me.)
Thanks to all who have kept us in your hearts, it has helped.
The Rev.

NOLA Trip Pics

Unbelievable, originally uploaded by Thepreacherswife.

For those of you who are interested, here's a link to our NOLA mission trip photolog, via Flickr.

The Weather Outside

Yes, it is stupidly hot here this week. Temps over 100, with heat indices in the 110-115 range. It's also Vacation Bible School Week at the church, featuring an outdoor sand dune for "archeological digs". It looks a bit more like Death Valley than the Sinai, mainly because of some of the added "treasures": elephant femur, rhino skull, etc. Fortunately, no incidents of heat stroke thus far.

To add to the weather fun, Wednesday night St. Louis was pounded by intense storms that knocked out power all over the metro area. We got an early morning phone call from the Rev.'s parents:

"How much freezer space do you have?"

Apparently, their house will be without electricity for the next five days or so, and they have a treasure trove of frozen meat (that the Rev.'s mom bought off the back of a roving pickup truck, but that's another story) that needs a temporary home. So our freezer, and perhaps freezers at the church, will be filled up for a little while, and the in-laws will stay at the lake.

Meanwhile, we're going to the beach for vacation next week. My folks made an executive decision to switch from the Gulf Coast to the Atlantic Coast for a change of scenery (not to mention the fact that the Gulf Coast beaches have had to be replenished several times recently due to hurricane damage). We'll spend a week with the nieces and nephews (4 of whom are under a year old) then head back up to Atlanta where the Rev. will baptize the triplets.

No news on the adoption front lately, so we won't be adding any insanity (child-wise) to the beach mix this year.

Re-entry

We're back. Five days of mucking out flooded houses and two days of driving, followed by July 4th to help smooth our re-entry into normal life. How was your holiday?

The devastation in New Orleans has to be seen with your own eyes (and in some cases smelled with your own nostrils) in order to be fully appreciated. There's really no other way to explain it - it simply defies description, and we're talking 9 1/2 months after the storm/flooding. Nevertheless, we'll post pictures soon.

Despite the seriousness of our team's task, we generally had a good time. The hospitality was wonderful, and the people were grateful. We listened to a lot of survivor stories, ranging from minor inconvenience to personal tragedy. Friday's work day was the hardest from an emotional standpoint - we were cleaning out the personal possessions of a house that had at least 8 feet of water, and the house was basically untouched since the storm. It was a day we needed to remind ourselves that our work wasn't futile, that it would make a difference to someone. It was a starfish kind of day.

The conventional wisdom seems to be that the rebuilding process will take 15-20 years, so we'll have plenty of opportunities to return and offer more assistance. I'll be back.

Meanwhile, the world doesn't stop or even slow down. I have labs and a Dr. visit next Tuesday, and yesterday we learned of yet another person in our church who's been diagnosed with cancer. That makes five twelve (according to the Rev) in the last two years, if my counting is correct, in a church with an average attendance of 110 or so. No rest for the wicked.

A Titanic Task Ahead

Early Sunday morning, seven of us from our church will sojourn down the Mississippi to New Orleans to do some relief work through the United Methodist Church. The trip has been in the works for several months, but it seems like all of a sudden we've gone through a time warp and realized that it's just about time to go!

My official team member function will be that of sherpa and translator, in addition to helping out with the physical labor. Being a New Orleans expatriate, I've been watching with great frustration and sadness the plight of the city in the 10 months since Katrina made her presence known. It is a prime example of how the short attention span of the American sheeple works. The hurricane and her flood-causing aftermath made for great headlines until we all got bored and tired of the story. Life went on (for everybody not directly affected by Katrina, that is), and as long as nothing interrupted the broadcasts of "American Idol", we generally didn't bother to concern ourselves with what I really believe is history in the making.

As several bloggers from the city continue to point out on behalf of the decimated population, things are not OK in New Orleans. The city made headlines again briefly at the beginning of the week, when a quintuple murder prompted the mayor and governor to call in the cavalry. The National Guard was summoned to patrol abandoned neighborhoods so that the strained city police force could actually do some policing in the ares where people are actually living. And when I say living, I mean surviving from day-to-day. Life in the city for a large percentage of the population was a struggle before the storm, and obviously, things really haven't improved since.

The violence, however abhorrent it may be, isn't the real news here. The real news is that a major American city has experienced total devastation and for the most part, people don't care. According to a city population study done in January, only 14% of the pre-Katrina population has returned to flood-damaged areas. The New York Times reported the other day that suicide and depression are rampant and that more than half of the area's psychiatrists and other mental health workers are gone. The fire department is understaffed and underequipped, having to rely on Coast Guard helicopters to scoop waters from the nearby lakes and canals so that urban fires don't get out of control. Several locals have taken to calling the city "Debrisville" as mounds of trash from demolished homes sit in fetid piles waiting to be picked up.

Our group will in all likelihood be deconstructing a house somewhere so that it can be rehabilitated. Ten months after the storm, there are still thousands of houses with molded carpet and belongings, refrigerators filled with pre-Katrina groceries, and the occasional 10-month old dead body.

No, New Orleans is definitely not OK. Meanwhile, it seems like America has cut and run.

All this begs the question of why we (our mission group) are bothering to take part in an effort that has all the outward signs of rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. It took southern Florida more than a decade to recover from Hurricane Andrew; some would argue it still hasn't completely recovered. America has Katrina Fatigue and would rather throw in the towel on New Orleans rather than actually working to find solutions to poverty in the midst of plenty, because that would take too much effort.

Well, as as a famous musician (not a policeman) once said, "We're on a mission from God." It's part of our duty (as an alleged Christian nation) to care for the least of these, especially since we Wesleyan types believe that we need some works mixed in to make our faith truly come alive.

I'm excited and ready to go. I'll see old friends and hopefully make some new ones. We'll laugh, we'll cry, we'll listen. We'll work together to keep hope alive for those who need it.

See you in a week.

A Big Day

Today is a big day in the life of the church.
Yes it is a Thursday.
No it’s not some obscure holy day.
It is May 4, 2006.
What’s so special about Thursdays you ask?

Nothing in particular except on this date 50 years ago the Methodist Church (now the United Methodist Church) voted to officially ordain women. Girls like me. Some at that General Conference in Minneapolis 50 years ago acted very courageously, going against convention, tradition and culture to say that God indeed does call women to preach. Some were really upset, and they may contine to wonder why it’s taking so long for the church to get to hell in the hand-basket it wove that day….

And yet it's not like women hadn't been preaching. From the UMC.org website:

Clergywomen have been part of Methodism since John Wesley licensed Sarah Crosby to preach in 1761. Although women were ordained in the Methodist tradition as early as the late 1800s, it was the May 4, 1956 General Conference vote for full clergy rights that forever changed the face of ordained clergy. The effect was that any woman in full connection and in good standing would receive an appointment. Now, about 9,500, or one in five clergy, are women and 16 women are active bishops.

I’m proud to be in good standing and expecting no change in my appointment this year. My church and I are a good “fit” and I hope to be here for a long time.

A lot can happen in 50 years, but a lot can also stay the same. Just last week I was reminded that as a girl preacher I make folks uncomfortable:
A person attending the funeral that I conducted last week came up to me afterwards and said, “That was just beautiful, thank you so much.” Then her husband chimed in and said, “Yeah, you done a good job, but I still don’t know about women pastors.” What do you say? I smiled and said, “Well God must be working on you or I wouldn’t be here!” Perhaps a smart-alecky response, but sometimes I am glad that I can think on my feet like that.
What would you have said if someone just complimented the job you did but in the same moment some else doubted you could the job you just did because you are a girl?

I’ve been very blessed. I have not been the first woman pastor in any of the churches I have served. I follow in the footsteps of women who have taught churches that clergywomen are different in the same way that male pastors are different: we each have unique God given personalities and talents that hopefully God can put to use in the places we are appointed by our bishops.

I hope that as I continue in ministry that the path I am walking will make it easier for both the women and men who come after me.

For more informaiton about clergywomen, check out this month's issue of the UM's preacher's magazine called Circuit Rider.
The Rev.

One Year Later....

One year

365 days

(ok, minus a few hours)

Last year on this date, December 27, 2004 at 1:30pm I accompanied Frank on a visit to an urologist. We waited for a VERY LONG TIME in an office where we brought the average age down to oh, say about 65, and then we waited some more in an exam room where I began my education (from the posters on the wall in the exam room) on the male’s urology system and the different types of kidney stones one can have. Those posters are not suppose to scare you are they? Cause I never want to play with a set of jacks again.

Upon the entrance of the venerable Dr., our Frank “dropped trou” and said Dr. pronounced a diagnosis:

testicular cancer.

It was stunning, and not in the, "have you seen the latest fashion line, it’s stunning," sense of the word.

The afternoon Zombie like we wandered the halls of the hospital where Frank got to meet the nice ultra sound wand up close and personal. We also got to walk the results back to the Dr.’s office and INSISTED that he read them for us then and there. Yep, one was evil and diseased and the other, well, was just a dumb nut.

So began a journey that I never thought I’d take, never wanted to volunteer to take, but don’t begrudge that I had to take it because the reward was well worth the journey: Frank is still with all of us.

Thank you to each of you for having supported and walked with us this past year; it is a blessing to be able to know of the love and support that we have surrounding us.

Now, I just have to tell you about the most wonderful Christmas Day: Sunday, December 25, 2005.

Yes, we had church. AND we had decent attendance for a day when other churches thought it a good idea to be closed.

We, and by we I mean my mom (and a helpful cook in the church who had back up in case we needed more--we did!), made cinnamon rolls for everyone who came to church. Instead of Sunday School we had a fellowship time where everyone sugared up. It was delicious!

BUT the most amazing part was that everyone had been invited to bring a wrapped gift for baby Jesus; something that could be part of a baby layette kit or a baby bundle (page #14) for missions.

The manger was overflowing with gifts!

I tried to share a meaningful children’s sermon trying to equate how hard it is for us to talk to ants vs. how hard it is for God to talk to us and that is why he sent Jesus—I even had glow in the dark bugs for the kids to have—but mostly they were amazed that I’d even consider talking to ant, b/c it would bite you, especially the red ones, and when I tried to say we were kind of like ants, one young one said, I don’t want to be an ant, I’d get squashed by somebody’s thumb!

Admitting defeat (or at least recognizing that the cinnamon rolls and candy before church were working their sugary magic) I thought it best to move on to the presents.

There were enough gifts for baby Jesus each child to open 2 or three. They tore into them and were excited that baby Jesus was going to give them to other babies who needed them. Then they started showing me what they were unwrapping and I appropriately express astonishment and wonder at each thing presented to me.

“Ohh diapers!”

“Wow a sleeper!”

“Look oneises!”

“What a soft blanket!” (A sweet 4 year old wanted to keep the flufy pink one for herself--it was very soft and very pink, and she did ask very nicely. She is also the one who almost had a sit-in in my office because I wouldn't let her take one of the lady bug stones I have in a fountain in my office; I've since learned that she has given tours of my office to her grandparents to show them the lady bugs. *grin* Oh, I did not let her have the blanket either.)

At some point there were more hands showing me things than I could keep up with and they gleefully started piling all the gifts on top of me. Giggling. While I was still trying to share/tell what all the gifts were for the benefit of those not up front with us. Thank God the worship leader came to my rescue and helped usher the kids in the direction of putting the unwrapped gifts back into the manger. Meanwhile, one 1^st grade boy began picking up the paper saying, “I'm the trash monster, err, err, err!" Then 5 seconds later, as he contined efficiently picking up the paper, "I CAN'T believe I'm picking up the trash!"

Then some of the children then went to "Children’s Church" where they set up a birthday party, complete with cake for us to share after the worship service.

One child decided that she didn't want to go back to sit with her mom and grandparents so she stayed up front with me through a hymn and the prayer time until her grandpa came and fetched her. She was very well behaved and cuddled on my lap during the singing of Angels We Have Heard on High.

So to recap:
We fed everyone wonderful sugary home made cinnamon rolls before church.
Had a gift opening frenzy.
And then fed them birthday cake before we sent them home.

Later my sister remarked the only thing I didn’t do to jazz the kids up before sending them home was to give each one of them a puppy!

:-))

IT WAS AWESOME!

I hope to have some pictures to share with you soon from our church photographer.

I hope each of you had a very Merry Christmas too!

Peace,
The Rev

The Longest Night is Over; Watch for the Light!

Last night I held a Longest Night Service at my church. December 21, the winter solstice, more hours of darkness than any other night of the year.

I did my 1^st one last year as a response to the heaviness and grief I was experiencing with the weight of all that had happened in the life of my church. Before any of the **** hit the fan with Frank I was exhausted. I remember lounging in my PJs on December 25 grateful that at least on this one day I could rest.

In 2004 in addition to the normal day to day things in the life of a church, from August through December I conducted a number of funerals that were painful and emotionally draining. I do not begrudge the job, it was an honor to walk with each person as they faced their grief; but because I was tired – and probably not acting out of my best self at all times – I too was in a state of grief and shock along with them. The December weather was also particularly dark and dreary, that coupled with the red and green commercialism found at every street corner wore on me. I had no motivation to do anything than what was necessary.

Darkness surrounded me.

In other words *I* needed to find hope and thought that it was a journey that others needed to be invited along on too. It was not enough to be present in church to watch the Advent wreath gain a candle each Sunday in Advent. I *was* watching for the light, but even for me, it can be hard to see the light for all the darkness that surrounds us.

So, a Longest Night Service. I first heard of it when a dear departed friend, Sara Fleming, conducted one at my parent’s home church. It is a service geared toward those who are seeking peace and calm in the midst of all the hustle/bustle/ho ho ho ness of this season. Particular attention is paid to those for who have experienced a loss of any kind. Perhaps this is the 1^st year without a loved one, or the 10^th and every year is difficult because of the grief that precious memories can stir in one’s hear.

For all that has happened to us personally in the past 12 months I am a bit surprised that I can say that I am in a much better place this year than last. I am enjoying listening to holiday music and a bit put-out that the radio stations I listen to are not playing more of it this week.

I'll admit I am a bit melancholy as we begin to recount the “on this day last year we found out ____ about Frank” but know too that I have always been prone to reflection about where I’ve been and where I’m going. It's part of being me. As for where we are going…I am wondering what wild and crazy thing we can do to mark the year anniversary of Frank’s diagnosis…we’ll see.

But I digress….For me things are different this year. I’m not waxing for things that I did in the past:

I gave my self permission to NOT put up a Christmas tree. We – I ;-)– hadn’t for two years and I’d felt bad about it – up to this year. I made a conscious choice to enjoy what others were able to do and not worry about being able to keep up with them; a girls gotta sleep ya know.

I set out a simple advent wreath at home. I light it on the Sunday afternoons that I remember (I’ve had a bad cold all December and the cold meds have made me a bit loopy), if I forget, oh well, it is not a reason to kick myself. Seriously. None of this "I wish I could have at least remembered to do that!" stuff.

AND I have also given myself permission to not worry about sending out a Christmas letter, or even and Epiphany letter (January 6, some pastors I know who in their busy-ness don’t get a Christmas letter out, opt for getting them out on the day the wise men arrived, the 12^th day of Christmas or Epiphany), we will continue to blog and keep you, our friends, family and others in this journey of life with and after cancer informed.

Perhaps it is a new / different perspective? Is it having walked through the ambiguity of disease? Is it b/c I have finally gotten to a place of maturity where I really am able to let things go and just be to be? Maybe I am beginning to be able to prioritize that which is truly important and do that which makes my heart sing. (What I encouraged each of you to do.)

Following is the poem that graced the cover of our service bulletin. It is my prayer for each of you.

The Christmas Spirit
Is that hope
Which tenaciously clings
To the hearts of the faithful
And announces
In the face
Of any Herod the world can produce
And all the inn doors slammed in our faces
And all the dark nights of our souls
That with God
All things are possible,
That even now
Unto us
A child is born!

Grace and Peace to each of you this Christmas.

-The Rev.

Hitting the Big Time

Well, this is the break we've been waiting for. I am pleased to announce that the state newspaper for United Methodists did a two-page article on blogs, and The Rev and I got our own half-page sidebar on our blogging contribution. Woo-hoo!

Man, the visitors should start pouring in anytime now!

Anytime now...

Seriously, I will be watching the stats over the next week or so to see if there is any appreciable increase, but I can't imagine there are that many net-savvy Methodists who 1) read this paper and 2) are interested enought to take a look. The average circulation of the bi-weekly is 6,000 (out of a claimed total church membership of 176,000) and it goes primarily to pastors and local church leaders. Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.

For those of you interested in reading, here's that issue of the conference newspaper. The blog story is on the front page; our story is on page 6A.

Definitely not a PETA-approved VBS!

"Geoffrey" looking over the sacntuary.

Yes, that is a real giraffe head and neck. 

VBS registration tables 

Vacation Good -- VBS Wild

Our beach vacation was good, not long enough (what vacation ever really is?,) but good.

One our way down we entered (unbeknownst to us) the airport triathlon: KC to Dallas, Dallas to not the beach but Houston, Houston to Destin, on a different airline altogether. Four differnt airports, three different flights, two different airlines, none of which corresponded to the tickets we purchased. At least we got there. Boy did we need to be there once we got there; it took two days just to relax from that!

And btw: Houston (International, aka George Bush) is not an airport I recommend flying into/out of/or through. Hot, really hot, and VERY POOR signage, not to mention that in transferring to a different airline meant having to go down two floors, back up two floors in a different part of the airport and then through security again. It may be hard to imagine, but I was, at the end of the day, actually happy Frank insisted that I not check any luggage.

The beach was good, family time was excellent. Our four year old niece is well into being a little girl and is quite the conversationalist. She is also drop dead cute when her hair is in pig-tails and she twirls her hair as she is asking you a question. And our 10 month old nephew is very mobile and had just discovered he can open and close doors. He crawled his way down the hall following the sound of his sister’s voice as she talked to me. And he is wild about balls. He can already (with both hands) throw a ball about 4 feet w/ good aim. Aren’t kids amazing?

Tropical Strom Cindy curtailed our outdoor activities on Wednesday, but my niece and I did arts and crafts all morning. I’m really glad that ink will eventually wear off and that her mom is laid back enough to not worry that I made her daughter’s hand dark purple…it did wash to a nice shade of pink, which is my niece’s favorite color. The sustained winds on the eastern side of the storm were strong and long lasting; I thought the windows would never stop whistling.

Thursday Frank got kissed by a sea lion at Gulf World. It was the highlight of his day. (natch)

Friday morning was a beautiful picture perfect Gulf of Mexico beach day. The waves, which had up until that day been huge w/ a strong riptide, were just lapping up to the shore. It was wonderful just hanging out in the water. And that would also be the day that I was least diligent in putting on sunscreen. The strips of burn are beginning to itch; I can’t wait for them to peel! Foil by Blistex is a great product to put on a sunburn.

Long story short we didn’t find out about the hurricane Dennis mandatory visitor evacuation declared at Noon on Friday until after we’d decided to leave Friday night at 8pm, a night early and drive through the night with the family back to Atlanta. That meant that Frank and I got to change our flight from Destin to KC (through Dallas, thank God not Houston) to Atlanta to St. Louis. A big thank you to my parents who picked us up at the St. Louis airport and drove us home on Saturday. I went to bed at 7 pm Saturday night and slept hard for 12 hours. Another thanks goes to my sister who turned around on Sunday afternoon and helped us get our car parked in the KC long term parking back home.

This week is Vacation Bible School, in the evenings. It is another busy year with over 75 kids in attendance! I serve a really neat church, people are very generous and this week is no exception. The church is elaborately decorated for our Serengeti Trek, lots of live green plants from a local garden center and from a member’s personal collection: animals from Africa: we have a giraffe in the sanctuary, neck up, it’s taller than the cross. Frank will take pictures b/c I know some of you will just not believe it unless you see it. Other animals lurking about: a zebra, an antelope, a warthog, a baboon. I can’t wait until Sunday when we celebrate VBS in worship!

This Saturday we send our Senior High Sunday School Class off on a mission trip and then Frank and I’ll head for a family gathering on the western side of the state.

Monday finds us traveling back to Indy for Frank’s post surgery check up w/ Dr. Foster and also an appointment w/ Dr. Einhorn. I think Dr. E likes to meet w/ TC patients who come through IU even if he’s not been directly involved in their care. Heck if it weren’t for him finding the BEP one-two punch of chemotherapy many men would not be alive today. I would like to shake the man’s hand, perhaps even prostrate myself at his feet to say thank you. And like all good research drs. my guess is that he wants to see what Frank’s experience was and since Frank’s tumor tissue now part of the IU research library on TC, perhaps they want find out if they could tweak treatment and or find a way to help prevention efforts.

It feels weird talking about it though. I guess that means that it is no longer occupying my every other thought. This is a good thing. It’s still a part of who we are, where we’ve been, but I am so DONE with it. I’m ready to have Frank back at 100% (he’s getting there) and for us to move on and live our lives. Here’s to the new normal!

And remember how stressed I was over him losing his hair? He’s decided to keep it short and had his 1^st hair cut since chemo yesterday!

From the wilds of Mid-Missouri, I hope all are doing well.

Peace,

The Rev.