My Goodness, I love you.

As we end the first year of life together (outside the womb, of course), I want to capture a few memories with Briggs. Memories that I hope bring him as much joy as they bring me.

Briggs,

This first year has been tear-filled in so many ways (and not just your adorable pouty tears when I reluctantly set you down to accomplish a task). I teared up at nearly every major milestone you accomplished, from rolling over, to sitting up, to standing on your own. And my tears reflect the sheer magnitude of God's design for you. I marvel at the way (just today!) you pulled yourself to standing, let go for a few gleeful seconds (while waving your arms and giggling), and promptly landed on your butt. And then you did it again and again. This fleeting moment is beautiful, because you are learning to trust. You are gaining a sense of confidence. You are becoming a little boy who is eager to explore your world. And this brings me to tears, for so many good reasons.

I have a million memories from this year that I'd like to preserve for all time. And so, I will attempt with a few...

The way we cuddle when you are tired, you nuzzling into my neck as if that's where you've always belonged. The way you squirm and release ecstatic giggles when I tickle your feet and under you arms. The way you instantly smile when I wink in your direction, letting me know you feel my love. The way you explore EVERYTHING with your mouth, the cabinet hardware (as I type!), every toy you've ever encountered, mommy's fingers (and toes), your fingers and toes, the occasional stray post-it note, the doors and windows and mirrors and vents and gates and on and on.

The way you army crawl when you've got a snack or toy that's too precious to leave behind. The way you mimic our actions and click your tongue, shake your head, wrinkle your nose, grin from ear to ear. The way you incessantly desire to tap the keys of my keyboard, even when I give you a full-sized version of your own. The way you eat everything we give you, then ask for more as you flail your chubby little legs. The way we rub noses and hold hands and give high fives, just because we can. The way you lift one eyebrow with such expression whenever your interest is piqued. The way you love interacting with other babies, but get a little shy around the bigger kids. The way you choose, in a sea of child toys, to rearrange the plastic plates and kitchen towels in the cupboard.

The way you squawk in response to our voices and carry on your version of a convincing conversation. The way you dance only to certain songs, bobbing your head and bending your knees. The way you delight in seeing your daddy as he returns home from a day of work. The way you pose for pictures with your dimples and charm. The way you share your love with so many others, spreading cheer by simply being you.

You, Briggs, are a delight of a son, and as I think of you growing into who God has created you to be, I realize these precious baby moments will soon be a distant memory. Today, little one, I remember for you the ways we share love in this moment, so they might inspire our love for tomorrow.

In this final week of your first year here on earth, Briggs, I say with all the warmth in my heart, "My goodness, I love you!"

I'm playing the long game.

Over the past few weeks I've found myself repeating this phrase within different scenarios.

I'm playing the long game in marriage, allowing the deep love I feel for my spouse to overcome any temporary (and usually silly) differences we encounter. I love being married, and I know that playing the long game means every once in awhile giving up what I want in the moment for the sake of our lasting relationship.

I'm playing the long game in my career as a pastor, determined not to let the endless cycle of visitations, newsletters, meetings, liturgy and sermon prep (and general sense of always being "on call") to overwhelm me. I love being a pastor, I love my congregants, and I recognize that playing the long game means counteracting "burn out" by setting personal limits and realistic expectations.

I'm playing the long game in my friendships, doing my best to cherish the people who know me well. Over the years I have been richly blessed with rewarding companions, and I realize that playing the long game involves nourishing these relationships- if only occasionally- by caring and conversing about what truly matters.

I'm playing the long game in being a mother, making myself available to Briggs on his terms at the moment. Earlier today I sat down to read a bit from a pastoral book (the most relaxing part of my "day off"). About two paragraphs in, this cute little 11 month-old boy makes a beeline for Momma's lap. I couldn't help but chuckle as I recalled only getting about two paragraphs read during my previous attempt with this book. And since reading a book with tear-able pages is not an option while cuddling Briggs, I put the book down and concentrated on being a mom. I know that playing the long game as a mother means establishing a secure bond of trust with Briggs now, so he will be confident in exploring the world later (at which point, I might get to read more than 2 paragraphs, maybe).

And if I stop to consider what it is that best allows me to play the long game as a wife, pastor, friend, and mom, I realize it's consistent and meaningful prayer.

Prayer allows me--almost demands from me--time to reflect. Prayer gives linguistic substance to what I think and feel and believe. And because I'm the type of person who thinks out loud, prayer actually helps me form my perspectives. Prayer gives me a momentary chance to reflect on how I might best "play the long game" in my many (simultaneous) vocations.

Here's one of my favorites: "Jesus, thank you for this life; help me live it to the fullest. Amen."

And here's one I should maybe begin praying: "Jesus, help me play the long game. Amen."

Mom, this blog's for you

When my siblings and I were young, we sang a song for our grandparents' anniversary celebration called Grandma and Grandpa, this song's for you. I was somehow reminded of this simple song the other day while thinking of my family. While I'm sure everyone enjoyed our chirping little child voices, I'm more of a writer, as it turns out. So my blog title today suggests a similar desire to show appreciation for my mother, without using my (less than cute, these days) singing voice.

Mom, this blog's for you.

As I am both naturally and professionally inclined to do, I've been reflecting on my past year. 2014 brought many changes, challenges, wonder, and insight. Foremost in my thoughts these days is my new role as a mother. See, I've always believed I would be a good mother (maybe now I see that's in part because you modeled it so well for me). But the truth is, I never anticipated the amount of strength required of a mother.

Sure, being pregnant, going into labor, and delivering an almost-nine-pound baby (as I also was!) takes grit, endurance, and plenty of strength. But I anticipated needing all that. What caught me by surprise was the strength required to give of myself without ceasing.

The strength needed to constantly anticipate, respond to, and provide for the needs of a completely adorable (and super-dependent) human being. All this, while receiving less sleep than ever before, needing more physical recovery than ever before, and experiencing more hormonal fluxes than a pubescent teen.

Bodily sacrifice takes on new meaning as a mother, but so does the emotional investment. After the first week of Briggs' life, I wrote a blog post detailing the frustration and reality of the experience. And although I remember hearing you, mom, say something about it not "being very positive" :) I said one thing that day that sticks with me:

"I honestly couldn’t love him any more or less. He is my son, and when I let myself think about the implications of that statement, I am blown away with awe."

This is what I learned in 2014, that the love of a mother is unfathomable apart from the experience of being a mother.

I realize that I never understood the love you have for your children, until now. You couldn't love us any more or less. We are yours, and I bet when you let yourself think about the implications of that statement, you are blown away with awe.

As am I.

As is anyone who knows the strength required to give of oneself completely to another.
  

Awe. What a great word to describe the feeling of being a mom, a word to summarize my reflections on 2014. And so on this first day of 2015, I want to thank you, mom, for giving yourself completely to your children. For emulating the self-sacrificial love of parenting so well, that I might better understand the depths of emotional strength needed to do this whole mothering business well.

And the pastor in me might even say the way you love me brings me that much closer to understanding the love of God.

Here's to diving even deeper into the love of a mother and the love of God in 2015.

The Pastoral Irony of Advent

This is my first advent as an ordained minister, and I am attempting to quickly learn so many things...

Like what advent means in different cultural contexts, how to determine the "accurate" themes represented in each advent candle on the wreath (I've come across at least 4 or 5 different versions thus far), preparing our first discussion series informed by our devotional readings, creating children's worship lessons for the season, writing liturgy and sermons to reflect the mood of the season, and crafting a Christmas Eve Service to include children, musical numbers, poetry, and stories.

All this while also correcting 35 final essays, grading 35 final presentations, and finalizing semester grades for my delightful students.

So what's the irony, you ask? Well, in addition to preaching on signs of hope last week, I also spoke about Advent as a space carved out in our church year to WAIT in eager anticipation of a promise not yet realized. To BE STILL and contemplate the movement of the spirit in the midst of the bustle all around us. To THINK ON HOPE even when so many are simply thinking of shopping and trips to the mall to snap a photo with Santa.

And yet what do I find myself doing? Anything but WAITING, BEING STILL, and TAKING TIME TO PONDER. Instead, I find myself (not without a sense of guilt) hurrying through the season to get everything checked off my list. After all, in addition to my rather hectic schedule with church and teaching, I also need to maintain my holiday duties as a sister, aunt, daughter, wife, and now mother!

So the question becomes- how do I practice what I preach when I've totally over-committed myself during the Advent Season?

My personal answer (the one I establish to counter the sense of guilt that occasionally arises) has thus far been one of deliberately NOT stressing out, even while still getting things done.

Oh I want to stress out, believe me. Perhaps my dear husband might even say I AM once in awhile, but the truth is, I'm trying really hard to maintain a sense of calm contemplation internally, even when the Christmas storm rages around me. Stress be gone. Advent is a time to clear our minds and prepare ourselves for the coming hope of Christ by recognizing and responding to the pain we see in others and feel within ourselves as we wait.

By internally re-orienting myself, I've discovered a greater capacity to be present to those who need me during the Advent season, and that feels like the closest I will ever come to practicing what I preach.  Here's to 22 more days of my best attempt at saying no to stress and yes to waiting patiently for the promise of Christmas.

My doll and me at Thanksgiving with my family

food poisoning- no choice but to slow down

At least I think it was food poisoning that took me by surprise one week ago.

Regardless of what triggered the complete depletion of my energy stores (as well as "helped" me "lose" any extra weight from baby), it wasn't fun. Sunday morning I woke up feeling great, thoroughly enjoyed worship, headed home to take photos of one adorable puppy baby (posted previously on facebook), and in the midst of editing those photos, it hit me. Within 8 hours I was so weak I could hardly smile at my lovely son.

That's a momma who's feeling pretty rough.

AJ called the ER and they said it would be best for me to stay home and keep hydrated...which was only possible once my body lost every inkling of potential poison. But around midnight, I started keeping things down, and my appetite picked up in another day or so.

It took two or three days to fully recover, in time to officiate a funeral and finish my work for Sunday. I did cancel class on Tuesday and had conveniently lined up a guest speaker for Thursday, but otherwise I maintained my functionality in (most) ways. My house is a mess, and I didn't work ahead on advent/Christmas ideas like I had planned, but God's grace is good.

In fact, in those life moments when we are forced to slow down (even if it's due to some unexplained illness), I tend to find greater clarity about my priorities.

#1? Restoring my energy so I could replenish my milk supply. Because of our co-dependent physiological relationship at the moment, this means my health = Briggs' health. So prioritizing my recovery was in direct correlation to my desire for Briggs' well being. Thankfully, he was an absolute dear through it all, even sleeping through the night so I could recover. Thanks is also due to Daddy's unwavering attention in caring for both baby and mom.

I'm back on my feet, ready to start again where I left off last week, even more thankful for my health than I've been in quite some time. And above all, I am reminded that I'm only human...and even pastor mom humans sometimes get sick.

Mommy and Briggs celebrating recovery

When Ideal Isn't Good Enough

It's the middle of October. Half-way through the semester. Just over a month until Advent begins. Briggs is 7 months old and changing every day. The weather is getting cooler and our trees have nearly lost all leaves.

So naturally it's time for me to reflect on change. :)

And here's the news from the reflecting I've been up to....my life is ideal, but I've decided that's not good enough. I need a change.

Here's what I mean: I have the flexibility to work from home most days, essentially being a stay-at-home mom and a working mom, sending Briggs to day care 2 days a week. I love all this. I love teaching, I love ministry, I love motherhood, I love taking care of the home. And several people have told me my situation is ideal. Theoretically I agree. It sounds perfect. However, I live a practical existence, and in the midst of living the "ideal," I've realized it's only ideal if I have the energy to enjoy it.

Here's another way of looking at the stay-at-home/working mom bit. I work full-time hours with 15 hrs a week child care. In other words...although I'm at home with Briggs during 3 work days, little of my day is spent actually giving him attention. My mind is constantly split, and the sheer emotional/intellectual energy necessary for me to be good at each role I play is exhausting. I have students that need my attention, I have a church family whom I love and need to attend, and I have my home life, marriage and baby boy that are worthy of all my time. Oh, and I think I still have friends and (at least hopes of resurrecting) a social life.

Yes, I hear moms everywhere saying, "Welcome to being a parent." And I get that. But I refuse to believe that I must simply succumb to a packed schedule--at least before Briggs begins activities. :) I understand that some women have to make difficult decisions for financial considerations, but that's not me. One of my college professors taught me to say no to good things in order that I might better engage in great things. And although I didn't do well at heeding this advice in college, it's about time I do.

And so this past week  I made the difficult decision to say no to another semester of doing what I love- teaching college students. I'm prioritizing my ministry and my family, and as hard as it is to say farewell to this role I play as instructor, I'm leaving space in my schedule to truly enjoy my calling as a pastor mom.

And just maybe, I will be one step closer to "ideal."

sunrise over the lake

Today is a good day...

Although I wish I began every day with this refrain, I am particularly ready to reflect on my past few weeks today. Which in my frenzy of a world right now, marks a very good day.

So my life has been one exceptional event after another lately, and while this is entirely delightful, it also means that I occasionally run myself a little too thin.

Take a few weeks ago, for example: as usual, I take Briggs to day care 2 days a week yet work full-time hours between my pastoral work and my teaching. After adding an unexpected committal service, several (wonderful) meetings with congregants, and wrapping up details from my ordination service, (in addition to my regular teaching, correcting 35 essays, sermon prep, and service details), I find myself particularly susceptible to the friendly germs Briggs brings home from day care.

So on that Saturday night, we decide AJ needs to stay home from church with our sick little boy. I wake up Sunday morning to a pounding head and inflamed sinuses myself, but since I no longer have the luxury of sleeping in on a Sunday, I head to church. What my foggy head forgets, however, is all my written material, including the sermon. Oops! With a pounding head, I welcome two unexpected families of guests into the service, silently wondering, "why today???" As God will do, however, the Spirit moves as I (discreetly, I'm sure) preach from my smartphone atop the pulpit. Tiny screen, so thank goodness I was the one who wrote the sermon!

I come home after church as flu symptoms take over my body. As I head to bed at 9pm, covered with 4 blankets, I wonder: "How will I get through another week of my schedule, adding in a wedding rehearsal and ceremony?" With a sick child and a sick body of my own, this past week did not look promising.

And yet, somehow, I made it through. Except cancelling class and meetings on Tuesday, I attend to all necessary business, including getting healthy. The wedding occurred, a marriage began, and my voice held out for the final words, “You may kiss the bride!” Yesterday I celebrated my colleague’s installation in Wessington Springs and most significantly, my husband’s 30^th birthday!

So as I take a moment to breath it all in this morning (which I can do, thanks to my neti pot clearing those pesky sinuses), I am SO immensely grateful for a God who shows up when I don’t have enough to give. And in re-telling my stories of the past few weeks, I begin to recognize that I must be in the business of reflection as a pastor.

Pausing occasionally and allowing my thoughts to be free of tasks, open to imagination, I begin to see the wonder of God’s promise of a new creation. “Behold, I am making all things new.” Yes, God is making me new, is working anew in my family, in my church, in my community, and in my world. Let me be attentive to this good work through the act of reflection.

Today is a good day indeed, because today I give thanks to God for all good things. Amen!

My son is growing, and so am I

This Sunday, one day before Briggs turned 6 months old, I was ordained as a minister of word and sacrament in the United Church of Christ.

Many friends, family, and congregants celebrated with me as I publicly confirmed a calling to ministry I've felt for roughly 14 years. So as my husband said when I asked if he was ready for me to be ordained, "It's about time!"

It is time. I feel as if so much of my life journey has intentionally led to this point. I am a pastor and mother now. Yet the other roles I play have been instrumental in getting me to this place in life. As a daughter, sister, wife, friend, student, and sojourner in my Christian walk, God has been fine-tuning my personality, skills, and experiences to be who I am now as a pastor mom.

That's growth, and in celebrating this process of growth, I am admitting that I am not yet the full portrait of who God created  me to be. And neither is Briggs.

This week, as I began feeding Briggs solid food for the first time and recognizing his rapid growth more pointedly than ever before, I became excited for him to grow up in the church. I know I make plenty of jokes about his unfortunate position as a pastor's kid, yet I am so grateful that Briggs will have the love, concern, and support of an entire congregation.

My dear friend Karen who came to preach an excellent message at my ordination service had a few days to love on and enjoy Briggs. After I said he won't be forming memories until the age of 3, she responded, "Isn't that sad that you pour all this love and affection on him, and he won't remember a bit of it!" This got me thinking that although it is sad,  I believe each hug, each giggle, each attempt at introducing a new food plays a significant role in him becoming who God created him to be.

I don't remember every moment that has contributed to my growth as a pastor, yet I am extremely grateful for them anyway. So too I believe Briggs will grow to be a delightful young boy and eventually a mature young man who is grateful for the many ways others have contributed to who he is. That's why I shower him with hugs and kisses now, even though he won't remember.

In the love of a mother, or a pastor, lies the deeper love of Christ. This is the love I ultimately want Briggs to remember.

I need to write.

I need to write a blog post.

See, I don't have time to write one. That's what I've been saying the past few weeks, but I'm beginning to realize that the list of things to do doesn't shrink with the passing of time. What with my class starting in a few days, my ordination service coming in a few weeks, a wedding in a month, and my weekly sermonizing always looming nearer to the Sunday am deadline, I am in need of a break from the work/motherhood balance, a moment to reflect.

So I need to write to remind myself that I will never have "time" to write. Time doesn't appear out of thin air, we shape time. I am the one who chooses what to do with my time (except for when Briggs has a blowout diaper like the one an hour ago, then I suppose he chooses for me). But mostly, when I think I'm too busy to do something like write a blog post, it's usually me prioritizing my time in other ways.

And oh my time is in dire need of prioritizing. I still haven't fully figured out this whole balance of being a pastor during my child's nap times. That's more or less what it amounts to at the moment. And while I cherish this time with Briggs, my professional aspirations are often truncated because of it. Maybe that's what some would call a healthy respect for family, but I'm the type of person that wants to give 100% toward everything which I've committed myself.

Thus the prioritizing. I'm learning that I need to make the most of my time while AJ is home, in both a professional and personal capacity. This basically boils down to being "fully present" in the moment whether I'm working on a sermon (as Briggs plays with daddy) or discussing our days (while my sermon waits patiently for my return).

I've been feeling like my attention is "split," and it's not that I don't have the time, it's that I am still learning what it means to  make the most of the time I do have. And I actually think I'm improving, so long as Briggs doesn't cry for 4 straight hours (like yesterday), or my strange low-estrogen symptoms don't flare up, leaving me with little choice but to rest.

I need to write, because it allows me this brief moment to say to you, my friends, and myself that I'm starting to figure this whole pastor mom business out, even if it doesn't always seem like it. :) And trust me, when I'm in the midst of the tension between doing my best thinking on a sermon and tending to a crying child, it sure
doesn't seem like it.

That's the refreshing aspect of blogging- it can change my perspective, in just a moment of time.

I try to add a photo of Briggs to each post, because I assume he's a much better "draw" than any photo of me.

Grumpy Babies & God's Love

For awhile now, I’ve been pondering my newfound appreciation for the analogies and metaphors of God’s parental love. In particular, I appreciate the language accentuating the ties of a mother to her child. And yesterday, during one of Briggs’ especially grumpy days, my efforts to comfort him triggered my memory of these scriptural references to God’s love.

In Isaiah 49:15, the people of God are reminded of God’s covenant with them, and this scripture uses parental language to describe the loving relationship: “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!”

Again in Isaiah, chapter 66 is filled with language describing God’s relationship with Israel as that of a mother birthing her children, and verses 11-13 say, “For you will nurse and be satisfied at her comforting breasts; you will drink deeply and delight in her overflowing abundance. For this is what the Lord says: ‘I will extend peace to her like a river, and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream; you will nurse and be carried on her arm and dandled on her knees. As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.’”

Later in Matthew 23: 37, Jesus says, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.”

As a hen gathers her chicks; I love this. I know this image, thanks to my father’s delight in all things poultry. And I can appreciate its tender and urgent undertones. I too feel the desire to gather Briggs under my wings and shelter him from the storms of life. I know I cannot do this forever, and I’m a self-accepting, overly-protective mother when it comes to Briggs and his sleep patterns…okay, I’m likely overly-protective of just about everything concerning my darling son.

Yesterday as we were out for a walk, Briggs (after a really difficult day) fell asleep in the stroller. As I walked along, I moved my body (often in awkward positions: sometimes hunched over, other times kicking the wheels of the stroller with my stride) to shade Briggs’ face with my own shadow. I realized that I—without question—desired to provide Briggs as much relief as I could- from the tears of the day, from the sun in his face, from whatever made him grumpy.

And still, despite all my desire to comfort Briggs, I already experience the frustration of doing everything in my power and not being able to always prevent his tears.

And so I think of God and God’s relationship with us.

What is it about my role as a mother that provides comfort to Briggs? While at times it might be nursing, or playing, or rocking him, most often my ability to comfort Briggs is due primarily to my presence with him. When he is crying in his crib, sometimes I get the feeling that he KNOWS I am about to come into his room, because he will stop crying for a moment as I near the door, nearly every time. And I think, maybe all he wants to know is that his mother is still here. Still loves him. Will still play with him when he’s done sleeping. And perhaps the scent of my skin is enough to give him comfort.

And oh I will. I will be there to scoop him out of the crib, change his diaper, kiss his little cheeks, and tell him how very much his momma loves him. Because that’s the compassion I have for my child.

And God promises the same for us. “I will not forget you!” God cannot shelter us from every storm in life, but God’s parental love promises us a presence that cannot be undone. A love that will never be severed. The scent of God will always be present to provide us reassurance. In fact, nothing in all of existence can separate us from the love that we have in Christ Jesus.

So as I think about how desperately I love Briggs, I am reassured that God’s love is only THAT much stronger, that much more capable, that much more lasting.

And I find comfort in the shelter of God’s wings.

Something changed... even when I don't feel like it.

Something changed the day I became a pastor, just like something changed the day I became a mom.

I can describe it best in saying I acquired this profound realization that I am a pastor...even when I don't feel like it. In much the same way, I realized the SECOND Briggs was born that I will forever be a mom, even when I don't feel like it.

Take yesterday for example. I wasn't feeling in my best mood driving to church- but guess what? When I arrived at church, I was Pastor Emily. It's a job, yes. But it's also a calling...and in some ways it actually makes for more authentic ministry when I assume my pastor cap (or stole as it may be), especially on the days I don't feel like it. I suppose it's like this because in the end, my ministry is not so much about how I feel on any given day, it's about God- and God's work in our lives. It's about being real in the presence of God and hoping others feel welcome to this same posture of humility....and let me tell you, there's nothing more humbling than preaching when you don't feel much like being a pastor that day.

And yet God uses me, and on what was perhaps one of my least "cheerful" days, I sensed God's spirit moving and working in the midst of our congregation in a very real way, despite my fleeting feelings.

Or take this morning- after hosting family and friends for an (unexpected, yet delightful) lake day following church, I got to bed late and woke up early to a hungry baby. Did I feel like getting out of bed? Absolutely not!!! But I'm a mom now, and it's par for the course. I don't get to choose to sleep in some days just because I stayed up a little later than normal. I'm a mom, whether I feel like it or not. Although Briggs is still too young to understand any grumpy words, I'm finding myself ever-more mindful than even 4 month-old babies likely pick up on emotional cues. So whether I feel like it or not, I recognize the need to be a loving and consistent mom who exudes the same humility of calling that my pastoral role evokes in me.

And I trust that God uses me, as a pastor and a mother, despite all my occasional feelings to the contrary. This does not mean that I completely disregard my personal feelings, but rather that I accept them, process them, and make a conscious choice to allow God to use me anyway.

Many things about my identity have changed over the past four months, and yet I'm still just me. Emily the daughter, sister, wife, and friend- who is now also Emily the pastor and mom.

It suits me, even when I don't feel like it.

17 days & a few lessons

I've been at this Pastor Mom business a whopping 17 days, and already I've gleaned a few lessons from my experience. My baby is sleeping, so I'll get right to the point...

1. A work-from-home and on-the-road Pastor Mom must be okay with variable and undefined working hours. This creates a number of scenarios:

• Church meetings occasionally supersede my desire to put my baby to bed every night.
• If Briggs comes along on a pastoral visit, I must either plan accordingly for nap time or deal with a cranky baby.
• Saturdays spent completing a sermon and Sundays spent preaching & engaging congregants makes for less than relaxing weekends.
• Consequently, I must learn to accept and appreciate a mid-week "week-end."
• Getting into the groove of sermon-writing happens when I least expect it (not only when Briggs is napping) thus I need to be prepared to record my thoughts at any given time.

2. Speaking of sermon writing, this elusive--impossible to justify the time I spend-- art of delving into God's Word, hoping for a few words of my own to illuminate the scripture each Sunday. This, my friends who have never had the privilege of writing a sermon, can be excruciatingly time-consuming & burdensome (my friends who have will likely relate). Take for example my sermon prep last week. I read the text (over and over), consult a few commentaries and reflections, write my thoughts down, think about it all week long in the context of my congregation (including during what would otherwise be leisurely walks or sleep-filled early hours of the morning), then on Friday afternoon while Briggs is napping I erase my previous thoughts and write more. Finally on Saturday I tweak and re-tweak my sermon until I say a prayer of blessing and print it. Done- that is until I hear a few nuances during the Sunday morning reading itself (as I’m reading the text, by the way) and ad lib these thoughts into the manuscript.

Why does it take so much time, you ask? I ask the same question, and here are my thoughts...

• I am essentially trying to do the impossible, which is give explanation of God's Word to folks who can also read God's Word for themselves just fine. This is said with the understanding that God's Word is a source of light and truth for all who read in the Spirit of God, only my congregants expect that my 3+ years of training have somehow endowed me with a slightly more direct line to this light and truth. This, I suppose, it what we refer to as a calling.
• Whenever I attempt to write down my thoughts, I am often struck by the realization that perhaps what I am saying is not what God is saying. Humans attempting to explain God? Yep, you get the difficulty. It's a delicate balance of allowing God's Word to speak THROUGH my words, rather than claiming to speak the Word of God directly.
• I find myself wondering if I am attempting to make the Word of God accommodate my agenda. We pastors all have biases, and whenever I re-write my sermon, it's because I sense that I have attempted to make God's Word say what I want, rather than what God's Word is truly saying. And here I am left ever-wondering, all week long, am I being true to the text?

3. This post is getting long, and I suspect I have already lost a few disinterested folks, so I will end by saying that I rely on my husband as a source of love and acceptance SO much as both a Pastor and Mom. Thus, I am learning to be particularly intentional about creating space to nurture our marriage and prayer life. Home and the people I love (including this cute little guy below) are truly the wellspring of energy and resolve I need in this crazy journey of being Pastor Mom.

The Kid is Alright.

I'm a Pastor Mom now, and Briggs is subsequently (by no choice of his own) a Pastor's Kid.

This reality is a major consideration within my career choice, and it comes with certain implications (in any church, of course, not specifically my present congregation)... Yes, Briggs will receive all sorts of attention from church members, which is absolutely wonderful! 

But it also means:

1. As Briggs ages, he will have many eyes on his development- some of which may be a bit (unintentionally, of course) overly eager, if you catch my drift.

2. Briggs will have to adjust his schedule each Sunday morning to accommodate Mommy's work, with the aforementioned attention cutting into his regular nap time.

3. As we begin a Sunday School program, Briggs will be the rain or shine child in attendance, making him my default "answer-er."  (Can anyone say, "Jesus!")

4. I am already aware of the implications being a Pastor's Kid has for teenagers. Before we know it, Briggs will be testing the waters, adding an interesting dynamic to the "all eyes on Briggs" situation.

5. As the sole baby in church, Briggs is destined to be cherished, spoiled, and held by more adoring adults than the average child.

And despite all these considerations (and after 4 days of more attention than he could imagine during the 4th of July weekend), Briggs slept nearly 14 hours last night, waking up with this smile, letting me know he is going to be alright.

Yes, my dear little one (or as AJ reminded me I often say... "sweet honey child"), you are in for a ride of a lifetime, and your mommy prays that being a pastor's kid only adds to your loveliness.

My Final Week

This is my final week of life as I know it.

And I was just getting acquainted with the whole stay-at-home mom routine. Even so, I’m SUPER excited to formally begin my call as the pastor of the Congregational Christian Church of Columbia, SD. July 1 is my start date, and although that seemed quite far off when I selected it, that date is now exactly 1 week away! So many emotions accompany this life transition to Pastor Mom.

A decent-sized part of me feels anxious…

·         About the challenge of balancing mommy-time and pastor-time quickly headed my way.

·         About the need to share care-giving responsibilities for Briggs with others.

·         About what my house will look like once I begin working.

·         About the need to maintain full focus in pastoral duties while constantly mindful (or overly attentive) of my identity as a new mother.

·         About the many (inevitable) challenges awaiting me in the role of congregant leader.

And yet an even greater-sized part of me feels grateful…

·         Extremely grateful for 4 months of 100% mommy time to study, enjoy, and bond with Briggs, our new little creation. I cannot adequately express how valuable this time has been for me (and hopefully for Briggs).

·         For a church call that will mesh well with having a family (and for the warm welcome we have already received as a family within the congregation).

·         For the opportunity to re-activate my pastoral skills and passions- and a routine that structures my time more efficiently.

·         For a husband who not only supports me, but is eager to take on the role of pastor’s husband (a rare find, to be sure).

·         For a God who is our ultimate care-taker as I go about the task of joining God’s good work in my family, my community, and my congregation.

When I first started dating AJ, he selected this scripture and created a little gift utilizing it, a gift that remains a significant source of assurance to me as I contemplate my role as pastor mom. I will end this blog (and the adjoining era of my life) with this thought from the Apostle Paul…

Such confidence we have through Christ before God.  Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God.  He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life. (2 Corinthians 3: 4-6)

May my confidence and competence as a pastor and mom reflect the truth that Christ’s new covenant calls us to an ever-renewed life, a promise the Spirit of God upholds on our behalf. Praise be to God for life transitions and the confidence to fully embrace the newness of life.

So how will I spend this final week of life as I know it? Doing exactly what I've been doing, only perhaps I'll take a few extra minutes to love on Briggs.

What DO you DO all day?

It recently came to my attention that my (supportive & affirming) husband is unclear about what occupies my time “all day long.” To be clear, he did not ask me this; rather, he was asked this by another, and it was hard for him to respond. Instead of allowing this pesky question to bend me out of shape, I have decided to answer it for the benefit of all who have never experienced staying home "all day long" on a consistent basis.

Let me begin by addressing a few hidden questions…

No, I do not watch TV

No, I do not take a nap

No, I do not paint my nails—or otherwise pamper myself—nearly as much as I ought.

Had you dropped in on me any given day this past week, you may have found me…

v  Sorting, washing, drying, folding, & sorting again multiple loads of laundry

v  Giving Briggs a bath

v  Taking inventory of our household supplies, creating a list of needed items, and purchasing them with the (slightly distracting) help of an infant alongside

v  Introducing Briggs to the beauty of the outdoors, communicating with him to ensure he develops language capabilities, and playing with him during tummy time

v  Connecting with the outside world and satisfying my extrovert needs via facebook

v  Rearranging our bedding and furniture situation to accommodate the acquisition of a new bed

v  Managing business items pertaining to my new role as a pastor

v  Dusting, vacuuming, tidying, cleaning toilets, washing sinks, removing spider webs

v  Reading books to Briggs so he appreciates this as a life-long skill

v  Sweeping up the crumbs that (not only) I create in the kitchen

v  Holding Briggs, playing and praying with Briggs, reminding Briggs of my constant love and affection

v  Taking a highly-calculated trip into town to drop off recycling, deposit a check, pick up household supplies/prescriptions, and possibly…

v  Nursing Briggs in the back of my vehicle on said “highly-calculated” trip into town

v  Attempting to re-establish Briggs’ schedule after I inevitably mess it up with the “less than calculated” trip into town

v  Gathering and organizing mail and packages, responding to business and personal communication needs, informing my dear husband of schedules and obligations

v  Admiring and appreciating Briggs’ smiles, giggles, and babbling sounds

v  Tracking and managing personal finances, writing checks, calling insurance companies, sorting medical bills

v  Performing the occasional push-up and sit-up

v  Writing this blog, although AJ insists I am not technically a “blogger,” because I am not paid.

v  Cheering when Briggs poops, changing the obvious diaper

v  Weeding the garden, harvesting produce, mowing the lawn, planting flowers, picking up branches

v  Feverishly researching developmental milestones to ensure Briggs is on track

v  Pulling water-logged boat lift tires from the lake

v  Planning and cooking meals that satisfy my never-ending appetite and that of my husband

v  Singing made-up songs to Briggs, many of which are (surprisingly) clever

v  Taking walks with Briggs

v  Attempting to maintain personal health (and hygiene) so I remain productive in my parenting role

v  Putting Briggs down for a nap, getting Briggs up from a nap, putting Briggs down for a nap

Oh…and single-handedly sustaining the life of another human being. That too.

Tummy Time for both of us

The question I feel is more pertinent at this given time is this: “How will I manage to balance all that I currently do with the additional pastoral responsibilities quickly headed my way?” That seems a better question to entertain.

Schedule of a Baby

Or, schedule of a baby’s momma… which are two in the same, as I am quickly discovering.

Let’s talk about a daily schedule- for an infant. For reasons I may never quite understand, Briggs wakes up for the morning, and within an HOUR he needs his first nap of the day. Ha, and I’m talking after anywhere between 8 and 12 hours of sleep in one stretch at night. This momma who loves her sleep was blessed with a baby who also loves his sleep (I have not yet taken this for granted, and I praise our Creator each time I wake up to find a still-sleeping baby).

So why then, after 12 hours of sleep last night (yes, he is only three month old), is he sleeping again at 9am while I write this blog post? I don’t know, but some questions may be better left unanswered (especially after I had my best night yet— 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Accept it, Emily. Don’t question the logic). I honestly never thought this day would come, and I’m tearing up a little just writing it. Yes, I love sleep with the best of them!

Briggs will awaken from his first nap after 45 min to 1 hour (after all, how much more could he POSSIBLY need at this point in the day). He will play with me for a little while until I feed him, change his diaper, and set him down to re-discover the many animal friends attached to his playmat. Soon enough, however, he will get a bit cranky, sounding the alarm that it is time for another nap. And this process repeats about 4 times throughout the day. I vary the “play time” with a walk, reading a book, singing, or sitting outside with the trees and the breeze and the birds. I have learned that Briggs also LOVES to watch the ripples of the lake. He gasps a little each time the breeze touches his skin, which is an unexpected delight of mine.

And then it’s time for bed. Again. The days go surprisingly quickly when your baby sleeps for 12 hours. Although it’s not always a full 12 hours, he has been sleeping at least 8 hours since he was two months old, a truth I was reluctant to proclaim in fear that I might jinx his healthy habits. Yet it’s true, like mother like son. We like sleep around here, and although I don’t have a magical routine or recipe for success, I am just thankful that whatever we’ve been doing is working. Trust me, I read a TON of “how to get your baby to sleep” blogs, and this is not one of them. I tried a bunch of things at first, and the best advice I’ve followed is to put your baby down before he/she seems tired. Basically defy logic, and your baby may sleep better.

As I think about being a mom, it’s moments like this that I am SO grateful for this little bundle. Briggs challenges me, brings me delight, gives me focus, and most of all, keeps me honest about routine. Although I may want to play with him longer, or take him on a shopping trip, that baby routine kicks in and reminds me that Briggs’ schedule is a priority (for as long as I want those 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep, that is). I’ll take it, Briggs, your schedule can be my schedule any day!

Pastor Mom

I've been doing quite some reflecting about my blog this week.

You wouldn't know it, I realize, since I missed a post. But I have been thinking about the title: whereigofromhere.

In many ways, this has been a question that has directed both my personal and professional life- for as long as I can remember, life has consisted of one transition toward another (insert a short synopsis of my hop, skip and a jump from school to school-- to Americorps-- to school to school-- to a job (at a school)-- to now).

The fluidity of my life became a norm.

Until recently, with the advent of one really big life jump… to motherhood.

One year ago I began this blog, having no clue that I'd soon consider rocking a sleeping baby my most important work of the day. And I've been thinking it's time for another transition- a more permanent title, if you will, in answer to my own question. I've been going a lot of places and doing many things, and I think I’ve arrived at a destination that suits me:

Pastor Mom.

It suits me. I like the challenge of maintaining the flexibility and varied responsibilities both ministry and motherhood entail. I like it.

Pastor Mom.

As I think about my journey, so many episodes of learning, engaging conversations, daunting experiences, and rewarding relationships have led me to this moment in my life. It’s a destination of sorts, yet it’s also the start of another story.  It’s a story that is both familiar and mysterious.

Pastor Mom. As I repeat this phrase to myself, I am excited and terrified at the same time.

Excited to be able to mesh my personal and professional relationships in the loving environment of a faith community, yet terrified that I will let excellence slip away from my repertoire of expectations both in ministry and parenting. I suppose all working moms have this fear. Three months ago, however, I never thought I'd be able to handle so much as a load of laundry while also caring for an infant,yet I've learned.

I've learned to make the most of my time- not in a "cram as much in as possible" way, but in a "what's most important right now" way. Like holding Briggs. That's pretty darn important if you ask me. And making sure he gets good naps, smiles occasionally, practices motor development, looks at the moving leaves on the trees, engages with people (he is my son, after all), and ends every day knowing how much he is truly loved.  That, for me, is making the most of my time.  And beginning in July, I will have to relearn how to incorporate being a mother (and still doing laundry) while also prioritizing a congregation who has entrusted me into their care.

So regardless of whether or not I use the more permanent blog title: Pastor Mom, I am convinced that this is exactly where I need to be. Forever in the balance between motherhood and ministry, knowing in God’s arms I rest. Let the fun continue!

Me two years ago graduating from seminary- TOTALLY not anticipating the whole "Pastor Mom" bit.

Not a clue...

We are nearly 3 months into this parenting business. Next week, our darling will have hit that momentous age at which he truly comes alive (not in the “definition of life” sense, but in the “leaving the so-called 4^th trimester” sense). I previously acknowledged that my mother’s intuition is strong enough to send me straight to google with questions of all sorts. I’m now three months in, however, and I secretly hoped that perhaps by this time I’d have a clue.

Like, a “built-up” mother’s intuition, or something of that sort.

But so far, not a chance.

I want to say that I “know” my child- as in, I know what his smile looks like, I know that crying means he needs something, I know that he is a baby… oh wait, that’s common knowledge. It’s the details a mother is supposed to know:

What makes him spit up vs. not spit up?

Why does he go from happy to screaming in one second?

How long should he nap?

What are his favorite toys?

If he cries during a nap, does it mean he is still tired or he is ready to wake up?

How much does he eat in one feeding?

Why does he never eat/sleep/play in the same order, despite all attempts at setting a schedule?

Does he thrive best with a schedule or on his own timing?

Why does he go to sleep perfectly at Grandma’s house, yet cry for 1.5 hours in his own crib?

Will he poop today? Five times in one day? Wait five days before pooping?

Does being in active environments tire him out? Over-stimulate him? Both? Neither?

I don’t have a clue.

These might seem like silly questions, but ask any new mom, and they run through our heads constantly (or ask my husband…last night after I mentioned half-a-dozen hypotheses regarding Briggs’ inability to fall asleep, AJ said (tongue-in-cheek) “Or maybe he has an unsolved math problem stuck in his head.” Very funny, AJ.)

People assume I know the answers, which of course I don’t. I will tell you something (quite assuredly) one day, and recant my so-called knowledge the next.

Even so, I have discovered three things for sure:

1. My academic/inquiring nature only serves me well in so far as I don’t go crazy when answers aren’t easily obtained using the “google it” method.

2. As soon as I figure Briggs out, he changes.

3. Briggs knows me and seems content with me as a mother, despite me having no clue.

Oh! and…drive-thru restaurants are a mother’s best friend.