Learning to Be Loved

Last night, I was part of a wonderful conversation about vocational discernment, led by Grant Swanson of Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary. Now, honestly, I'm at a point where I can really get into talking about vocational discernment because I am at a good place right now. Working in campus ministry has been a goal for a long time and, while I am certainly by no means perfect at what I do, I feel like I am in a place where God has been calling me to be for a long time. It is amazing to feel this way! For years, though, I knew the frustration and pain of feeling like I kind of knew where God wanted me to be, but I didn't have any idea how I would ever get there. Suffice it to say, I know the joy and trial that vocational discernment can be!

We worked on 4 different questions during this conversation, and the first one was to determine a 6-word personal mission statement. If you know much about me, you know that I have a B.A. and an M.A. in English, and that I rarely ever say things in as few words as possible! Telling the "short version" of a story is a pretty foreign concept to me! How can I say anything in only 6 words???? Well, I did, though. I did what I was told to do (because I am also a rule follower), and this is what I came up with: "Learning to be loved by God." It seems kind of incomplete--because 6 words is not a lot of words!--but it is also a truth that I've been working on for some time. It probably sounds weird: how does someone learn to be loved by someone else?? It seems kind of like a basic recognition that I am missing: why can't this person who espouses God's love for all people just know that she is also loved by God? Well, I'd rather not get into all of the answers to that question right now. If you read very far down this blog, you'll probably find some answers. What I want to say is that I think this has always been one of my greatest challenges, and right now, when everything has been turned upside-down, it's even more essential. I cannot do everything I would normally do. There are days I feel like I am failing at both paid jobs I have and all the other "jobs" I try to do on a daily basis right now. And when I get that way, everything feels like it's going to fall apart and maybe I am just a waste of space. So, from here on out, now that I have identified this mission statement, I'm going to pursue it with all I am. I may never be perfect at anything, but maybe I can stop trying for that and start living more like I'm loved. After all, learning how deeply one is loved loved may just be a key to learning to love others more deeply.

Looking for Hope

One of the most difficult parts of this pandemic for me is the prohibition against being with other people. While I am so thankful that I have a home and a family and jobs that allow me to work from home, I miss being able to gather with other people for worship and socialization. (Even though I'm an introvert, I do enjoy being with other people sometimes!!) I highly value community, and I am missing that a lot. Online meetings are good, and the best we can do right now, but I miss being in the physical presence of others.

But there's something going on that makes me feel better and reminds me that community still happens, even if it doesn't look like what I'm used to. I have no idea where this started, but I am loving the hearts that people are putting up in their windows. It makes me feel like we might all be connected, even from our own separate spaces. Even though I don't know the people who live in these houses, I am thankful that they would tape up paper hearts in their windows, that they would reach out to the rest of the world in this little way. It gives me hope. It makes me feel like we are together, even though we're apart right now.

How are you finding hope right now?

Not Alone

Though I hadn't seen a soul on the whole of my morning walk, I suddenly realized I was not alone. As I neared the stretch of road that borders a creek, I saw the flick of white tails and sudden motion moving away from me. My arrival had startled some deer lurking along the creek, hidden from my view by their coloring and the naked, early spring trees. I tried to take a picture of them with my cell phone, but they moved off too quickly, into the denser growth.

Though I thought they had moved on for good, I saw them again just a little while later. They had moved down the creek a ways, then up into someone's backyard. There were three of them, and they weren’t too far off. I realized that even when I thought they'd gone, the deer had still been pretty close the whole time. When I noticed they had appeared again, I thought to myself, maybe that's what God is like—Father, Son, Holy Spirit—right here, nearby. Maybe I don’t have to focus on all the seeking for God that I’ve been doing—like looking for unicorns.

I know we're taught to seek God. I've done a lot of learning and a lot of teaching others how to seek God: how to enter the presence of the Holy with intention, how to read the scriptures and listen for the Spirit's calling, how to attend to Jesus' presence in worship, fellowship, and everyday life. It seems like a reasonable thing for a pastor to do.

In fact, for a number of years, churches have developed worship services focused on people they call “seekers.” It became a thing to try to be the place that offered exactly what people were looking for, whatever that may be. Pastors and other leaders focused on offering answers for these seekers. It seemed like faith became based on our own efforts to understand God, and the church a place that made it as easy as possible to get to that understanding. Worship services and other events were scrutinized under the lens of “does it make sense to the seekers,” always referring to a certain group of people, usually those who had little exposure to the church as children or youth, and who weren’t very familiar with “traditional church.”

Of course, this is not the genesis of the whole idea of seeking. Scripture does tell us to seek God; how else will we learn what it means to be faithful and how it looks to live righteously? Jesus even says, “Seek first God’s kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” There is certainly room for seeking in the Christian life—and not just for those who don’t know “what it’s all about” already, or who haven’t been involved in church that long. We’re all called to be seek God faithfully.

Sometimes, however, I think we try to make a spiritual life entirely out of the seeking, when it's just as true that we need to understand in the depths of our souls that we have been found, already. While what we do does matter, the whole thing isn’t up to us. Even when we feel all alone, like we’re not finding what we’re searching for, God is there—maybe camouflaged by the brown-gray trees we're in the midst of, maybe standing in plain sight, just not where our distracted eyes are looking at the moment: a deer, not a unicorn—with us, in the common things. We're not alone.

Yes, seeking God may be important, but the joy and hope of the Christian faith is that God is seeking us all the time. As "A New Creed" says, "In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God."*

*"A New Creed." United Church of Canada, 1968 (rev. 1980, 1995))

Finding Joy (day 1)

Today, I am finding joy in tulips. I first noticed them blooming a lot on Easter Sunday, as I took my morning walk. I was reveling in the sight of plastic Easter eggs on people's lawns, patiently waiting for little ones to awaken and go looting for Easter treasure, when something else caught my eye. At first, I thought it was more Easter eggs, then I realized it was a large stand of vibrant, colorful tulips in a yard. I am thrilled that more than a week later, they are still standing strong, joined by more friends, brightening the cool spring days.

Where are you finding joy today?

Seminary May Have Saved My Life

I arrived at Duke Divinity School to begin my M. Div. degree in August 2006. To say that moving 300+ miles to start a degree program may have saved my life sounds a little dramatic, I realize. It may be true, though.

I was in a pre-orientation program at Duke, and I remember that as we introduced ourselves on the first day, we were supposed to share one fact that no one in the room would know about us. My fact was that I was supposed to have been married about 3 weeks earlier. As I shared that, I realized I wasn't exactly devastated that I hadn't gotten married...but it did feel like an odd place to be, to say the least.

To be honest, I had tried to end that relationship months earlier and had come to the conclusion that it would have to wait until I moved away from the guy who wouldn't leave me alone. Ultimately, I was right. The relationship was on its last leg when I moved and 2 months apart ended it definitively--from my perspective, at least. Thankfully, I had made friends at Duke who talked me through the immediate emotional fallout of what I had been through, convincing me that I was not, in fact, damaged and undesirable beyond repair. Thankfully, when I started having a lot of anger about what had happened to me, Duke had a good counseling center for students and I got the help I needed. Thankfully, it just so happens that I had met this other guy who actually showed me how I should be treated (I married him instead, a while later). And perhaps best of all, I was, in fact, 300+ miles away from the man whose words and actions had chipped away at my boundaries and created deep fissures in my emotional stability and my self-esteem, for over a year...and I was safe. He had never been physically violent, but you never know what abusive words might eventually lead to.

What's the point of all this? Well, it's all to say that I didn't stay in the abusive relationship I found myself in because I already had a plan to be going somewhere else, far away from where that relationship started, and by the time I met him, not even he could deter the path I was on. I was lucky. I got out because I had a place to go and I could get there, and I had the means to survive without him. Going to seminary was the ticket I needed to get out of an abusive relationship.

Now, I don't wake up every morning and think about the fact that I survived intimate partner abuse; after 13 years, there are plenty of more important things that take up the space in my brain. I read some articles recently that made me think more of that "why doesn't she leave?" question people looking in from the outside of abusive relationships often ask, and I cannot stress enough (along with the writers of those articles) how misled that question is. She (or he or they) doesn't leave for a million different reasons, many of which those on the outside of the abusive relationship would not understand or consider valid. It doesn't have to do with intelligence or education. It's not because she's a glutton for punishment. It's not because she doesn't mind the abuse. Abuse steals everything--self-esteem, self-sufficiency, self-confidence, healthy boundaries, a sense of identity separate from the abuser, relationships with people other than the abuser, and in many cases, the physical means for leaving. The reasons "why" abound...but they also don't really matter!

So, don't wonder about why people "let" themselves be abused. Don't imagine you know better. Don't think you're smarter or worth more. Just don't. Sure, she has her flaws, but being abused is not just "her fault." There's much more to it. This Domestic Violence Awareness Month, if you want to help, donate to a shelter--be sure to ask what they need, instead of assuming you know. Listen to someone's story and don't give advice, as though you know better. Take a stand and refuse to let your church or religion or other beliefs be the reason that someone is held captive in an abusive relationship (hint: lots of Christians use supposed biblical precedent to tell women, especially, not to leave abusive partners). Quit asking the wrong question. Practice compassion and unconditional love. That's really hard to do, but I think it's always worth the effort. I mean, it's what Jesus did...

Seminary may have saved my life. Many women and children and men won't be able to say that. And it's not their fault. You could help save their lives.

Celebrating an anniversary!

Today is an anniversary for me! It's not the one I usually think about this time of year, though (that one is 2 days from now, and, as has been the case more often than not, Brock and I will again be apart on our wedding anniversary...welcome to life in ministry!).

Nope, I am thinking in these late hours of June 12th about another anniversary in my life. Eight years ago today I was ordained an Elder in full connection in The United Methodist Church. It was Pentecost Sunday. It was awesome.

I never meant to become a pastor, though. I only did it after a few years of resistance to the call and because I could no longer do anything else.

I serve in a church that is a human institution, broken in many ways. I have hope for the future of that church, and I have hurt for so much that is going on within it. Some folks think I am wrong for some things I believe. Terms like unorthodox, heretical, disobedient, and even rebelling against God get put out there when people who disagree with me talk about people like me--someone who believes in the full inclusion of members of the LGBTQIA+ community in the life and leadership of the church. In 10 years under appointment, I have been called these things and so many worse things, all by people IN the church. I don't wonder why so many people my age and younger stay away from the church. There are times I have only gone to church because I had promised to keep showing up...because I was the pastor.

God has never stopped showing up, though. The Holy Spirit hasn't quit breathing into the broken fragments of all our lives. The disturbing and disruptive winds of Pentecost still blow. I have trouble believing that the Holy Spirit works things out by 53% to 47% votes. I have trouble believing that the Holy Spirit condemns young people, like several of my students, whose faith bears fruit far beyond their years, just because of whom they are attracted to. I'm not comfortable with a lot of things about my church right now...but I imagine that may just be where the Holy Spirit needs me (and all of us?) to be, for the winds to blow some more.

So, I guess I'll wait and see what happens next. And I will trust in God's grace to lead me, like I did 8 years ago on Pentecost...like I did 2 years before that, when I was commissioned and started serving my first 2 little country churches...like I did 6 years before that when I said to my campus minister, "Um...what do I need to do if I think maybe God is calling me into ordained ministry?"...like I did when I was 13 years old and my pastor asked me to decide if I was ready to be confirmed...

The Holy Spirit sure does get in there and mess things up, sometimes. Tonight, I am thankful for that, as scary and uncertain and wonderful and awesome as it is. So here's to 8 or 10 or 30 more years, trying to follow where you're blowing, Holy Spirit. I sure am tired, and I have no idea where this thing is going, but if you're in it, I want to be in it, too. Come, Holy Spirit. Amen.

Everybody Wants to Feel Special Sometimes

We moved a while back, which meant we left behind a number of people we had gotten to know and appreciate, and one of those was our pediatrician. Dr. Landon had seen us through a lot with both of our munchkins. He was very kind and very thorough, and he always acted happy to see us. He told jokes, which was not necessarily my favorite part of visits with him, but it was unique, at least. A visit with Dr. Landon left me feeling like he knew my kids and me and cared about us. Upon mentioning this to a friend who was also a doctor, she noted that he probably said these same things to all of his patients, that he likely treated everyone the same. This revelation left me in a quandary. It feels good to feel special. Thinking that Dr. Landon had a special interest in our family, or some kind of special connection with us, felt good.

I've been reflecting on that desire we have to feel special to people recently. I remember a long plane ride next to some guy from England, whom I thought might ignore me the whole time. When he finally did talk to me, we learned a little bit about each other. We exchanged email addresses. I wrote him a few times after that. For whatever reason, I couldn't abide the thought that he didn't have any interest in knowing who I was. Maybe it was my own issues that caused me to want that human connection, but I think there's a place in all of us that wants people to think we're unique, special, someone they need in their life--someone they should inherently be interested in.

I've thought also about a time when I did something hurtful to a friend of mine. Eventually, in remorse, I apologized. I confessed feeling like a terrible friend and not a very good person. His response was something along the lines of, "We're all terrible people. That's why we need God's grace." Those were not exactly the words I was expecting, though, considering that he was in seminary at the time and eventually became a Lutheran pastor, they seem pretty on point for him.

So many things we do make us feel not very special. It's a lot easier to feel like a real screw-up than to feel special. Maybe that's why we like it when we do feel special, and why, all to often, we make it to mean more than it does. After all, don't we practically pay people to make us feel special? Don't we like it when a server at a restaurant makes us feel like we're the best customer they've had all day? Don't we expect people in "helping" professions--doctors, teachers, pastors, social workers, etc.--to act kindly and make us feel good or better about ourselves, in some way? Yes, we have so many ways that we can feel unique, so many connections we make with others that feel special, whether they really are, or not.

What is it about us that makes us want to be told we are good people? We want to feel special...but the truth is, we're kind of a lot like everyone else. I think that's the conundrum of faith, in some ways. Knowing God has the effect of making us feel both special and minuscule at the same time. If God made all the things, then what would make me think I am a special thing among all of those? The universe sure is big. I sure am small, compared to it. But then, that's why scripture is more than just one story about God, more than the creation of all things. Scripture tells us that God is far away...but also near. We are each part of a creation whose breadth and depth we can't ever understand. AND we are beloved by the God who created all of that. We are each so special...just like everyone else.

Huh? Yeah, that's the thing about God, right? How can God love all the things so much? How can God make each and every one of us feel so special? Maybe that's one of those questions to save up for heaven. Until then, maybe it's better to think a lot about how much God loves us each, how special we all are to God, and then try really hard to remember that all of that applies to everyone else, too. That sounds like enough work to keep me busy for a while...