In McDonalds We Trust

The Volunteer Village manager instructed us to grab something to eat on our way from the airport. The village kitchen and food supplies would not be available to us until Sunday morning and we were arriving Saturday evening. So we drove east on I-10, away from the New Orleans airport and toward Mississippi. Even from the freeway you can see the devastation: acres upon acres of empty apartment buildings, boarded up stores, blue-roofed homes with FEMA trailers parked in the backyard.

Numbly, we turned our thoughts back to dinner. We were approaching an exit which promised the usual array of fast food choices, so we floated into the exit lane turned off. Someone had neglected to tell the sign people to remove the advertising. There were fast food restaurants there, all right. Boarded up. Locked. Weeds growing in the parking lot. Roofs buckling. Paint peeling. We got back in the van and tried the next exit. Same thing.

We were sick with horror. We're a group of sophisticated suburbanites who roll our eyes at fast food and eat in these establishments only when faced with a lack of options and/or a car full of whining children. Still, in the deepest parts of our souls, we know that, should we ever really need them, McDonalds will be there for us. No matter where, no matter when. Even if we devouered "Supersize Me", the golden arches are embedded in our psyches as unshakable proof that we live in a world that is safe and secure.

McDonalds gone? Shuttered and abandoned? We stood blinking like idiots. Of all the things we saw in the "Katrina Zone" this may be the one that will haunt our nightmares.

RGBP Memories

1) What is your first memory of the RevGalBlogPals?

I was noodling around on The Text This Week doing a little sermon work when by chance I clicked on Sarah Dylan's Lectionary Blog. From there it was a short hop to checking out some folks who were on her blogroll. Within a week I had started my own blog and Linda(FM) commented on one of my early posts inviting me to "be part of a group of female clergy who read and comment on each other's blogs." This was about three months before the famous St. Casserole 100 comment post that made the whole thing official.

2) Have you met any of the other ring members in real life?
Kathy at Any Day A Beautiful Change. She lives not too far from me and has friends in my town. I'm hoping to add to the list later this week!

3) Of those you haven't met, name a few you would love to know in
person.

As many as possible! Which reminds me: I've been meaning to post that I'll be here from the 7-13th of next month. Anyone else?? Leave a note in the comments and we'll figure out a way to meet up.

4) What has Ring Membership added to your life?
RGBP came into being at a really stressful time in my professional life. It was so important to have a safe, supportive place to explore my thoughts and feelings about that.

5) Describe a hope for the future of the WebRing.
More books! Some kind of conference/event--maybe even annually.

Cautionary tale #2

3 tickets to Gulf Coastal parental home---around $1200.

1 bottle industrial strength mosquito repellant---about $6.98

Another opportunity to remind the sister eight years younger than you, in front of witnesses, that when she visited your new home two months ago several people asked, "Now which of you is older?"----Priceless.

And therein lies another cautionary tale for any of you youngsters reading this: In your teens, if you have a choice between being an indoorsy, bookish nerd or a hot, bikini clad, coconut oil slathered beach bunny, you may want to look beyond obvious short term benefits to how your choice might play out skin-wise twenty years down the line. You may discover in your thirties that even if you work out like a maniac and have a bod to die for, you can't change the fact that from the neck up you don't look much different from your forty-something big sister.

Sunscreen! Or better yet, stay inside and read a book.

Yikes! A Sartorial Cautionary Tale

Last night our Adult Education Committee sponsored an event at our church: a mini-forum on Christian responses to Immigration Issues. This committee has planned a four-part Sunday school class on this topic for fall and last evening's event was supposed to be a "teaser" for that.
I had not planned to go: we leave in a few hours for vacation/mission trip and I was in the midst of getting ready for that, but something came up and our Associate was not able to go. I felt that at least one pastor should make an appearance to support the Adult Ed committee in taking on this topic which is so controversial in our part of the world.

I made a deal with myself. I would break from trip preperations briefly and attend PART of the event. They were showing a video and then opening it up for discussion and comment. I'd go to the first part, meet and greet a little, watch the video, then slip out during the break between the video and the discussion. This I did.

Well, when I dropped by the church office this morning to pick up some stuff related to the mission trip portion of our upcoming journey,the office was abuzz with the news that shortly after I left last night a news crew from the local Spanish language cable station had arrived to film the discussion and (they hoped) interview the Pastor. (They did not call in advance to let anyone know this.)

My first reaction was to feel horribly guilty for slipping out early and not being on hand when the press arrived. My second response was one of profound relief that I'd dodged that bullet because I'd dashed away from my packing project wearing modest but not at all dressy shorts, a sleeveless shirt and thong sandals. Also I had not "refreshed" my face in any way.

As it turns out, a Puerto Rican seminary professor who is a member of the Hispanic congregation that shares our building was on the scene and gave an eloquent interview highlighting the Presbyterian church's concern for immigrants, and the existence of many Spanish speaking Presbyterians in California. Much better than the garbled nonsense I would probably have spouted.

The Lesson: Always Dress As If The Cameras Will Be Rolling!!!!

JFPs

At our weekly meeting this week my colleague and I discovered that in the last ten days we had both been invited to lunch by the same member of the congregation. Said member spent the hour unloading about (to our minds) relatively minor personal problems and airing legitimate but nitpick-y complaints about our church. As we tried to figure out if there were a deeper motive behind this pastoral care double-dipping, my colleague shrugged and said, "Maybe she's just jonesin' for pastors right now."

I thought this was a brilliant diagnosis of the situation and also a valuable addition to our "Guide to North American Pew Folk"

Do you have JFPs amongst your flock? How do you care for them lovingly without allowing them to eat up enormous amounts of available time and energy?

I've never thought of that!

Okay. Somebody is going to have to explain this to me. It's probably total cultural ignorance on my part--and I'm ready to be educated.

Birthday reflections

I turn 42 today. Birthdays always put me in the frame of mind to remember other birthdays. Today for some reason I'm reeling back 20 years to my 22nd birthday. I was in the middle of a romance with a PhD student at the same seminary where I was working on my MDiv. The romance was hot, the summer was hot--is it warming up in this room or is it just me??? Anyway. The romance ended about six months later and I was very sad about that. So sad, in fact, that I made a solemn vow not to get involved with any more tortured geniuses. I'd made the same mistake in college but apparently hadn't learned my lesson well enough. So far, this is a vow I've kept. I may have yearned after a few more TGs, but I miraculously managed to marry a guy who is just regular smart and relatively sane on most days.

The other thing I remember from my twenty-second birthday is that my good friend, her TG, My TG and I all went out to celebrate at a dance club downtown. As we were all leaving the seminary to head out at around 10:00 p.m. we ran into a "mature seminarian" who exclaimed, "You're just going out NOW????" And I thought to myself, how sad to be middle aged.

Heh.

Bad News RevGals: We are the whole problem

On the other hand, maybe I should just forget the whole thing. Charlotte Allen has cleverly worked out that women clergy are at the heart of the decline of mainline Protestantism . . .

A quote from her op ed piece in today's L.A. times:

It doesn't help matters that the mainline churches were pioneers in ordaining women to the clergy, to the point that 25% of all Episcopal priests these days are female, as are 29% of all Presbyterian pastors, according to the two churches. A causal connection between a critical mass of female clergy and a mass exodus from the churches, especially among men, would be difficult to establish, but is it entirely a coincidence? Sociologist Rodney Stark ("The Rise of Christianity") and historian Philip Jenkins ("The Next Christendom") contend that the more demands, ethical and doctrinal, that a faith places upon its adherents, the deeper the adherents' commitment to that faith. Evangelical and Pentecostal churches, which preach biblical morality, have no trouble saying that Jesus is Lord, and they generally eschew women's ordination. The churches are growing robustly, both in the United States and around the world.

Fashionista Advice Solicited

Girls--Where do you get your pulpit robes? I really need to replace both of mine. My black robe was a gift from my now-departed grandmother upon my ordination seventeen years ago. It's in okay shape--except for a little melted part on the bottom of one sleeve: the result of an unfortunate Advent Wreath Incident a few years back. My white robe was purchased for me by a well-meaning but clueless group at a previous church. They bought it at the Christian Bookstore in their town and it is basically a white baptismal robe that looks kind of dorky and has no pockets.

For the first time in years, I'm actually in a place where I have an expense allowance that enables me to even think about buying new robes. But in surfing the web and leafing through catalogues, I'm not finding any robes designed for clergywomen that do not absolutely REEK of primness. I'm not looking for sleek and sexy, necessarily--just something with a little more flair and pizzaz. Any suggestions?

Field Guide to North American Pew Folk

A few weeks back we all sympathized with Wills Smama in her interactions with Random Thought Woman and many of us admitted having her twin sister or clone in our own faith community.

I'm wondering if any of you have had experience with another congregation member prototype: Sweeping Proclaimation Man, (SPM hereafter). At my church, SPM is not on the Session and serves only a minor role on one Committee--however he considers himself so supremely knowledgable about church affairs locally, regionally, and nationally that he feels the need regularly to inform me and other chosen church leaders when we are being clueless and wrong-headed.

For example, two weeks ago we had a very sucessful VBS week. We changed curriculum after several years and everyone was happy with the switch, we had more kids than we'd had the last couple of summers, and we were gratified to see many "unfamiliar faces"--kids from families not involved at our church. However--SPM, who was not present on campus at any point during VBS, felt it necessary to e-mail me and every member of the Christian Ed Committee to inform us that we had neglected to notice that several of the neighboring school districts were still in session at the time of our VBS and this was why our VBS was such a dismal failure as an outreach project. But if we wanted out VBS to continue as "merely entertainment for our own youngsters" by all means, carry on.

If he had asked, we'd have told him that we agonized about this issue, but finally came to the conclusion that if we waited until a later week, we'd be up against our own school district's high quality, very popular summer school offerings with the result that fewer kids from our church and community would participate. (And thus, fewer parents would volunteer, fewer teens would be availabe to assist, etc., etc. etc.)

Have any of you seen this man or his female counterpart? Strategies for dealing???

Too many Ravenclaws

Just one more thing on this and then I'll shut up, I promise.

I believe the folks who appointed the PUP Task Force did not keep my Harry Pottor Hogwarts House Temperment Sorter sufficiently in mind. The Task Force was not balanced in that regard.

I submit that the membership of that Task Force was overwhelmingly Ravenclaw: cerebral, irenic types who love to ponder and discuss complex ideas and institutions; people who by inclination and training like to look at all sides of an issue and try to understand opposing points of view. I would further submit that it was, in large part, their common Ravenclawiness that enabled this group to experience the astonishing depth of community to which they all attest.

However, this group's experience will be evaluated and its proposals carried out in arenas dominated by Gryffindor Crusaders and Slytherin Politicos. Therefore, I don't hold out much hope that their vision will be realized.

Too many Gryffindors

Another lament filling the Presbyblogwaves is, "Commissioners to GA don't reflect the average person in the pew." There is some truth to this, I think and here is my Theory of Why This Is based, once again on Harry Potter Hogwarts House typology.

The folks that are most enthusiastic about church politics and therefore are more likely to stand for election as Commissioners or to attend as a representative of an affinity or advocacy group are Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Gryfinndors see being a GA comissioner as an opportunity to further their Great Quest--whatever their Great Quest is: saving the church from Godless Liberals, saving the church from fundamentalist bigotry, saving the church from hidebound irrelevence, transforming the church into a force for peace and justice--Gryfinndors see GA as their chance to be in the thick of the fray, battling for The Truth and Against Evil.

Slytherins love GA because they are political animals. They love the power plays, the finessing of the Process, making the BOO work to their advantage, massaging the press, harnassing all that wild Gryfinndor energy into a finely tuned political force. There are Slytherins across the theological spectrum, but frankly at some point in every Slytherin's life her theological convictions are overtaken by her desire for power--sometimes without the person even realizing that this has happened.

On the other hand:
Ravenclaws may enjoy following GA from a distance--perhaps even attending as an observer--but feel no real compulsion to be a voting commissioner or lobbyist. Ravenclaws will analyse, discuss, and blog about the issues before GA and make predictions and prognostications about what will happen next, but they'd really rather read and write about GA than be down there on the Assembly floor.

Hufflepuffs would be content never to hear about GA at all. They love their local church, they enjoy hearing about what the Presbyterian church across town is up to--but GA? Not on their radar. If Hufflepuffs get involved beyond the congregational level it will probably in Presbytery Camps, or Presbyterian Women, or in some kind of co-operative mission project. When an action of GA is brought to their attention, (usually by agitated Gryffindors), they tend to be mystified, confused, or oblivious.

And, IMHO, there are more Hufflepuffs in the pew than anything else,and this is why GA commissioners aren't great reflectors of the average person in the pew.

Thus endeth the analysis of Yours Truly, a True Ravenclaw

My Grandma would be so proud

Your Inner European is Russian!

Mysterious and exotic.You've got a great balance of danger and allure.

Who's" Your Inner European?

My Inner European is RUSSIAN!

(Sorry to my other ancestors--the slavic blood seems to have won out)

Friday Five Independence Day

1. Do you celebrate the 4th of July?
Yes--but I really think it is a civil and not a Christian celebration and as such we don't turn the Sunday nearest the day into a RedWhite/Blue GodBlessAmericafest.

2.When was the first time you felt really independent?
When I first began to have friends with driver's licenses and cars. I wasn't extremely keen to drive myself, (frankly--I'd still rather take public transport or ride with someone else), but I felt a definite power surge being out on the town w/o benefit of parents.

3. Are you grilling? If so what?
Probably. I'd guess something sophisticated for the grown-ups and hot-dogs for the kids.

4. Strawberry Shortcake: sponge cake or biscuit?
Actually, I like it with really good pound cake.

5. Fireworks experinces best and worst.
Best--NYC Central Park, summer of 1987 Worst: A Party in Portland where we were supposed to be able to see the downtown fireworks in the distance, but the hosts had not actually verified this and it turned out we couldn't see anything.

6. Bonus questions for 1776 fans:
Favorite Patriot--Thomas Jefferson
Favorite Tory--Dickinson
Favorite wife--Martha definetly gets the better song.
Favorite song--In the wake of Presbyterian GA, "Piddle, Twiddle and Resolve" is ringing true. As a young girl, however I loved, "He plays the Violin" and I am sorry to confess that I often tweaked this song and replaced, "Tom" with the name of whatever boy I was madly in love with and "fiddle" with a word that signified whatever the boy in question was particularly good at. (I tended to fall for theatrical/musical types, so this wasn't too difficult.)
Favorite Line: Mr. Adams, leave me ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Payoff

After much exclaiming and fussing on all sides last week regarding the acceptance of the PUP report at GA, this week more folks, again on all sides, seem to be saying, "It looks like not much has changed."

Why is that, do you suppose? Counselors teach that no one repeats the same behavior over and over unless there is some sort of payoff involved. So if the PCUSA has remained deadlocked on this issue for two decades and repeatedly avoids taking dramatic or decisive action that would change that, there must be some payoff involved for all the major players.

My theory: We've all gotten really comforable in our chosen roles. As long as the deadlock holds, the conservatives get to keep playing the harrassed, persecuted champions of truth and orthodoxy. As long as the deadlock holds, the progressives get to continue playing the harrassed, persecuted champions of grace-filled diversity and loving acceptance. As long as the deadlock holds, the moderates get to keep playing the harried, long-suffering family peacemakers. We all know exactly who our friends and our enemies are and we know all our lines by heart. The payoff is too great to rock the boat.

A Lesson in Biblical Geography

Last week was VBS at our place. I missed the last day due to my departure for Sedona. When I got home today my kids showed me the "goody bags" they received at Friday's Grand Finale. My daughter had received a nice calligraphy card with one of their memory verses on it:
Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God .

"Can you tell me who said that?" I asked her.
"Of course! Ruth said that to Wyoming!" she replied.

Right--they were on the road from Cheyenne to Laramie at the time, I think.

A Challenge for the Church

One of our speakers at the conference this morning said an interesting thing. He is from the U.K. and was remarking on the big US market for "conspiracy theory" books about Christianity and the origins of the church/bible. He claims that, while the Da Vinci Code sold well in Europe, these "conspiracy theory" books aren't finding the wide and eager reception there that they seem to be finding on this side of the pond.

His theory: since the church is not nearly the community presence and cultural force in Europe as it is in the States, there are fewer people there who have had a really bad encounter with practicing Christians--either through their own negative experience within a church or through encountering pushy evangelists or having someone they know inform them that they are going to hell---whatever. Since more Americans have had an experience that makes them feel bad about Christianity, there is a big market here for books that help people feel good about feeling bad about Christianity.

To me, this has a certain ring of truth to it. It also seems to me that if this is true, many of us Christians have responded in exactly the wrong way: by publishing books intended to make people feel bad about feeling bad about Christianity, which is not going to work. These books may help some Christians feel good about feeling bad about people who feel bad about Christianity, but it won't really do much to effect a change of heart in the folks who have been turned off or outright wounded by an encounter with certain manifestations of the church.

To me the better strategy is to be the church in a way that gives people reasons to feel good about Christianity again--which is harder than it sounds, eh?

It just occured to me . . .

. . . . while I was sitting in a plenary session for this Pastor/Theologian conference I'm at in Sedona that maybe, just maybe there might be one or two fellow bloggers among those gathered--and maybe they, too, are checking their blogs back in their rooms during breaks. So--here's a shout out to anyone who might stop by. If you're here, leave a note in the comments and we'll figure out how to hook up.

To everyone else . . . wish you were here.

My Two Cents

For what it's worth, here is what I think will happen next now that the PUP report has been approved.

1. The national press will screw it up. They are not known for their grasp of the nuances of reformed theology or Presbyterian polity. The stories that hit the papers will seem to those of us who have been in the thick of this for a long time like they were written by spastic possums on qualudes.

2. Some churches and pastors will leave, but most will stay.

3. We will spend the next several years testing exactly how this "national standards, local application" thing will work out in real life. Some good people will get bruised and bloodied in the process.

4. Some of the churches that leave will make a big stink about taking their property. This will spill over into the secular courts and bring the whole tax status of churches thing back into the cross-hairs of the nation's legal system--which could have huge implications for churches everywhere.

5.Nevertheless, daily life for your average Presbyterian will not change all that much.

Flash of Insight

A few weeks ago I was experiencing lots of pain in my neck and shoulders. I vaguely attributed this to job-related stress. My colleague gave me a reference to her massage therapist, but then the pain went away and I never made the appointment. I sort of forgot the whole episode.

Then yesterday we all went to Disneyland for a Father's Day treat. As we were coming out of a wild, hairpin turn on the Mulholland Madness mini-coaster, I suddenly felt the pain return. In a blinding flash of insight, I realized that the previous episode of neck/shoulder pain occurred right after our previous Disneyland trip when my sister visited around Memorial Day. (Why, yes. We did get Southern California Resident Annual Passes, why do you ask?)

So--apparently my discomfort had nothing to do with my oh so important and and stressful job and everything to do with going on thrill rides with my children at my advanced age.

Well, shit.

Soccer to Session in Twenty Minutes

I have been very much enjoying Peacebang's Beauty Tips for Ministers. Check it out right away if you have not already. However, I would appreciate it if someone out there with more fashion savvy than I have would start a Beauty Tips for Clergy Moms column. As much as I appreciate Peacebang's wisdom, I just can't figure out how to put her advice into action when, after waking, feeding and turning out two elementary schoolers in presentable clothes each morning, I have about 7 minutes to spend on my own morning beauty/fashion routine. Also hard to know how to dress stylishly yet practically for a day that includes staff meetings, hospital visits, soccer practice, dinner preparation, and an evening committee meeting. For years, I just sort of gave up. But now that I'm in a slightly higher profile church, I'm feeling the need to TAKE STEPS.

Anyone have any great ideas???

Summer Preaching

School's out day after tomorrow. We are straying from the lectionary during the summer months. That's one thing I like about being PResbyterian--the lectionary is there for you as a helpful guide and resource, but you are also free to toss it for a while when the Spirit moves. Our summer preaching theme is "Sunday School Stories for Grown-ups" in which we pull out some of the old stories,(particularly from the Old Testament), many folks have not heard since children's church school and which either don't show up in the lectionary or do so only on widely separate occassions and/or when they are upstaged by being paired with NT lections that are more important to the point in the liturgical year in which they appear.

So--what was your favorite bible story as a kid? Why do you think it was your favorite? Have you ever preached on it as an adult? (Or heard a sermon on it for layfolks out there.) Which of the old Sunday School classics would you most like to hear a sermon on now, in your ahem mature years?

Judgement Call

Say you are a pastor of a big but not huge church. On Friday morning, a member in her sixties dies of breast cancer after a long struggle. The family chooses Sunday afternoon for a memorial service as many of their extended family who have gathered to walk with her husband and children through the final days need to be back at work Monday morning.

There has been a fellowship event for another group in the church planned for this same Sunday afternoon for months. It has been publicized in the newsletter, bulletin and pre-worship announcements. It is not happening at church, but in a nearby park. Because of the size of the congregation and a bit of a generational difference, most of the folks in the group sponsoring the fellowship event are not close to the deceased, some did not know her at all. A complicating factor is that, if the fellowship event goes forward, one of the pastors will need to be there rather than at the funeral. Friday, after quick consultation among staff and with the event planners, the decision gets made to go ahead with the fellowship event as previously planned.

Saturday evening, you receive a call at home that some "people" are upset that the fellowship event was not cancelled, given the circumstances. At this point it would be very hard, though not entirely impossible if you dropped everything and spent the night on the phone, to pull the plug on the fellowship event. You let the original decision stand. Did you do the right thing?

Trinity Sunday

Since my old church was actually called Trinity, I had several options open to me each year when Trinity Sunday rolled around. If I did not feel a brilliant, insightful, witty-yet-profound sermon on the doctrine of the Trinity coming on, I could pull back and make the Sunday about our Trinity. I could preach a sort of "state of the congregation" sermon, or--as I did a couple of years back--speak very little myself and invite members of the congregation to give testimony about how Trinity Church had shaped their lives and faith.

Now that I'm at Academic Suburb Church, the latter two options have evaporated like dew in the 100 degree plus heat we've been having here in SoCal the past few days. What to do? A brilliant, insightful, witty-yet-profound sermon on the doctrine of the Trinity has actually never happend for me. Tediously academic and heady, yes. Fairly insipid and lamely invoking shamrocks, yes. But anything actually edifying for the folks out there in the pews? I don't think I've hit that note yet.

What about you? Do you do THE TRINITY or do you go with your upcoming VBS theme and hope no one notices??

I got rhythm---well, sorta, maybe

What work rhythm works for you? I haven't seemed to be able to hit the sweet spot here in my new place. For six years I was working part time, and I basically just worked frantically on whatever was most urgent during the few hours of the day I had childcare. Since I was the only one in the church office, it didn't matter much whether I worked from there or from home: church folks knew to try both places till they got me, and on days I worked from home, I checked the church answering machine at regular intervals.

Now I'm back in a church office well populated with other staff and that keeps regular business hours. Before I arrived, I heard that a major complaint about one of my predecessors was that, "he was never in the office and no one knew where he was," so I'm trying to be at the church more often than not. But I do find it hard to do creative thinking there--too many distractions, interruptions, people to chat with, etc. I find myself sort of scattered, my attention jumping from one thing to another--feeling at the end of the day that I've not really done much that was worth doing.

Do you have ways you divide up your day for maximum impact? How much time is a legitimate amonut of the work day to spend out of the office? Where do you write your sermons? Where do you do your "creative thinking?" Are coffee shops acceptable "auxilliary offices"? What about local libraries?

If you are a lay person, how do you feel about these issues? If you ran into your pastor at the local cafe at 2:00 on a workday, would you assume she was slacking off or doing important contemplative reflection??

Spirit Filled Churches

Once upon a time it fell to me to call a particular woman who had been visiting our church for a while to inquire if she was interested in being part of our next new members class. She wasn't.

"I love the sermons, and the people are really nice . . . but I just can't join a church that's not Spirit Filled."

I probed a little. "How is a Spirit Filled church different from ours?"

She was surprised that I didn't know. "You know--music that gets you up on your feet, people raising their hands to the Lord, praying in tongues, laying on hands for healing . . ."

I floated the theory that "good sermons and friendly people" were the manifestations of the Spirit that our church was filled with. But she had been nurtured in the belief that a Spirit Filled church looked one certain way and our way was not it.

My question to her, of course, was the standard Presbyterian line. You don't have to be happy clappy to be Spirit filled. The Spirit can be present in less flamboyant ways. Simplicity and Solemnity are also gifts of the Spirit.

But is that a cop out? Do we really like our reserved way because we like things scripted and safe? Is this a case of "methinks the Mainline doth protest too much?" We're not sure the Spirit is really present among us so we heap scorn on those who say they ARE sure?

What are the marks of a Spirit Filled church? How do you know when you are part of one?

Coolness Meme

Katherine tagged me for a meme on "five reasons I think I'm cool".

1. As a semi-annonymous blogger, I have a sort of secret identity. This is perfectly in line with my history. As a sixteen-year-old American teenager living in Britain, the little boys in our village refered to me as "Wonder Woman". This was because I once chose among them for a game leader by having them sit in a circle while I spun around in the middle with my eyes closed and my finger pointing. Apparently this reminded them of Linda Carter's transformation in the TV show of the same name.

2. In seminary I was the inventor of a helpful stress releaver called "defenestration therapy". This therapy is particularly effective if you have in your possession a watermelon and a window facing Broadway.

3. I can wiggle my ears.

4. My elbows are double-jointed.

5. I can recite How the Grinch Stole Christmas from memory.

I tag Wills Mama, Good in Parts, Chaplain Lydia and Bad Alice.

The hymn thing again

So what is your favorite/least favorite Pentecost-Holy Spirit hymn?

I have to say that Spirit, Spirit of Gentleness is starting to work on my last nerve. The words are okay, but it's just too darn slow. Even with a good organist doing his/her level best, it always ends up sounding like the congregation is dragging itself through a vat of oily peanut butter by about the middle of verse three.

On Pentecost they gathered Quite Early in the Day is so rhymey rhymey that I expect Burma Shave to appear at the end of a stanza before it's all over.

I guess on this holiday I end up a traditionalist: I like Spirit of the Living God, Blessed Quietness, and Come Holy Ghost, Our Souls Inspire.

Next problem

Well, we chose a new staff person. Not one of our members, though one of them did make the short list. The worst part was telling the one member that we did interview that he was not The One. Hope I don't have to do that again any time real soon.

Now, on to the next alarming developement:

As I was dropping off my six year old daugther at school this morning a cute young classmate of hers called to her across the school yard, "Hi C-------!"

"Hi Sebastian!" she called back grinning shyly.

Then to me in a dramtic whisper with dancing eyes, "He's a trouble maker!"

Uh Oh.

This is where those Big Girl Panties come in

A few weeks ago QG shared a photo of a sign she saw at a craft show in Texas: "Put on your big girl panites and deal with it!" Being very new at this whole head-of-staff thing, I've clung to this almost as a word from the Lord.

Today we are interviewing for a new staff member to replace someone who moved out of state. We have a good pool of applicants, including three members of our church. Regarding one of these members, several folks from the congregation have come to see me to express their warmest support for his candidacy. Meanwhile, several staff have come to see me to say, "Please, anyone but X." He has a decidedly off-beat personality that could be a bit much to take forty hours a week. Another member who has applied is in recovery. There has been much jubilation among the friends of this man and his mother, (also a member), that he is finally confronting his addiction after all these years. Some of them have let me know that having a stable job at our church would do SO MUCH to support his hard work in recovery, (with the hinted at corellary that being rejected by his church just might torpedo this whole project.) The third member has no related job experience, but is the unemployed father of some very cute pre-schoolers.

So the hiring team and I are pretty well guaranteed that whoever we pick, member or not, we will have some unhappy and disappointed people to deal with.

I'll put on the big girl panties--you all pray for us.

Medical Terminology

My daughter has a badly skinned knee--occupational hazzard of six-year-old rollerbladers, apparently. The scab ripped open during a car ride across town leaving her bleeding the backseat since I was driving and didn't have any extra tissues in the car anyway.

"This is a really bad owie!" she whimpered.

And my son helpfully commented, "Once you get out of pre-school, you have to call it an INJURY, not an owie. Only really little kids say "owie".

Which would YOU rather have: an injury or an owie??? If it's an injury can you still use the Sponge Bob bandaids??

The toe pledge

In response to my pedicure post, my sister sent me this:

It's that time of the year again. Please
> Raise your big toes and repeat after me:
>
> As a member of the Faux Paux Sisterhood, I pledge to follow The Rules
> when I wear sandals and other open-toe shoes:
>
> I promise to always wear sandals that fit. My toes will not hang over
> and touch the ground, nor will my heels spill over the backs. And the
> sides and tops of my feet will not pudge out between the straps.
>
> I will vow to keep my nails polished (clear polish is acceptable) and the polish fresh, intact and
> chip-free. I will not cheat and just touch up my big toe.
>
> I will sand down any mounds of skin before they turn hard and yellow.
>
> I will shave the hairs off my big toe.
>
> I won't wear pantyhose even if my misinformed girlfriend, coworker,
> mother, sister tells me the toe seam really will stay under my toes if
> I tuck it there.
>
> If a strap breaks, I won't duct-tape, pin, glue or tuck it back in to
> place hoping it will stay put. I will get my shoe fixed or toss it.
> No matter how much it hurts.
>
> I will not live in corn denial; rather I will lean on my good friend
> Dr. Scholl's if my feet need him.
>
> I will resist the urge to buy jelly shoes at Payless for the low, low
> price of $4.99 even if my feet are small enough to fit into the kids'
> sizes. This is out of concern for my safety, and the safety of others.
> No one can walk properly when standing in a pool of sweat, and I would
> hate to take someone down with me as I fall and break my ankle.
>
> I will take my toe ring off toward the end of the day if my toes swell
> and begin to look like Vienna sausages.
>
> I will be brutally honest with my girlfriend/sister/coworker when she
> asks me if her feet are too ugly to wear sandals. Someone has to tell
> her that her toes look like they've been dragged behind her car on the
> way to work and no sandal in the world is going to make her feet look
> good.
>
> I will promise if I wear flip flops, that I will ensure they actually
> flip and flop, making the correct noise while walking and I will swear
> NOT to slide or drag my feet while wearing them.
>
> I will promise to go to my local beauty school at least once per
> season and have a real pedicure (they are about $15 and worth EVERY
> penny). I say spend another $15.00 and get a even better one.
>
> And finally...
>
> I will promise to throw away any white/off-white sandals that show
> Signs of wear...nothing is tackier than dirty white sandals...
>
> For all our sakes, please don't keep this to yourself - pass it on to
> other Sisters.
>
> May God Bless your Soles as well as your Soul!

Hymnal Problems

So I'm thumbing through the hymnal looking for Ascension hymns, (our bulletin person is going to Hawii next week, so I have to pull everything together ahead of time), and I'm not finding much I can be excited about. The "king" image seems to be just about the only Christ image on offer, for one thing. I could go with one "king" hymn, but three or four? I mean, aren't their any other images that help us get at the meaning of Ascension? It's not so much the maleness of that image that bothers me as its utter foreigness to anything the average 21st century American might find resonating with his/her actual daily life
experience.

Then it hits me. Freebird! ( See post below) It would totally work:

If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?
Cause I've got to be movin' on now
There are so many places I've got to see
And if I stayed here with you now
Things just could not be the same
Cause I'm as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change . . .

It's all there: the departure, the untamedness of the risen Christ, his need to be present in other places, even an image (bird) that foreshadows the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost! Think I could get away with it???

Of course, the second verse doesn't work as well.

Why is it . . .

. . . that I can blow forty bucks taking the family to the Fiesta at the Catholic church, (rides, raffles, food), and will go with my husband to an overpriced weekday lunch to get some kid free time when we could have accomplished the same thing at home with a tuna sandwich, and consider library fines an acceptable line item in the family budget BUT I cannot bring myself to get a pedicure because THAT would be a frivilous waste of money???

Boomer Memorial

I did a funeral today. It was for a man in his early fifties who died suddenly after many years of severe mental illness and other health problems. His family did not want a big, formal, service: just a gathering of family and close friends--in the chapel instead of the sanctuary. They said they did not want organ music, but would bring a CD player and some music. His sister said she thought Day by Day from Godspel would be appropriate. She did not own the CD, but thought she knew where she could find it. I agreed to this plan.

So this afternoon I broke away from our women's retreat early to return to the church. I got there with just enough time to meet with the family briefly and get my materials together. Imagine my surprise, then, when at the appropriate point in the service I signaled the cousin running the CD player to cue the music--and I heard wafting across the chapel toward me not The Godspel's Day by Day, but Lynrd Skynrd's Freebird.

If I leave here tomorrow, will you still remember me?

I successfully supressed the urge to laugh out loud and sat in respectful meditation, watching the congregation. All the men of a certain age were communing with their inner seventeen year olds--some smiling, some with eyes closed --obviously transported to another spring in another place, some actually getting teary and choked up. The seventy and eighty year old contemporaries of the deceased's parents were looking either confused or shocked. What on earth is this song and why am I hearing it in church? The twentysomething nieces and nephews were being polite: this is what was cool when uncle was young, poor thing.

The cousin let the sound fade out once it hit that long instrumental section at the end and I got up to read the Twenty-third Psalm. But somehow, I had not made the complete return trip from that spring dance at the end of seventh grade because I suddenly heard myself saying,
Even thought I rock through the valley of the shadow of death . . .

Baby boomer funerals are different, huh?

My sins

I thought you'd all want to know. .

Your Deadly Sins

Sloth: 60%

Envy: 20%

Gluttony: 20%

Greed: 0%

Lust: 0%

Pride: 0%

Wrath: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

How Sinful Are You?

Installed

Sunday was a wonderful day--despite my earlier rant about installations. At the time of each of my installations, my Mom has made the same joke about plugging me in like a refridgerator. But hah! I discovered today that the earliest use of the word install is from the 1500s and refered to placing a bishop into ecclesiastical office by the act of him sitting in the bishop's "stall" in the cathedral. The word install is not found to refer to the setting up of machinery until the late 19th century.

I found this wonderful info here. Prepare to waste hours and warn your parishoners to expect some of those "word analysis" sermons over the next few weeks.

Enough of this crap

Okay. I'm really a pretty reasonable person. I'm the type of feminist who does NOT insist that every slight or inconvenience is about my suffering at the hands of the evil patriarchy. HOWEVER, after 17 years of ordained ministry and in a time and place where clergywomen are not all that rare, should I have to put up with being chased by the security guard in the hospital parking lot?

"Excuse me--ma'am? Ma'am? MA'AM?????

"Yes?"

"That spot you just parked in is reserved for clergy."

"Yes, I know."

"So why'd you park there?"

"Because I'm clergy."

Eyes narrow, arms cross. "What church"

"________ Presbyterian"

Shrug. "Okay--just checking."

Now I ask you all--would a well dressed, forty-something male have had this same experience?

Disneyland Miracle

My parents are visiting for the installation thingy happening this Sunday. It's their first visit to us here in SoCal, so we made the requisit trip to Disneyland. I'm a bit cynical about the whole notion of "Disney Magic", but I'm not a killjoy. It was not a crowded day at the park by any means, but there were still LOTS of people. I was reflecting that seeing those teeming throngs of humanity milling about makes the notion that there is a loving Creator who knows each one by name seems so unlikely--and the idea that there is a loving Savior who loved each one enough to become one of us and suffer death seem patently absurd.

Later we were searching for a spot to watch the parade. As we pushed our way through the crowd, my little girl tugged at my sweater and whispered, "Mama! There's Sarah!" Sure enough, on the other side of the avenue was her very best friend from her school in Portland, the one she has been missing intensely since we left 10 weeks ago, the one she's found no equal for in her new school. We leaped over the parade barrier and ran to her. The girls squealed with delight and jumped up and down. Her Mom and I shook our heads and said, "What were the chances?" They were on a somewhat impromtu vacation to visit some family in San Bernardino. The girls have exchanged notes since we left, but her Mom and I were not close friends so I'd not communicated with her. We all watched the parade together, the girls hand in hand and wide eyed with wonder.

O Lord, Our Lord, how majestic is thy name in all the earth.

Kind of late on this one but what the heck . . .

Accent: vaguely midwestern. Henry Higgins could probably detect subtle undertones of Southern and New York with the merest hint of British.

Booze: Red wine, hard cider---can't say I really want to repeat that late adolescent experiment with Orange Kool Aid and Everclear . . .

Chore I Hate--picking up stuff and putting it away

Dog or Cat--Cat. I like other people's dogs, though.

Electronic Necessity--cell phone and computer

Favorite Cologne--4711

Gold or Silver--silver. I'm really only just now getting back into wearing jewelry after the "can't wear it cause the baby/toddler/preschooler with grab it/choke on it/yank it and break it" years.

Home Town--Eight major moves between birth and college. Favorite growing up places were North Carolina and England.

Insomnia--yeah, off and on

Job Title--New Pastor at LA academic suburb church.

Kids--Two

Living Arrangements: One house, one husband, one cat, two kids

Most Admirable Trait--short sermons

Number of Sexual Partners--Can't answer this one--my mom reads this blog

Overnight Hospital Stays--Tonsilectomy at age 4. Two births. Several all-nighters spent with other people in the hospital or with their families.

Phobias: Making phone calls to people I don't know very well. Thank God for e-mail!!

Quote: "I knew I shouldda taken dat left toin at Albequoiki . . ." Bugs Bunny

Religion: Yes, most days.

Sibs: Two--younger bro and sis

Time I Wake Up: I am the only night person in a family of early risers. This REALLY sucks.

Unusual Talent: Ear wiggling

Vegetable I Hate--Raw Celery

Worst Habit: Losing my keys

Xrays---teeth, chest, do ultrasounds count?? What about mamograms??

Yummy Foods I can cook: shrimp dip, rum cake, sesame noodles

Zodiac Sign: Cancer/Dragon

How'd he DO That?

We have a distinguished visitor at our church this weekend. (prep for this event partly explains my silence on the blogosphere recently) Anyway, his visit was planned well before I arrived. He is a lovely man. Gives a nice talk/workshop. Gracious to children and old ladies. Doesn't name drop too much--no more than I probably would were I as notable and distinguished as he is. And I'm glad that he is preaching tomorrow and not me because I get to enjoy Saturday for a change.

Here's what I don't quite understand. Part of his distinguishedness is that, in addition to serving several tall steeple type churches, he is the author of more than a dozen books. How did he do that?? I can barely keep all the plates spinning, much less think about doing the research, thinking, contemplating and writing involved in producing an actual book. Even ONCE. Now, I'm guessing he had a spouse that probably didn't work full time. But even if I had a full-time homemaker in my life, I'm still not sure I could pull it off. I can hardly find the time to blog, for pete's sake.

How about you all. Have you figured this out?

CrossWalk

Several of my friends are involved in CrossWalk America, an organization that is walking cross country even as we speak to raise awareness of an more expansive vision of Christianity than the more conservative vision that gets more air time generally. Would that this were in the LA Times this morning instead of a big story about a Christian young man suing for the right to wear a T-shirt to his high school informing his gay classmates that they should be ashamed. I know there are legitimate first amendment issues involved---but it makes me sad that the message that gets out is that being Christian is primarily about being anti-gay. Anyway--check out the walk and the blog that accompanies it.

Good News/Bad News

The good news: I had my very first IRL meet-up with a RGBP! Katherine and I had a too brief chat at a local coffee house before I had to race off to the next thing in a day I had managed to pack WAY to tightly. She's a lovely person and we talked about the rest of y'all---so if your ears were burning, that's why.

The bad news: Two more notches in my Bad Mom black belt. First, today my son was supposed to bring a paper towel tube to school for a classroom activity. I forgot. This caused great consternation when the boy discovered that, not only had I forgotten, but my schedule was such that returning home to fetch one was just not in the cards. Luckily, there were plenty of extras provided by the good moms who remembered. Second, I got scolded by my cleaning lady for not cleaning the house sufficiently in preparation for her arrival. HeLLO! If I were anything approximating a tidy person I would not employ a cleaner, right? Anyway, I'm warned that if I don't do better, she will have to charge me more.

How was YOUR day???

Easter Near Miss

We had a near disaster on Easter afternoon. The kids were rollerblading under strict orders not to skate anywhere near the grill where we were roasting our Easter chicken. After the bird was roasted and eaten, my son went back outside. Perhaps it was the effect of all the candy, but he disregarded the no-skating-near-the-grill injunction and ended up slamming into it. Providentially, the top was still on and he knocked the grill away from himself so no hot coals fell on him. Still, he got screeched at and his rollerblades were confiscated until further notice.

He ran into his room, there to bewail his sins and his cruel fate. After about fifteen minutes, he came out, grabbed his nerf baseball bat and began hitting himself on the head with it.

"You don't have to do that, you know," I said to him. "When you make a mistake the best thing is to learn from it and move on."

"No," he said. "I'd rather hit myself over the head, then forget all about it."

Which is the whole problem, isn't it? We'd all rather endure a little short term punishment than experience true repentance. . .

Our place this Easter.

Rain on Good Friday

"It always rains on Good Friday. It's because God is sad." So one of my neighbors told me when I was sixteen and I had made some remark about the rotten weather we were having during Holy Week.

I was skeptical. This was at the time my family was living in England and it occurred to me, (though I was polite enough not to say so to her), that rain there on any Friday in April was a pretty good bet.

Life went on. I did notice that it rained on Good Friday almost every year. Still, climate seemed to be the best explanation. I lived in Ohio and New York where rainy springs are commonplace. Then I spent 15 years in the Pacific Northwest. Enough said.

This is my first Good Friday in Southern California--land of endless sunshine. It's pouring.

Just in time for Maundy Thursday

Check this out:

Yes, those are real palm trees. Not bad for a midwestern girl . . .

Bad Mom Award

Today my daughter's class had a multi-cultural festival. Part of the deal was that each family was to bring a potluck item from their own ethnic heritage. Right. On the cusp of Holy Week I'm gonna be whipping up pots of homemade borcht, or bratwurst, or platesful of cream scones. I visited the bakery department of my local grocer, selected an assortment of bagels, and slathered them with cream cheese. I slapped on a label that said "Eastern European-American" and declared my work done.

They looked pretty sorry next to the platters of home made eggrolls, enchiladas, beans and rice, and New Orleans caramel cake the other Moms produced.

Too late, it occured to me that with our family's deep midwestern taproots, I could have lit up the room with lime jello and mini marshmallows.

Next year.

The grass is always greener . . .

What I like about being in a bigger church:
1. Lots more people with varying gifts
2. You can buy stuff you need instead of waiting for it to turn up used or free or making it with duct tape
3. Good instruments regularly maintained
4. Building doesn't look like shit
5. Everybody hasn't necessarily known each other since infancy--more surprises
6. Real choir director instead of me waving my arms and hoping for the best


Oh yeah, I remember this crap from before
1. Endless time on administrivia
2. Longer meetings
3. Staff politics
4. People don't necessarily know each other at all
5. More people who could potentially get mad at me if I screw up
6.Annoying lapel mikes

Friday Five on Saturday--Things Your Elders Said

Dad: "Avoid the passive voice!!!!!!!!!" (As he read my high school essays and early literary efforts.)

Grandpa: "What are you dressed as?" (Indicating that he disapproved of one's fashion choice for that day)

Mom: "That's dinner" (To any complaints that the menu was unsatisfactory)

Grandma: "Now, if you always . . . " (Did something you almost never did like empty the dryer as soon as it stopped, put your keys in the same place everyday, did your homework as soon as you got home---life would be better all 'round.)

Aunt M. "Always leave the house looking fantastic because you never know when you'll meet a new boyfriend." (Also apparently works when meeting old boyfriends as she is now dating a guy she dated briefly in college 40+ years ago.)

Russian Grandma: "I theenk if you looook in zat meedle drawer in zee china cabinet . . . ." (When my Mom had confiscated the bags of candy she had brought for me so that I would not eat them all at once and make myself sick)

Anybody else hate installations??

I don't so much mind going to other peoples' ordinations or installations, but I really wish I could skip the whole thing where I'm the birthday girl, so to speak. I've got a great friend lined up to come preach--I've owed him a phone call for a couple of weeks to talk details. I keep putting it off. Our newsletter person keeps bugging me for a blurb on the upcoming event for the newsletter. I keep putting her off. I need to talk to the choir director, the youth bell choir leader, our Executive Presbyter, our Presbytery Moderator about their "part". I keep figuring out reasons why today is not a good day to work on that stuff.

At small church, no one was really expecting a big do. We got away with doing something really low key and everyone was happy. But the pressure is on to make this more of an EVENT. My parents are flying out.

Can someone explain to me what is the point of an installation??? I mean, ordination yes. I can see making a big deal out of that. But after nearly 17 years in the biz, I feel like one of those awful brides who keeps demanding that everyone make the same fuss for her fifth wedding as they did for her first. Yesterday someone asked what kind of invitations I was sending out. Invi-friging-tations??? Do I have to get love stamps?

Can't we just skip the whole thing??

Multiple Choice

Another question related to the previous post: What is the proper response to the comment, "Pastor, that was a great sermon."?

a. Thank you (Simple and clear, but seems to accept the false proposition that the goodness of the sermon was the result of the pastor's talent rather than a work of the Holy Spirit.

b. Actually I thought ending with the dwarf joke was a bit lame, but what with old lady Simpson kicking the bucket unexpectedly on Friday afternoon, I didn't have time to come up with a better conclusion. (Probably a bit too honest)

c. I'm glad it helped you hear a word from God. (Theologically correct, but also insufferably pious sounding--especially if said several times in the same morning.)

d. Other???? What do YOU say??

Pulpit Quote Suggestions?

I'm not preaching this Sunday, so I'm working ahead on next week's text with its pithy central "sound bite" of the greeks asking Andrew, "Sir, we would see Jesus."

I've stepped into several pulpits over the years that had this quote strategically placed where the preacher could see it when standing to preach. (Apparently the model for this is the pulpit of some church in Scotland.) The idea, as understand it, is to remind the preacher that his, (Sir? Yeah, they're thinking male preacher--even if it is a scripture quote), sermon is supposed to help folks see Jesus: the congregation are the greeks come seeking, the preacher is the disciple that will show them the way. There seems a subtle danger, though, that the preacher could, over time, come to think that when he is in the pulpit, he is standing in for Jesus. That usually leads to bad things.

At the first church I served after seminary, there was a different quote in the pulpit--from John 1: "He was not himself the light, but he came to bear witness to the light." That's better, I think. Pretty clear that the one in the pulpit is NOT the light, even on his best days. Still, there's the little language problem. A female preacher stepping into that pulpit has to do some mental transposing. I know, if that's your biggest preaching challenge, you should consider yourself really lucky. Still--I'm wondering if we can come up with a good pulpit quote for us RevGals. Something scriptural that doesn't require the mental rewrite. I was thinking from Luke 1, "Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord." However I wonder if that has the same subtle ego inflation potential as "Sir we would see Jesus."

Do you have any great ideas???

Cat Travel Diary

If Whistle and Fish can do it, so can I.

Allow me to relate the events of the last month. Everything is mostly okay now, but I have been through a horrible ordeal. One day I went out to patrol and hunt as usual. When I returned, my house was in a disarray. (More than normal, I mean). The rooms were filled with boxes and I couldn't find any of my usual toys. The next day was worse. I was cruelly shut into the bathroom for HOURS. When I was realeased, the house was empty. As I was loudly demanding an explanation, my humans thrust me into my "going to the vet" cage and put me in the car. We drove right past the vets, (thank God), but we kept driving and driving and driving. No one paid the least attention to my vehement protests. (Well, the boy did try to pet me through the holes in the cage).

When it was completely dark out, we stopped. I was released into a strange room. I frantically searched for some means of escape. If I could get outside, I knew I could make it back home, even if it took some days. But my humans were having none of that. When they left the room, I was again shut in the bathroom. (They left food, but I was much too distraught to eat.)

The next day this routine repeated. On the third day, we pulled up to a house. I was released into an empty, echoing place. The humans seemed very happy and excited, but I was terrified and hid in a closet. They set up a food station and a litter box and LEFT ME THERE all by myself. It soon got dark and I was left in that terrifying emptiness all by myself for the whole night. I was still in the closet when they returned the following morning. They tried to pet me and tell me it was going to be okay soon. But I refused to let them touch me.

After another horrible day had passed, I was once again shut into the bathroom. What is up with that??? After several more hours of incarceration, the door opened and I crept out. What to my wondering eyes did appear-----my couch! My rocking chair! The big bed! The futon! I nearly wept with relief. I was so exhausted from all the trauma that I spread out on the big bed and slept for hours and hours.

It's okay now. I miss my old territory. They won't let me go outside at night here. They speak solemnly about coyotes. But this house has lots of good napping spots and a many cabinets to hide in. There are new species of birds to hunt and even lizards. There is a big back yard with a tree with yellow balls hanging on it. The humans are very excited about these yellow balls for some reason. They are always bringing them into the house and making some drinking concoction with them. Mom is gone from the house more, but Dad is here working on his computer on lots of the days, if he isn't travelling. That's good because he is my favorite person.

I'll log off now and go doze in a sunbeam.


Elizabeth, The Cat

Spring Break Meme

Freshman year I spent my spring break with my grandmother since my family was still living overseas. We both came down with a horrible stomach virus and spent the week barfing and keeping track of how much time was left until we use another of the anti-barfing suppositories her doctor had prescribed for us. FUN!

Jr. year I spent with grandma again--but this time so I could spend the week interviewing some of the nuns that lived at the retirement community for nuns in her town for my jr. independent study thesis. That actually was fun.

Both my college and my seminary required major Senior Theses that were due right after spring break, so I spent two different spring breaks chained to my typewriter, (this was a while back), sharing the misery with various roomates.

Nowdays spring break means wondering what expensive childcare/daycamp option to choose for my kids. Spring break has an annoying tendancy to collide with Holy Week, so taking the week off myself is usually not an option.

Those sizzlin' seniors

Today a member of my new church invited me to have lunch with her at the retirement community where she and many other members of the congregation live. It's quite a nice place, known locally for its fantastic craft bazarre during the holidays and for how active its residents are in the wider community.

The dining room was buzzing with activity. Good friends enjoying a meal together. Certain tables devoted to particular interest groups. The bulletin board covered with announcements of lectures, activities, needs for rides, etc. I said to the folks at my table, "This reminds me of college--only I guess without all the romantic intrigue."

"Oh, we have PLENTY of romantic intrigue!" they assured me, and began gossiping about a couple who are to be married next month.

Well. I'm glad to have something to look forward too.

That was fast

My Oregon-born son has become a Californian. Tonight I announced that dinner would be left-over lasagne from last night. He shook his head and sighed. "Mom--I did like that lasagne you made, but I just don't feel comfortable having it two nights in a row."

What do they put in the kool-aide around here, anyway????

Lent Hymns

Thanks for everyone who posted an un-favorite Lent/Easter hymn. I couldn't help but notice that many folks mentioned, Were You There--some as least favorite, some as a favorite.

My relationship with this hymn has a history.

It was the spring of 1984. I was living on my college campus in an old Victorian house called "The Bread and Justice House". 5 bedrooms, 15 students (women upstairs, men downstairs), doing the usual college things plus running several projects on campus related to world hunger. In the room across the hall from me lived my friends--let's call them Lydia and Dorcas. Dorcas was dating one of the guys from downstairs--let's call him Felix. It was a new romance and it was MAJOR. (They got engaged that summer and were married the next spring.) They were both earnest Midwestern Presbyterians which at that time meant you did your very best to wait for The One, but not necessarily until the wedding night.

Lydia was a good friend and a good sport, but she was growing tired of Dorcas's increasingly frequent requests for time alone in their room with Felix. One night, late in Lent, Lydia came storming into the room I shared with two other women. She'd been booted out again. (Very politely, of course.) She ranted and grumped for several minutes, then fell silent. We went back to our studies. Suddenly, Lydia began to giggle.

"What?" we asked. And she began to sing:

Were you there when he laid her in my room?
Were you there when he laid her in my room?
OOOOOOhhhhhh. Sometimes it makes me want to strangle, strangle, strangle
Were you there when he laid her in my room?

Well, then we all began giggling hysterically and we basically had to give up on studying for that night and break out the ice cream.

So, you can see that it is pretty much impossible for me to have spiritually appropriate thoughts when that hymn is played.

Note: Felix was ordained the same year I was and he and Dorcas now live in a lovey suburban community in Texas where he serves as Pastor of the Presbyterian church. They paid me $500 not to use their real names in this blog. (Kidding, kidding . . . .well at least about the bribery.)

Back in the Ring

Did you think I'd fallen off then end of the earth? That can happen in California, apparently. But we are okay. It just took Verizon quite a while to decide that my family and I were worthy of a DSL connnection here at our new place. I have internet at work too, but I didn't want to start down the slippery slope of blogging at work, so I waited.

We're doing fine. The kids are adjusting to their new schools. Work is kind of overwhelming at this point, but I think it will get better once I get into a rhythm. Right now I'm just kind of running around like a chicken with my head cut off: showing up everywhere and smiling and listening and nodding a lot. I read a book on getting started with a new parish which said not to worry about unpacking your books right away--it's more important to connect with people. That's what I've done, but I must say I'm getting tired of not being able to find my books.

That's all for now. It's good to be back.

Temporary Disconnect

The movers arrive TODAY, so I'll be losing internet connectivity for a few days at least. We won't meet up with our stuff again until late next week and I don't know where I might encounter a wi-fi hot spot en route.

In the meantime: Since we're coming on fast to Lent/Easter, let's reprise the Despised Music Meme. What is your least favorite Lent/Easter hymn of all time?? During Advent I encouraged everyone to name one sacred and one secular candidate--but that doesn't really work at this time of year. There are very few secular Easter songs and no secular Lent songs that I know of. So for the secular category here is the challenge: What secular song do you think would work as a Lent or Easter hymn--providing you could get your music director to go along with the idea, of course.

I'll share my choices later so as not to influence the process. Chat among yourselves while I drive. See you next week.

Sunrise, Sunset

Another thing about moving is that it forces upon you the reality that time is moving right along.

For example, while clearing out the attic my husband holds up a worn piece of soft-side luggage. "What do you think, toss?" he says. My immediate, gut level reaction is, "What? Why would I toss an almost brand new suitcase my grandma gave me as a college graduation present??" Then, of course, rational brain kicks in. "Um, college graduation was twenty years ago and your grandma died in 1995. That is some OLD baggage you're holding onto there."

Or, in the back of a kitchen drawer I find a plastic baggie full of plug guards. When we first moved into this house, my toddler son needed to be guarded from such dangers as electrical sockets. I hold the bag in my hand and wonder, "Where did my babies go?"

And some of our wedding gifts are beginning to show their wear: cookie pans, pot holders, towels, small appliances. And I think, "But these are nearly new. They're wedding presents!" Um, those would be twelve year old pans, cloths, and salad shooters, right?

Oh right.

More Amazing Discoveries

This past weekend we made a major trip to the dump--known more technically hereabouts as the "waste transfer center". We had some furniture that needed to go there. Much of our furniture was starter furniture one of us had when we got married twelve years ago, (nearly). At first we were waiting to buy new stuff until we moved into a bigger place than our first apartment. Then when we did move, we decided it was dumb to buy new furniture with a toddler in the house and a baby on the way. So until Saturday we had a bunch of 15-20 year old furniture that had been spilled on, jumped on, cat scratched, playdough encrusted, etc. It was so bad even the Goodwill did not want it. Off it went.

Underneath the furniture we found amazing things. The school library book we paid for months ago because it seemed lost forever. A mini Snickers bar with its wrapper intact. My daughter reported it tasted just fine. $1.78 in various coins. A very small but crucial piece of a Star Wars Toy that my son's best friend had lost at our place during a play date a while back. One of my earrings. Several small cat toys. Many legos. A Christian Century from October 2003. And lots of stale pretzel pieces--okay we assume they are stale. We did not taste to see.

I feel a parable coming on. The kingdom of God is like a family who looked under their furniture for the first time in six years . . . .

That meme I don't have time to do

Hi friends. Several of you have tagged me for this meme. I just haven't gotten around to doing it. I had to pick one list to work from, but that doesn't mean I'm dissing anyone else.


The way it works. Knock the top name off the list below. Add yours to the bottom.

Anastasia
Haligweorc
Topmost Apple
Lutheranchik
Rebel Without a Pew


Tag five people for this meme

My Farcical Existence
Gannet Girl
Apostle John
A Church for Starving ARtists
Clever Title Here

And anyone else who hasn't been tagged, but wants to play.

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was majorly burned out after 6 years as an Associate Pastor for Youth Ministry and trying to find a new call. My husband's job was not mobile at that point, so I was looking locally. I was in the middle of being rejected by twelve churches in a row in my Presbytery-- and about six months away from finally being offered an interim position at a great church.

What were you doing a year ago?
Helping my little church consider their options in the face of not enough money, falling apart building, radically changed neighborhood, and high anxiety about the future.

5 snacks you enjoy
home made cookies
Cheetos
pita with huumus
guacamole with tortilla chips
popcorn shirmp

5 Songs to which you know all the word
About 3/4 of the Presbyterian Hymnal. And zillions of others. If there is an auditory version of photgraphic memory, I have it. Or at least I did. This power seems to be waning with age.

5 things I'd do if I were a millionare
Pay off debts
Buy a house
Set up college fund for kids
Get retirement savings restarted
Give the rest away.

5 bad habits
Hair Twirling
Leaving Cabinets Opened
Leaving wet towels on the bed
Losing my keys
Creating "stacks" of stuff

UPDATE: My husband would like me to add: Leaving my watch in my jeans' pocket so that it accidently goes through the laundry and gets ruined. He just rescued my current watch at the last moment before it followed several previous watches to a watery grave.

5 things you enjoy doing
Reading
Blogging
Being with my kids
Cooking
Crocheting

5 things you would not wear again
platform shoes
micro-minis
skin tight jeans
mascara
a bikini

5 favorite toys
My laptop
My husbands picture taking cell phone
The dishwasher that the house I'm moving into has (YEAH!)
not sure what else to say. I'd like an MP3player and a new coffee maker

Amazing discoveries

Today while the kids were at school, I attacked. Their bedroom. My kindergartener was home most of last week with a virus, so I hadn't had my chance to nefariously cut through their insane collection of toys and books and winnow it down to stuff they really play with in anticipation of this move. (Doing this while they are present is not possible--see blog entry below).

I had noticed recently that there was an oddish smell coming from their room--not bad really. Not an I-peed- in -my -clothes- and -have -hidden- them -in- shame kind of smell. Not an I-left-an-open-container-of yogurt- under- my- bed-two-weeks-ago smell. Those smells I would have been able to readily identify. This was sort of a sweet, nutty kind of smell. As if a house gnome were drinking Frangelica in the walls somewhere.

I was halfway to the bottom of the dress-up box when I came across a white plastic garbage bag. It was full of something heavy and the smell had grown especially strong. Dreading what I might find, I pulled the bag open. . . . . and discovered at least two hundred moldering buckeyes. The kids had collected these last fall when the buckeye trees in the park up the street were dropping their autumn load. I had allowed them to play with them for a week or so and then told them it was time to throw them away. They protested. I insisted. They agreed to pick them all up and put them in the trash. I saw them pick them up, but I did not actually watch them put the bag in the trash. My mistake.

Can you make liqueure out of fermented buckeyes??

Moving Experiences

Preparing our household for our upcoming (two weeks from today) move has brought up tons of memories of moves from my own childhood. We moved when I was 1, 2, 5, 9, 12 and 16. Each move had its own set of circumstances, practically its own personality. However, there were some things each had in common.

Culture Shock: The biggest culture shock move was our move overseas when I was 16. But each relocation comes with its own culture shock. When I was five we moved from Balitimore to the Western Carolina mountains. We arrived in town a few days before our stuff, so we stayed in a motel. At the motel pool I met a girl, a bit older than I was, who warned me solmenly not to go into the deep end of the pool "cause it'd be over yer hay-id." I had no notion what part of my body my hay-id was, but I stayed away from the deep end all the same. In the morning, we went to breakfast at the local diner. My scrambled eggs came with a side dish of cream of wheat that I did not remember asking for. I put a spoonful into my mouth and discovered that this cream of wheat had a horrible, salty, soapy taste. I spit it into my napkin and tried to drown the awful taste with gulps of orange juice.

When we moved over the mountains to Tennessee four years later, it was fashion that was the problem. The girls in NC wore regular socks. Normal socks. White, cotton, cuffed above your ankle socks. In Tennessee, all the girls wore knee socks. The power girls on the playground pointed at my socks and giggled. I went home and told my mom I needed new socks. She did not see the urgency that I did. Unless your old socks were falling apart, you did not need to rush out and buy new ones. So I suffered the giggles and raised eyebrows until I got a respectible collection of knee socks and the weather got cold enough that we all wore long pants mostly anyway.

Tipping Point: The other thing I remember about moving was that there came a tipping point. A moment in time when you realized that you were living more in the new place than in the old. That your new friends became your real friends and your old friends became your old friends. When your new school became your real school and your old school became a memory, a place in your head instead of the place you wished you were. The older I was, the longer it took to get to the tipping point.

How long does it take when you are 41??

Meaningful Connection??

Okay, maybe I'm slow and everyone else has noticed this already: I'm reading the Chronicles of Narnia to my kids. We started The Magician's Nephew last night, (reading it in its original place in the series, not in the starting position where the present small minded, linear thinkers at Scholastic have placed it.) Anyway, we read the first place where main character Digory is introduced and my son exclaims, "Oh! Digory! Just like Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter!"

Duh! I'd completely missed that. Is it just coincidence, do you think? Or is JK Rowling hinting at some deeper meaning?

Adventures in packing

Crunchy granola moving-with-kids advice:
Involve the children fully in the process of sorting through their belongings, deciding what to move and what to donate to an appropriate charity such as Goodwill. The children will be amazed to discover exactly how much they own and how few of their many toys they actually play with on a regular basis. This can be the beginning of an ongoing conversation about your family's attitude toward possessions . . . .

Reality:
"How about this stuffed dog for the give-away box?" (holding up fuzzy dog that has been squashed in the bottom of the stuffed animal bin for a year at least)
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Not Fluffy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"What about Clue, Jr.? You never play Clue Jr"
" We do SO play it! We played it with Alexis last time she babysat us!" (Alexis left for college in the fall of 2004)

. . . As unidentified, moldy, greyish blobs are lobbed toward the trashcan---
"But those are my Playdough creations!!!!!!!"

Reality Based Moving-with-kids advice:
Always sort through the childrens' belongings while they are away at school. Be ruthless. Throw away any toy that has not been played with in recent memory. Toss all art projects that have hung around longer than three months. Chances are the children will not notice, but if they do you can always blame the moving company.

Misheard Lyrics

Once or twice a year one of the columnists in The Oregonian does a column on misheard lyrics: you know, when you misunderstand the lyrics to a popluar song but don't realize it until much later when you see the words in print, hear the song again through a better sound system or--most embarrasing of all--when someone points out to you that the words you are belting out are not the real words to that song at all.

For instance. My brother, as a young boy, believed that the Rupert Holmes song Escape contained the following lyrics:
If you like Pink Enchiladas
And gettin' caught in the rain . . .
He also heard Foreigner's Hot Blooded as
I'm hot blooded! Chicken of the Sea!
I've got a fever of a hundred and three!

Perhaps it was the factory issued stereo system in our parents' car because, until I was in college, I believed that Cat Stevens had a song that went
Be strange! Sound it louder: I wanna be strange!
Be strange! Take this Country! I wanna be strange!

When I confessed this comical misunderstanding of Peace Train to a seminary friend he nodded sagely and explained that this indicated what would be for me a life-long tension: my eccentric, bohemian urges striving against my love for tradition and the comforts of convention. He may have pegged it just right, or it could have been that not quite seminary supported substance we were enjoying at the time. . .

My favorite mishead lyric, though, is from Joy to the World. As a child I believed the chorus went:
and Kevin and nature sing, and Kevin and nature sing, and Kevin, and Kevin and nature sing.
Kevin was the teenaged son of my mother's good friend. To this day when I sing that carol the image that flashes on my inner eye is of Kevin standing in a green field singing his heart out. God bless you Kevin, wherever you are.

The world is not a safe place

We've been advised not to allow our kitty outside in our new town in CA. Apparently housecat is on the local coyotes' list of favorite delicacies. We were discussing this last night at supper--trying to figure out if coyotes are really any more of danger to Kitty than the busy street on which we now live which she has surrvivied for the past six years. This led to a discussion of other possible dangers we might encounter in our new home: scorpions and earthquakes for instance.

At one point my eight year old son threw up his hands and yelled, "I'm just SICK of all these dangers in the world!!!"

I'd have to second that.

Cross Post from PCUSA Bloggers

The Presby blog ring poses the question: How long have you been Presbyterian and if you weren't Presbyterian, what would you be instead??

Fill in with your own affiliation and answer the question either in the comments here or at your own place.

Do I need to hire image consultants?

I remember being vaguely amused in the past when the punditeratti nattered amongst themselves about whether one or the other of our new presidents was acting sufficiently "presidential". Who cares? I thought. What a dumb thing to blather about.

I'm feeling a bit more sympathetic right now. At least toward those new presidents who had to run this gauntlet. Vague rumors have reached my ears that "people" in the congregation where I will begin serving in six weeks are expressing the hope that I will take charge immediately, be decisive, sort out some issues that have gone unresolved waiting for the new head-of-staff's arrival. In short some "people" appear to want me to waste no time beginning to act presidential.

Sheesh. As if a girl didn't have enough to worry about already. Here's the thing. Or rather, here's the dilemma. I feel a bit credibility challenged already. I'm the first female head-of-staff for this church, the youngest in quite a long while, and I'm coming to this having most recently served a really small church. The temptation is to charge in like Xena Warrior Princess and slay all the doubters. But I'm not sure I could really pull that off--and that's probably a good thing. That's really not the kind of pastor I have been or would want to become.

But are "people" willing to wait for the more subtle, collaborative leadership style I prefer to take hold? Or will the congregation's punditeratti shake their heads and pass judgement?

Yikes. Good thing the only image we are really supposed to focus on is the image and likeness of Christ, huh?

Yet another shoe story

Today my husband called me mid morning from work and told me to go look in our closet. "See my pair of loafers?" he asked.

"I see one black loafer and one brown loafer," I replied.

"Exactly. I'm wearing the other black loafer and the other brown loafer right now. I just noticed," he responded.

This time I blame the rain we've been having in Oregon. It's been so dang dark in the mornings that even with the light on you can barely see to get dressed properly.

I'd say this sheds a whole new light on God's command to Moses, "Take off your shoes!" God may have intended this as a command to abandon the confused mind that either pays too much attention to externals or is too distracted to pay attention to something as basic as getting dressed.

Susan

We finally went to see the Narnia movie yesterday. What with all our travels, etc. we just hadn't made it to the theater yet. I'd say it was pretty well done, though not knock-your-socks-off fantastic.

It did bring back to me my one BIG quarrel with the CofN, the fate of Susan. If you've read the whole series, you'll recall that in The Last Battle it turns out that Susan has turned her back on Aslan and Narnia. She's into nylons and lipstick and says that Narnia was all a children's fantasy that they must get past now that they are on their way to full maturity.

This infuriated me as a young adolescent girl who was just getting interested in nylons and lipstick myself when I first read TLB. Susan was my hero! The big sister just as I was the big sister. The cracker jack archer. The brave warrior. The wise queen. It seemed to me the height of cruelty to set her up as a heronine and then yank the rug out like that.

It turns out that I'm not the only one who noticed this problem. Apparently someone has written an "alternative" story in which Susan becomes a feminist professor of the shrill. politically correct sort and Aslan has rip roaring good sex with the White Witch.

Well. That probably works just fine for those who don't like the CofN much anyway and are only too willing to see C.S. Lewis as a stodgy old Victorian Fart with nothing of value to say to anyone about anything. But what about those of us for whom the CofN were a valuable part of our formation as children, who still count ourselves Christians, who are willing to take a critical look at C.S. Lewis but aren't ready to toss him onto the trash heap as totally worthless?

I'd like to read a story that takes a look at what happens with Susan after her whole family is killed in that train wreck. How do her experiences in Narnia come into play as she wrestles with devestating loss? I can't believe Aslan would let go of her completely.

After all, Once a king or queen in Narnia--always a king or queen in Narnia.

Necessary Losses

We have experienced the first lost tooth in our household. Interestingly enough, it was my six year old daugther, not my eight year old son whose tooth was lost. He's taking it pretty well. I had feared it might be worse--with him EVERYTHING is a competition and it has been a source of great consternation to him that all his friends have lost teeth while he has not. The dentist assured us that, according to the x-rays, all is well: there is a wide range of "normal" in this and my son just happens to be at the older end of normal. He does have a tooth that is loose, so it won't be much longer for him.

I have a feeling this could be the shape of things to come. The kids are just two years and three weeks apart. Girls mature faster than boys, and girls on my side of the family tend to hit puberty early. I can very easily imagine a scenario in which little sister is taller than big brother for a year or so. I guess we will cross that bridge when/if we get there. My husband's sisters hit puberty at the late end of normal, so maybe she has those genes instead.

BTW, what's the going rate for Tooth Fairy deliveries these days?? When I was a kid, I got a quarter in most cases, a bit more if my grandparents happened to be visiting. However my kids are reporting that some of their peers receive five dollar bills. Now, I know inflation is rampant. I could believe that the TF's going rate could have quadrupled since my young years--but $5???
Are there regional variations? Premiums for first lost teeth and molars?? Please advise.

The Rule of 4

Katherine tagged the RevGals for this meme--so if you haven't read hers, consider yourself tagged.

4 Jobs I have had
A long and distinguished career as a babysitter
Donut dipper in the breakfast line at my college dining hall
Library assistant in middle school, high school, college and seminary. If I hadn't gone into ministry, I would probably have been a librarian. I still have to rein in my tendancy toward "pastoral care through prescribed reading". It works with only a small percentage of bookish people.
Temp as an office worker at Ralph Lauren for a month post seminary/pre first call.

4 movies I could watch over and over
The Wizard of Oz
Marry Poppins
Monty Python's Holy Grail
The Turning Point

4 places I have lived
Athens, Greece
Zagreb, Yugoslavia
Cambridgeshire, England
New York City

4 TV shows I like
MASH reruns
Mustard Pancakes
News Hour on PBS
Antiques Roadshow

4 places I have been on vacation
Lots of places in Europe
My own backyard
Visits to family (Gulf Coast) and in-laws (Iowa)
Fremont, Ohio-every summer of my childhood to visit my grandparents

4 Websites I visit daily
Beliefnet
Amazon
RevGalBlogPals
Northumbria Community

4 favorite foods
home made cookies of almost any kind
fresh, hot bagels
shrimp curry
pesto at mid summer peak basil season

4 places I'd rather be
Done with this upcoming move!!!!!
My grandma's house (grandma dead these 11 years, not going to happen)
Hanging out with old friends
England

4 people I tag for this meme
See beginning of post . . .

And the sky is grey . . .

Well--me, my shoes and my family surrvived our "on display" weekend down in California and have returned to the grey skies of Oregon, at least for another month. I must say the incredibly rainy weather here is conspiring to make the thought of leaving Portland less regretable than it might otherwise be.

Can I say how much I dislike gushy events where everyone hugs you? No, I take that back. I like them for about fifteen minutes and then I've had enough. I have just enough 'E' energy to last that long and then I want to be done. So after dinner with the new session, brunch with the new staff and reception with the new congregation, I was Totally. Trashed.

My kids were amazed. "Are all these parties really for us?" I explained that yes, they were, but that this state of affairs would not be permanent; life in California would not be one big party after another, but would soon settle down to approximately the same routine they have now.

We found a house to rent. It has an actual lemon tree in the backyard. This also amazed the children who have never seen lemons anywhere but in the produce section of the grocery store. I pointed out to them that the apple and hazlenut trees we have in our yard now would seem just as exotic to someone moving to Oregon from California, perhaps. Clearly, they have a lot to think about.

I'm trying not to be too terrified by the whole thing.

Another Shoe Story

Thanks to all of you for your good fashion advice. I'm now the proud owner of a new pair of black pumps.

This whole episode reminded me of another shoe epiphany in an earlier job search. I was fresh out of seminary and interviewing at a church in a gracious southern city. After preaching in a neutral pulpit, the nominating committee and I met the Senior Pastor and Interim Associate of the church for which I was interviewing for lunch at a nearby restaurant. The Interim Associate was enduring paroxysms of mortification and embarrassment. Turns out that during the service, she looked down at her feet and discovered to her horror that she had forgotten to switch from her blue pumps, (which matched her outfit), to her black pumps, (which matched her pulpit robe), before worship started.
"There I was up in front of everybody with a black robe and blue pumps!," she wailed.

I sat very quietly nibbling my salad. Just weeks before I had looked down at my feet during church and realized that I had somehow managed to leave the house that morning wearing one blue pump AND one black pump. I thought this was so funny I pointed it out to everyone during coffee hour.

"If this is the kind of place where you have to go through multiple costume changes on Sunday morning to make sure your shoes match your top layer of clothing, I wouldn't last a week," I thought to myself.

Later that week I got a call from my committee letting me know they had chosen another candidate. I wasn't all that sad.

Sermon or Shoes??

So this weekend is the big weekend. We go down to California for me to preach to for my congregation-to-be, for me to meet the people, the staff, the church officers. Then the next day I get examined by my would-be new Presbytery to see if I am orthodox enough for them.

So what am I pondering? What weighs heavily on my mind? Shoes. During the past six years of small church ministry/mother of preschoolers time, my shoe situation has deteriorated drastically. I have some black pumps my mother bought for herself then decided she didn't like, some blue pumps I bought to wear to a friend's wedding in 1993, three pairs of variously colored flats that another friend gave me when she cleaned out her closets, two pairs of sneakers purchased at rummage sales and some sandals ordered through the overstock catalogue from Land's End. And some very, very old Birkenstocks. It's baaaaaad.

I need to write a really kick-ass sermon for this Sunday, right? But part of me is saying, "Sermon, Shmermon . . . you need to hit the mall, girl or you are going to really embarrass yourself." There's really not time to do both.

What's a RevGal to do??

We're Back

We arrived home safe and sound, though struggling to fasten our jeans after a week of being fattened by good midwestern holiday cooking. My mother-in-law was, for many years, in charge of the kitchen at the Catholic school in town. Before that, she cooked daily for a family of 12. Now that she is retired and a widow, she gets to use her considerable gifts for quality, quantity cooking only rarely. Thus, when the extended family arrives in town, she really kicks it into high gear. Actually, she begins weeks ahead: dozens of cookies baked and frozen. Ditto sweet rolls and danishes. Then there is the applesauce, salsa, pickles, jam, etc. that were put up last summer. And the gallon drums of caramel corn. And, and, and . . . .

Then, good German/Luxumbergers that they are, the family cannot marry, bury, or celebrate a holiday without large quantities of beer.

We are on a bread and water fast for the foreseeable future, or at least until I can wear my regular clothes and breath at the same time again.