Signs of Aging

My spouse will be 43 on Monday. Yesterday the eye doctor told him he really needs to start thinking about bifocals.

My colleague and his wife just had a beautiful new baby girl. Another pastor, gushing about how wonderful this is, nudged me and said,"And this will give you a chance to practice your grandmotherly skills."

OUCH! I know, rationally, that at not-quite 44 it is perfectly possible for me to be a grandmother, even with no teen pregnancy involved. But please---since my own kids are still in elementary school, at least allow me the pleasant delusion that people won't be thinking "Pastor Rebel" and "Grandmotherly" at the same time for at least another decade.

That's all.

Followed by . . . .

A message on my voicemail from "Skip" wondering if I'd perfrom a marriage between him and his dog.

What is fascinating to me is that I did NOT say I would be performing gay marriages or that my church would host them. I simply said we would be praying for gay couples as they made their personal decisions about marriage in light of the court's ruling.

But I guess any statement even mildly supportive of gay people means I'm evil, huh?

Anyone else in California getting this kind of stuff??

Hate Mail--Whoo Hoo!

Last week a reporter for a local community paper called for my reaction to the California Supreme Court's Gay Marriage decision. Specifically, they wanted to know what my congregation would be doing, if anything, to acknowledge the decision. I responded that we would be praying for gay couples, that God would guide them as they decided whether or not to make a comittment to marriage. This was quoted in an article on "Pastors' Responses to Gay Marriage Decision".

Today I got a lovely, unsigned letter describing in detail the torments of hell I will soon be enjoying, complete with fire and flesh eating worms as punishment for my perverted teaching. The writer then assured me that s/he is praying for my salvation.

Yup. Really convinces me of the my error.

Not.

Sixth stage of grief--micromanaging

I know, I know. Bereaved families often cope with the total loss of control that death represents by becoming hyper-controlling over the details of their loved one's memorial service.

Still not in the mood to deal with it today.

The Preaching Dress

Our seminary intern preached this past Sunday. She was great. It took me back to my own seminary internship days. One memory that floated up was the memory of a burgundy dress my grandmother and I bought for me the summer before my middler year. My grandmother had noted that my wardrobe was a little light in the "nice dress" department. (Though it was just fine in the Indian cotton skirt and Birkenstocks department.) Anyway, I wore this nice dress my first Sunday preaching in my internship church. A few Sundays later, my next door neighbor in seminary housing was due to preach at HER internship church and asked if she could, per chance, borrow my nice dress. I agreed. Shortly thereafter, another friend made the same request and my nice burgundy dress became known as "The Preaching Dress" and was worn by several of us young not-quite-revgal preachers whose everyday wardrobes didn't run much in the nice dress direction.

About two years ago, one of us was in the running for A Very Big Job in her denomination and I felt like I ought to call and ask if I should ship her The Preaching Dress. (Though in truth, I had worn that dress until it practically disintegrated and that was a dozen or more years ago.) She didn't get the job and I'm not saying it was because The Preaching Dress was dead, but maybe.