Making the #leap (kid part 2)

That was phase 1: the pre-phase.  It was a stage of anxiety and worry.  It was a time of wondering and waiting to see what would happen.   Phase 2 was the phase.  It was us showing up, in pajamas from Saturday night because she didn’t want to wear a church dress and I didn’t want to force her when her whole world had flipped upside down.  Phase 2 was getting acclimated to 300 people who wanted to say hello to my cute little blonde girl who had no desire to say hello to them.  Phase 2 was preaching my first sermon on my second Sunday without my husband there to watch her and packing a play pack and snack pack to keep her occupied. It was allowing her to sit with me in worship because she refused to do the nursery or Sunday school and I was not going to force her. It was watching her dance during the anthem and hear her plead to stay the second service.  Then hearing her plead to leave during the opening song of second service and looking around trying to find someone, anyone who could take her for me. After all, I was the pastor, this was worship, at my new church, my first “time” for many to see me “in action” and I didn’t think walking out in the middle of the music would be a hit. So I found one of a handful of women whose name I actually knew and asked her to take my daughter to the nursery and then chased her down with the backpack of goodies. Phase 2 was dealing with the complaint following that dance during the anthem hearing that she was “too distracting”—my joy-filled, talkative, very active child, who behaved beautifully in worship and did just what she was told, was too distracting. Phase 2 was having my greatest fear (rejection of my child) actualized in that complaint.  And it was moving forward despite the critiques.   Phase 2 was attending a 7:00pm leadership meeting with child in tow because my husband had to work and then having her melt down because she was dog tired. It was pleading with her to be quiet and not whine. It was bribing her with food, toys, and drink. And finally, it was stepping out of the meeting, scrounging around in the nursery, and finding a stroller and pushing her until she fell asleep in said meeting. 

Admittedly, phase 2 was a little rough. It wasn’t unbearable.  We survived it. All 3 of us. But it was hard.  It was hard to struggle with who to trust and who to turn to with our little one. It was tough to find a new “normal”. It /was tough to see my daughter struggle, and have her not know  what was behind her anxiety,  stress, or fear.  And it was hard to know when to “let go” and let her work it out (even if that meant she was screaming and in tears) and when to hold her close and let her know that despite all the things that had changed in her world, our love and support had not.  

I also have to say that on the positive side, Phase 2 showed me a lot of grace.  The grace of phase 2 came in the form of that woman in the middle of worship who was willing to take my child without question or hesitation.  The grace of phase 2 came in the compassion and care of the lay leaders who were tasked with sharing the complaint but still showed deep concern for both of us.  The grace of phase 2 came when a woman on the leadership team helped me push my daughter home after that late night so I could juggle her and all of our belongings beside.  The grace of phase 2 came from all the people who sought to greet her and say hello despite her reticence at so many new faces.  And the grace of phase 2 came with my parents who helped with the day shift in my first week so my husband and I could both report to work without worrying about Ruth.  

There were struggles as we acclimated to our #leap.  There was heartbreak and there were tears.  And, there was a whole lot of grace shared with us too and for that I am eternally grateful. 

Preparing to #Leap (kid part 1)

When I prepared to #leap, I was very aware that it wasn't just me who was moving and transitioning, it was also my husband and my daughter.  When I started at my first two churches, I was single. Starting at a new place with a spouse and a child promised to be a very different thing.  

This is part 1 in a 3 part series:

When I met with the outgoing pastor, we talked about a lot of things.  We had an initial phone conversation that lasted about an hour and a half.  Then a face to face that was nearly 5 hours.  Multiple email exchanges and then about another hour to hour and a half at annual conference.  We did a good bit of talking before the transition. At some points it felt like way too much information and at others it felt like we had only scratched the surface.  We covered church history, leadership, vision, staffing, and finances.  We also covered a multitude of questions I had both as I thought my new place and things I wanted the incoming pastor to know for the place I was leaving.  Some of my questions were related to theory and some were more pragmatic.  

I remember one in particular because I was taken aback by the answer.  I asked, “So, on a Sunday morning, if you need help with your kids, who do you turn to?”  He asked, “What do you mean?”  It seemed like a straightforward and simple question to me, but I did my best to clarify, “I mean, say your wife is sick and you have the girls before worship and you need to do something, who helps with the kids?”  His response, “That’s never happened.”  Now, that may be the luxury of having a stay at home wife, or of being a man, or of some other weird quirk in the universe, whatever the case, I don’t really know how to explain it, or even understand it.  

I am the mother of a three year old, a well-behaved, intelligent, articulate, church-accustomed 3 year old and I can’t even imagine a world where needing help with her on a Sunday morning “has never happened.” From sick days, to tantrums, to unexpected counseling, to regular post-worship conversations, to diaper blow outs, to extended naps, I have had many occasions to need reinforcements.  And, at my last church, the one where I announced my pregnancy and shared my first months with my first born, I had a whole village of support and care.  No matter what the event, there always would have been someone to help with her.  Someone would have taken her at her best and in a screaming fit to help me do my job.  They were our church, but more importantly, they were her village.  They helped us raise our daughter, from time in the office, to time in the nursery, to babysitting at our house when I had Bible study or we had an emergency, they were there and I had a list of folks I could call on.

So, when I was anticipating a transition, I thought a lot about who I might turn to. Who would be there to help? Who would not mind taking a screaming child out of worship? Who could stay late to keep her entertained while I did this that or the other?  This was a big deal for me.  I felt pretty sure I could take whatever the church could dish out, but I wasn’t sure how my young child who only knew one home and one church would fare without “her people.” 

Trials of messy ministry

Sometimes ministry sucks. Not really, well, yeah really.  I don't normally openly say that.  Especially because the great parts far outweigh the crap parts.  But there are things that just feel awful in their being.  Today offered one of those things.  

For more than 2 years we have been "battling" with 2 different homeless folks that we serve.  We've been in ministry with them nearly twice that time, but 2+ years ago it became a thing.  A thing where we had been asking and asking and asking and asking that they not stay the night and not hang out on church property when they weren't attending a church function.  We had issues with altercations, shopping carts set on fire, the police, and a whole variety of charming things that come with being in urban-esque ministry with those who live chronically on the streets.  

It wasn't the first time we waded in these waters. We had been down a similar road before with other friends we served.  But they, after a few months, finally obliged and stopped staying the night and loitering (mostly).  But these 2, these 2 refused to waver.  And ever since it's felt like a battle.  Some days it's just irritating, other days you turn a blind eye because there's not energy or time for it and other days it just infuriates you.  Sometimes it's downright exhausting.  

One of these friends has been MIA for a couple of weeks.  We assume she's back in jail, but it could be any number of things.  But he's been around. And last week we decided we needed to draw a hard line.  Harder than the rules we had in place. Harder than calling the police (who rarely show up anyway and when they do take more than 45 minutes to get to the church).  We decided we would have him sign a contract that said he understands how he has broken the rules and that we are enacting certain consequences as a result.  

The content looks like this:

As a result of openly defiant behavior relating to Wesley UMC and its rules for participation in ministries and presence on the campus, we are enacting the following rules for ________________.  The following rules are effective through March 2014, at which time a conversation with Pastor Debbie and head of trustees will be necessary before restoring any privileges or access to ministries offered at Wesley UMC.

Rule violations include:

• Breaking into buildings
• Stealing church, NA, and AA property
• Loitering
• Accessing church electricity without permission
• Defiance when asked to leave church property
• Stowing personal belongings in bushes and on church property.

 

Rules of restriction include but are not limited to:

• No mail access effective October 5, 2013. Received mail will be forwarded to an address if provided, or returned to sender.
• No Sunday breakfast, shower, or clothing privileges.
• No Tuesday morning food distribution privileges.
• No access to additional church ministries including worship, NA/AA programs, Bible studies, or special events.

Following our no trespassing ordinance:

• Sleeping on church property is not allowed at any point.
• Resting, stopping by, or sorting personal belongings is not allowed.
• Lack of church member or pastor presence does not negate any of these rules.  

Quite honestly, this is not the road we wanted to take.  We wanted to offer grace and second chances and repeat the rules and have him comply. But he hasn't and he refuses to.  We know that he has bigger issues going on in his life. And I have offered numerous times to help him get help.  But for now, we need a hard line.  The break ins, the theft, the defiance, the getting cussed out, it's all become too much and something has to change.  

And yet, even knowing all that, it still sucks. When you live in a profession of second (and 157th) chances, you want people to live into the fullness of who they are. You don't want this. Not the bad behavior or the hard line.

  And so, sometimes, it sucks.

Prayer to be led

As a pastor, I am often in charge. I'm generally good at being in charge. The only trouble is that when it comes to following, I'm so used to leading that I don't always follow well. That was true this last week and so I wrote this prayer:

Gracious Lord,
Teach me to follow. Give me a humble spirit to be led and taught by others. Help me to lead where you are calling. Help me to step back so that others might grow as your leaders.
In Jesus' name,
amen.

You're not failing as a pastor

This morning I read this post and it struck me pretty hard, in a good way. 
It was nice to be told that I'm not a failure even though my parenting falls short. 
I've really been struggling lately feeling like I'm not measuring up to who and what I want to be. 
I can readily point out the many areas where I'm failing as a parent.  This article spoke right to me.  And as I thought further, I saw how critical I've been of my pastor self too.  So, I thought I'd write a similar piece but directed at pastors.  Or maybe just directed at me.  If it speaks to you too, even better. 

I love my job.  It is a privilege, an honor, and a blessing to share sacred space with people.  It is the greatest privilege imaginable to be invited into their most tender places to offer comfort, peace, truth, and compassion.  Those times fuel my spirit for the work I do.  Caring in those ways and hearing painful truths can also feel very heavy.  And in the midst of a myriad of responsibilities, it can be hard to find create space to unload and let God refill me with grace, love, and compassion.

I am also an administrator, planner, communicator, leader, designer, quasi nurse-on-call (I'm in no way a medical professional, but on multiple occasions I have been asked medical advice or needed to step in after seeing symptoms that were reflective of a more serious condition), plumber, painter, problem solver, complaint department chair, worship planner, quasi- musician, and whatever-else-is-demanded-but-not-met go-to-gal.  This part is exhausting.  It doesn't have to be that bad, but when too many people call on you for too many things, it's downright exhausting and without anyone consistent/paid/constant to share the responsibility, it will wear you down. 

Currently, I'm worn down.  I feel tired on a daily basis.  Sometimes it's not clear whether it's parenting, or wife-ing, or pastoring, or all-of-it-ing, but I'm weary.  I know the signs.  It's not good.  It's not bad, yet, but it's not good either.  This level of fatigue generally means one of two things in my life 1) depression or 2) burn out.  At the worst of times, it's both. 

In this state of tired, I can't see the forest for the trees. All I see are the things I am missing, getting wrong, or only doing half-way.  And the cycle perpetuates itself quite nicely.  Because once I've labeled myself a failure that label sticks like gorilla glue.  It's a hard one to slough. 

In an effort to lift the darkness, today, I will refuse to label myself a failure.  Today I will claim the following:

You are not a failure as a pastor if you don't spend 10 hours preparing your sermon.
You are not a failure as a pastor if there is a growing stack of papers on your desk.
You are not a failure as a pastor if you haven't visited a certain parishioner because they just take it out of you.
You are not a failure as a pastor simply because someone always finds something to critique about you.
You are not failing as a pastor when you take time to read.
You are not failing as a pastor when you  take time to clean your office.
You are not failing as a pastor when you spend time with your family. 
You are not failing as a pastor when you spend time with colleagues. 
You are not failing as a pastor when you send your bulletin information in late.
You are not failing as a pastor when you only pray once for a request. 
You are not failing as a pastor when you take time to just be.
You are not failing as a pastor when you have to say "no". 
You are not failing as a pastor because you over-committed.  
You are not failing as a pastor when you allow Facebook to be your community. 
You are not failing as a pastor when you don't meet the world's standards.
You are not failing as a pastor when you don't meet your own standards.  
You are not failing as a pastor because someone else does part of the job "better". 

I have to say, these are hard to write.  I'm inclined to say, "but" after most of them.  Not to you of course. But to myself.  I could easily argue how each of these is a failure, and that's why I've been stuck.  But for today, at least, there will be no rebuttal.  What I do is enough.  What I don't do is ok.  I'm not failing as a pastor. 

As God's way of shining a light upon my path, I spoke with a parishioner today who has been away and known nothing of how I've been feeling. And yet, as she thought of me and prayed, God gave her clear insight into my struggles and offered a word of encouragement through her.  It was just what I needed to hear.  She said, "Am I making sense?"  And I responded that she was and that God gave her the exact message I needed to hear.  I'm not failing. God is providing through me and the people have what they need. 

My final thought on this, at least for today, is that as clergy, we are afforded the privilege of never working alone.  God is always here, ready, as a helpmate. 

Thank God for that.