To Whom it May Concern: Old Guy and New Guy
For some reason, which I am unsure of at the moment, the Methodist church likes to play a little game each spring called shuffle the minister. They take churches which are perfectly happy with their ministers and yank said minister away, then shove them into a new church to “spread their gifts” or some other such jazz. This usually happens to really good ministers about every seven years. It has been year number seven for the current minister at the best little pink church ever.
Dear Old Guy:
I mean this old in the most respectful of ways. Old like my favorite pair of flip flops–perfectly broken in but with a another few summers left in them. Confession? When I first met you I was a little unsure I liked you. You seemed perfectly nice, but I was not convinced that you were good enough for the best church ever. It did not take long for me to decide that you were exactly what the little pink church needed. You held our hands through the growing pains of change. You taught us how to reconstruct ourselves into a church that faces out instead of in, while still staying grounded in prayer. You taught me that being unsure is okay, that is when faith takes over. We can never thank you enough for sharing your gifts with us.
I know you said we will not stop being friends, but it will be different, your focus will change, and so will ours…I guess that is the point of relocations, it causes all of us to grow. Your new church has no idea what a good thing they have coming. We shall miss you, and your sweet family, and you will remain in our prayers …the prayers that are more confident than ever because of your teaching.
Sincerely,
Hey You ForgiveMeForHavingSomeoneElseDoOurWedding-Huckablog
Dear New Guy:
I just compared my favorite ever pastor to a pair of flip-flops. Comfortable, goes with everything, well loved flip flops. We have not yet met, but I have heard nothing but good things about you and Central (the parental hand holding during the sermon? Genius!). Just for the record—I often order shoes online which I have never seen in person, and have found my favorites that way.
It is kind of exciting isn’t it? Kind of like that nervous little thrill you have before your plane goes into the air on a new adventure. I always have liked a good adventure; I never would have discovered my love for Sashimi if not a little open to new things.
I hope we like you, that we come to love you like we do the old guy, but I also hope you like us. What if you don’t? What if the idea of a two-year old who sits in the second pew and has been known to talk through prayers makes you break into a cold sweat and lose your place? What if you look around our sweet and charming church and find it dated and unwelcoming? What if you just see an un-built playground and unsuccessful projects and don’t see all of the things that we have accomplished? What if you think having perfect music is more important than the sincerity of the musicians’ hearts? What if—just what if? Oh, what if you think that people who worry about everything have no faith?
Do you really believe that the conference knows what it is doing? Do you have faith that God is bringing you to our little pink church for a reason? I do. Really, I do. I am praying and praying for even more certainty in that answer.
Welcome, I look forward to having a second pew seat for this new adventure. I will be the one holding the wiggly two year old wearing yellow rain boots.
Sincerely,
Hey You 5th Generation Methodist-Huckablog
Filed under To Whom it May Concern, faith, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (4)Parched.
I have two half written posts about cute things The Son has done and adorable pictures to illustrate them. Every time I sit down to finish writing one…something keeps popping up in my head. Every time I have any quiet time, something keeps nagging me. Maybe if I tell you about it, maybe if I get it out somewhere besides just my brain, maybe then I can be okay with the knowledge that I do not think there is anything I can do.
Have a couple of pictures of my darling son for those of you who could care less about the inner working of my brain. Check back in a day or so and I will have a charming anecdote for you.
When I was about five or six years old we lived a small town in a poverty stricken state. While we were by no means wealthy, in that particular poor town we were considered to be part of the upper class. I was just old enough to understand why not many of my friends had the same things I did. Around this same time I started sitting down and watching the news with my dad when he came home from work. I saw pictures like this night after night that would stay even when I squeezed my eyes shut.
(photo credit here) Scroll back up and look at those pictures of The Son again. These two children are the same age.
One afternoon before dinner I asked my mom for an empty jar. I colored a little label for it that read ” Money for hungry children in Africa.” (only I am certain at least half of the words were misspelled) and demanded that everybody start putting their spare change in my jar every night before we ate. That lasted three days tops. I seem to remember my mom telling me to dump the whole jar in the offering plate at church and that God would make sure the money went where He wanted it to be. I was a small child. I forgot my new found passion and went back to only caring about a new cabbage patch doll or learning to ride a two wheeler.
Then I was thirteen. I was competing in a Social Science fair and had picked a topic way, way to big to be covered by a seventh grader. In the course of my research I started learning about what happens to children and women during times of civil war. One night I sat in the public library waiting to be picked up by my Dad. I was reading a National Geographic that had been decaying in the periodical section for longer than I had been aware of where Africa was. I read horrified but unable to put down an article about a girl, the same age that I was then who was pregnant, a product of rape by a militant out to destroy more than her village, out to destroy their pride. Her child would be born, and then die because of lack of medical care, and because the mother did not have the support of her formothers, she had no idea how to nurse her child. I was a selfish teenager. I went back to reading Sweet Valley High after I had placed highly in the State level of competition.
I was eighteen, I was alone in my dorm room, my roommate was home for the weekend, I had not really made any friends yet, and I was kind of afraid because of this still. An infomercial for Feed the Children was showing on repeat on a local station. I watched it over and over, crying and feeling helpless for those children, for myself, for the entire world. I took out my new Discover card, hot out of its envelope, and gave a one time gift of 200$. I told myself that I would do that every few months with money earned from my part time job at Sears. I never did it again. I made friends. I hung out and watched Monty Python, and went to get free makeovers at the mall.
I was nineteen, and then twenty. I spent my spring break for two years building houses and doing basic medical care for the families that were subsisting and living on the town garbage dump in a Mexican border town. I swore I would be back, that I would never forget them, that I would do everything I could. I never went back. Never did anything more than offer them up in the occasional prayer. I went back to my studies, my new “important” job.
I was twenty-one. I had a professor who had spent years in the peace corp. He was passionate about educating American young people so that they in turn would pass on their wealth of money and knowledge to people in developing nations. He told me once that he was teaching me to fish, and that I was meant to teach others. I signed up for Graduate School that very day. A major in political science, international relations emphasis, specializing in women and children in Africa. I would graduate, go into the Peace corp, help people and live on nothing, give it all back to the people who had less then nothing. I fell in love. My sure fire ticket into the peace corp was not re-elected. I decided that I could go be a missionary eventually, someday. But for now I need a HOUSE! A NEW CAR! A BIG ENGAGEMENT RING! I went to work to make money…not a difference.
I was twenty-six. I cried whenever I saw my child drinking thirstily at my breast. I read and researched all of the information I could get my hands on about donating healthy breast milk to AIDS orphans in Africa. I pumped and pumped and pumped, the freezer FULL. I could help and still be a good mom! I could save lives with what God had given me! I…..had a drop in my milk supply. I gave every ounce intended for AIDS orphans to my own child.
I am twenty-nine. I stay home with my son and pretty much have zero money that has not been earned by my husband. I spent my disposable income for the next long while on a fancy new camera. I have not pumped in months, and doubt I would have enough milk to bank. I have dropped out of my bible study, I go to Sunday School more to catch up with my friends than to quench my soul. My thirsty heart has not been able to sit through a sermon in months because I need to parent this banshee that thinks church is the perfect time to run around. I keep thinking. I keep searching, I keep praying, I keep needing…something. Something more. I want to grow, I hate feeling stunted, hate feeling useless in the grand scheme of the world. I know that The Son is worth putting my time and energy and resources into…but aren’t all children? Why is he so blessed and others…is cursed the right word?
God, make me sated, make me fulfilled, make me fruitful. Use me, use me and yet let me take care of my family. Is it possible? Am I really supposed to only care about my child? Do I just wait to care about anybody else? Do I sell all my possessions and give them to the poor? Do I take more Lexapro and not worry about anything? Amen, I guess.
Filed under faith, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (5)I only had the one.
I only have one Ash Wednesday story and I told it to you last year. Go read it again, it is one of my favorite all time posts.
What are you doing for Lent this year?
I am giving up celebrity gossip (so don’t talk to me about who all got divorced and knocked-up, and please save the Peoples and US Weeklys until Easter), I am also trying to cook dinner for my family at least four times a week. The Husband is giving up fried foods and is going to try not to sigh exasperatedly at his family. The Son is giving up Pull-Ups except at nap time. And bed time. And when we are in public. And if there are guests at the house. Basically he is going to take it slow.
The Son was super proud of his “Jesus dirt on my head”
He pointed out mine and The Husband’s every five minutes. “Mama! Daddy! Bruder Bill put it on your head too!”
He brushed his away when he played with his hair, can you see his cross there a little? Anyway, We hope you have a prayerful Lent.
update: “Hey You, what the heck is ash wednesday?” Ooops. My bad. Read about it here! and Lent here!
Filed under faith | Comment (1)Nativity Naivety
Shoeshe has been doing a series of bizarre Nativity scenes over at her blog, and I wanted to throw some that I like, not this, into the mix.
For the last few years I have been collecting Fontanini nativity pieces. I know it looks a little funny now, but in a few years this will be gorgeous. I have my fingers crossed that Santa is going to put a shepherd in my stocking this year. In case you were wondering where baby Jesus is, he does not appear until Christmas morning.
The Fontanini is very appealing to The Son, he kept pushing a chair over to the china cabinet and climbing up so he could play with “Baby Jesus Mama and Daddy!” To curtail this, I found this Fisher Price Little People set at Wal-Mart, if you push the angel it plays “Away in a Manger”. It my be inaccurate and cheesy, but he loves it, it has gotten him to talk about Jesus, and he has been leaving my Fontanini alone. Win-Win-Win.
Speaking of inaccurate Nativities, here is our church’s children’s Christmas Program. The Son started to cry when he realized I was not in the entryway of the church with him right before he was to walk in. He came straight to me, and sat in my lap refusing to sit with the other wise men. At the very end he grabbed the microphone to sing the last song, “Joy to the World.” In other words, here are some cute children, but the only part that has The Son in it is that flash of red cape and silver crown in the beginning, the edge of him holding the microphone at the almost end, and me carrying him out at the very end. We will try again next year. Also watch for the antics the microphone caused. Can you tell we did not rehearse with it?
Filed under faith | Comments (8)Winter is coming.
When do you think the cliche of saying someone is in the autumn of life started? I would detest it if I did not feel it was so true. Septuagenarians, maybe Octogenarians, are enjoying the umber fruits they have sown, the golds of family and friends, bright reds of leisure time, the deep purples of being sharp of mind and yet full of wisdom.
But winter is coming. Their bodies turning from the lushness of summer to the achy coolness of fall to the frail and sharp branches of December. I will be 29 in January and have three living grandparents, four including The Husband’s “Nanny”. I have never lived in the same town with any of them until this year, and it makes me sad that I am getting to know them just in time for winter.
This fall is breathtaking, colors and textures, memories and love dripping from every moment, every vista. Beauty as far as I can see. But winter is coming, quickly, with fewer leaves and abilities everyday. I realize how lucky we are to have them, I just know how much harder it is to be here to see the leaves, the thoughts, the able bodies, the words fall away from them. Energy zapped from a half hour shopping trip, branches stripped and emptied from a mild breeze.
They know winter is coming, that the worst is still ahead, that they will be left cold. Scared. Bare. I don’t think winter is going to be pretty. We have tried to prepare by tucking away things that can be damaged by frost, by anticipating the bald branches, and steeling ourselves for the iciness of loss.
Winter is coming, and it will be hard, but we know spring always follows winter, new life springs from the fallen leaves of autumn. That new life will be be more awesome than any colors or flowers or soft winds we could possibly imagine. Winter is coming, but, oh, what a spring they will have.
Filed under Family-blame the DNA, Photography, faith | Comments (8)Forget the cup, my cistern, um if I had one, runneth over.
Alternate title: A prayer of Thanksgiving.
Thank you heavenly father for your church, for giving me the opportunity to know you, for giving me the ability to worship you and honor you openly. For your son.
Almighty God thank you for my husband, for his love, for his patience, for his parenting skills, for his career that provides for our family, for his arms that hold, for his smile, for his brain and his wit, for our intimacy, for his taste in wives.
Father of Glory thank you for my child, my son, for his giggles and his cries, his smile and his eyes, for his perfectly healthy little body, for his countenance, his vitality, his faith in you, his fearlessness, his intelligence, his strong will, even his mischievousness, for his naps, for his love.
God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob thank you for the body you have given me, for keeping it healthy so that I may use it to serve you, for the arms that hold, and the heart that loves.
Great I AM thank you for my mind that gives me reason to overcome fears, that lets me better understand you, that lets me enjoy the brilliance of others, that lets me turn within to better know you, so that I might know myself.
King of kings thank you for my mother, for her wisdom and guidance, and unconditional love, for her teachings, and understanding, for her companionship, for her future, love of my husband and son.
Lord of lords thank you for my father, for his sense of humor, his experience, his good judgment, the example he sets of hard work and trust in God. For the time he spends with his family, for the patience he extends to toddlers, and his love.
My refuge, thank you for my brother, for his well being, his cleverness, his many talents, our rapport, his friends that love him like family, his chance to branch out from our roots.
Creator of the heavens, thank you for my mother-in-law, for the awesome job she did raising my husband, for the love she has extended to me, for her gifts that she shares with so many people, for her empathy to all living things, for her love for her whole family.
Gracious and merciful God, thank you for my father-in-law, for his devotion to his family, for illustrating so perfectly the image of a loving husband and father to his sons, for his joyful levity, for his health, for his resemblance in so many ways to my son.
Adonai-Jehovah, thank you for my brother-in-law, for his renewed health, for his persistence, his wit, his faith in you, for the chance to find his helpmate, for his relationship with his family.
Alpha and Omega, thank you for our grandparents, the ones that we are still blessed with, and the ones that now rest with you. For being able to know them, love them, and honor them. For my son to be able to have a relationship and fond memories of so many of his great-grandparents, and pictures and fond stories of the rest.
Great Counselor, thank you for the gift of friends, for their fellowship, their devotion, the fun times we share, the shoulder they let me lean on, the ability to stay close though miles are between us.
Everlasting Father, thank you for your creatures, specifically the ones that live in my house, for their affection, and comfort, and health, for their tolerance of my son.
Oh, holy God, thank you for our finances that provide everything we need, and many things we want, and the jobs that provide them.
Living God, thank you for our home, it’s comfort, it’s protection, it’s security.
Abbah, thank you for the blessing of our transportation, it is reliable, and safe, and let’s us spend time with those we cherish, and go to the jobs we need.
El Shaddai thank you for our nation, for the ability of all people to have a voice, for democracy, and the freedom to worship you.
Oh majestic Father thank you for your creation of this earth, for the gifts it provides us so that we may feed, and clothe all that inhabit it, for the fresh water to drink, and clean air to breathe.
God Our Savior thank you for the ability to express myself freely, for this free and easy medium that allows me to share my thoughts and feelings.
Thank you, we praise you, we glorify you, Amen.
Filed under NaBloPoMo, faith | Comments (4)All I can say is that we need to pray.
Because this? Is so totally and completely wrong, so against everything that Jesus promoted when on earth. Please my better equipped Christian friends, tell how not to hate this guy, because I just want to take his horrible signs and beat him over the head with them. I want to ask him if he has read the same bible as me. If he understands the concept of grace, and love, and that God truly loves every single one of us. Please discuss.
Filed under NaBloPoMo, Soap box, faith | Comments (10)