Grandpa Called Her Sweetheart

Grandpa called her sweetheart,

The love of his long life.

As time tenderized their care,

Her gentleness and appeal

Called for a name

To match all they had shared.

Sweetheart.

My love whose sweet is real.

Sometimes it’s just a name.

Something to fill the void.

Sweetheart.

Suspended between a think and a feel.

And then one day we see it lived,

That moment love is shared.

Sweetheart.

The one whose sweet is real.

I have searched for days,

For a word to capture well

The essence of her spirit,

She who gave our family a great deal

Of learning and laughter

And nurture and soul.

Sweetheart.

The one whose sweet is real.

Sweetheart isn’t a name

To commemorate any great feat.

Unless, of course, you happen to have

Ten grandchildren to make feel

Worthy. At peace. In confident care.

Then a mighty hero indeed!

Sweetheart.

The one whose sweet is real.

It’s true, because I am one

Who knows her heart as sweet

As the honey I dipped those

Tatortots in, sitting alone at a meal.

Five years old and I still recall,

She affirmed my lack of lunchroom speed.

Sweetheart.

The one whose sweet is real.

She told me many times my eyes

Reminded her of her mother;

Maybe their shape or their color.

But things aren’t always as it seems,

And so I begin to wonder

If she didn’t know it true….

That my eyes saw, like her mother’s too,

A heart that beat with the sweetest of things.

Grandpa called her sweetheart

A woman whose sweet was real.

And I am always grateful for

That woman whose sweet was real.

Grandma Ikast, you have inspired, nurtured, and cherished us all well. Now rest in the arms of the One who created the sweet in you.

Baby Briggs with Great Grandpa & Grandma 2014

28 weeks- tired and happy, but which comes first?

My second pregnancy has been much different from the first, in part (I suppose) because I now have a two-year old to enjoy while also growing this new little one. In fact, I’ve been so busy that I rarely take time these days to reflect on how very happy I am to be ushering in new life all over again.

Because I’m tired, almost all the time. 

Take for example Briggs’ birthday party. It was a wonderful gathering of family and friends (with grandma graciously agreeing to host at her place). But even without the extra cleaning, hosting a rather simple birthday party was truly exhausting. Being on my feet all day is not something my twice-pregnant body much enjoys, and my body fought back by allowing a head cold to become another sinus infection…so I’m still tired and sick, a week out from the festivities. 

I say this not to gain sympathy exactly, but to admit that this pregnancy has been a juxtaposition of challenges and joy, almost constantly. In spite of all the “woes” of pregnancy, I am really, truly, wholeheartedly happy…and sometimes I just need to say that!

You just might miss it in our initial conversations, because the tired Emily almost ALWAYS speaks first. Then, after I’ve had my moment, I tend to allow the happy sunshine to stream through. I just wish sometimes the sun would shine brighter than my complaints. The truth is, I am extremely fortunate for this pregnancy, for the health of my family, for a supportive community around me, for friends who understand and sympathize with the frustrations of varicose veins, an achy body, mood swings, fatigue, (and the gazillion other pregnancy symptoms you can google at your leisure). I am fortunate to have a career in which I am called to tend my soul as well as others’ because it gives me spiritual perspective, especially when the tired Emily wants to take over.

So hear this from the happy Emily- the next 2 ½ months might not be my most physically pleasant, but I do feel blessed with this chance to discover yet again how powerful and miraculous our God truly is. And I am fundamentally happy to offer my body for the process of fostering another new life (at least while I sit here comfortably with my feet up!) J

Photo Cred- AJ Munger

Ordinary Ashes, an Extraordinary Christ

I began today by burning palm leaves to create the liturgical ash for this evening's worship service. And although I would love to be able to tell you how ceremonial I was about it, the truth is (as it's been in previous years as well), it's an ordinary, earthy business.

And I think what contributed to its earthiness this year was the fact that I performed this burning and crushing with my 1 (nearly 2) year-old. I go to the garage, followed promptly by the little leech of a learner, assuming this small pile of leaves will surely not create the type of alarming smoke it does. So in an attempt to both keep the (small) fire burning, open the garage door for ventilation, and keep my son safe, I end up drafting the smoke into the house (by way of the open door the curious toddler keeps open). I might add that neither Briggs nor I are properly dressed to be in the cold.

Ahh, so after the flame dies down, I follow the smoke back into the house and proceed to crush the ashes into dust. With Briggs' fervent help, soon we have a small pile of ash dust, and a house filled with the aroma of burning palms (which is surprisingly similar to the smell of a recreational drug). And so before sending my son off to day care, I feel compelled to throw our clothes into the laundry and air out the house the best I could in 15 degree weather. (I don't want assumptions about this PK being made before he's two!) :)

The final step is to mix a little oil in with the ashes. When asked by my husband if I use "holy oil," my reply is in spirit with the process of creating the ash itself...."Yes, that holy oil we use to cook with everyday."

That's about as ordinary and earthy as it gets. And yet somehow I couldn't help but see Christ in the process. Beginning with tearing palm leaves and reminiscing about the branches waving among the congregation last Palm Sunday, I think about the cycle of our own lives represented in the once-lively palms turned into dust. We are a magnificent creation, yes, but like the palms, we are created only for a short time on this earth. And it seems to me the best existence of all is to discover how our lives might wave in celebration of Christ, with whatever amount of time we have on earth. And I've witnessed those who are able to do this well, those who discover their ordinary lives are capable of glorifying an extraordinary Christ, seem most prepared when God calls them into the grace and dignity of becoming ash once again.

We all participate in the cycle of life, and Ash Wednesday is an invitation to ponder how we might use this precious opportunity in-between dust and dust.

God, give me the assurance and grace to be present with you in the fleeting moment between dust.

Finally, enjoying the joy of pregnancy.

It's no secret that pregnancy is a true miracle. And it's no secret that most pregnant mothers have a hard time remembering this during the first trimester, me included.

To speak of my pregnancy this time around has been a delicate subject. Of course I found an occasional moment to be overjoyed with the thought of new life during those rough, rough, first 18 weeks, but for the most part, I lamented not having the strength or health to actually ENJOY the joy of pregnancy.

It being a miracle and all, the number one thing I wanted most was to celebrate this little one inside me, and so it is with all the pent-up joy in my heart from the past 4 months that I can officially, with a healthy body and mind, ENJOY the baby inside.

More than anything, I feel a sense of relief.

It's a relief to be able to celebrate with those who congratulate me on my growing belly, rather than fearing that even thinking about the baby might result in nausea.

It's a relief to get up in the morning and have happy dreams of a healthy delivery, rather than dread trying to make it through the day.

It's a relief to be able to smile at the minor inconveniences (pulsing leg veins, encumbered movement, and an eager appetite) rather than feel overwhelmed with major health issues.

It's a relief to feel the precious little arm and leg movements inside me, rather than relying on science to tell me the misery is for a purpose.

But it has been, the many weeks my misery was worth it- and now I can breathe into this 21st week of pregnancy and allow my heart to fill with joy, to ENJOY every lasting moment.

You, little one, are worth it...and I'm grateful for the health to remember this once again. You and I have an interesting history, and it will surely be an even more interesting future! I love you, all 10.5 inches (but you'd better keep growing)!

A Pregnant Advent

As a pastor, the Advent season has become increasingly important to me. I especially appreciate the tension we hold as Christians in the waiting period. We have hopes of joy for sure, but we are also honest about the pain in the world, the pain in our own lives. And this tension of Advent is particularly poignant for me as I travel through Advent this year...pregnant.

I've been waiting to write a jolly story of how the first few months of pregnancy were unpleasant, but nearing Christmas now I'm feeling awesome! Only that moment hasn't come for me, and I feel it's important to speak during Advent with an honest heart.

This pregnancy has been really rough.  I'm nearly 17 weeks, and for three months now, I can recall no more than 2 days in which my physical health was in really good shape. In addition to the pregnancy ills, my immune system has been no match for the (seemingly endless) bugs and infections that come my way. This is not meant as a complaint exactly (heaven and AJ know I've done enough of that!), because I am aware of the sweet joy and privilege inherent in carrying new life into this world. I do think, however, that if I didn't write of the pain associated with this pregnancy, I would be holding something back from the joy as well. In Advent, we hold joy and pain together, a reality that has encouraged me in my pregnant Advent, relating with Mary more than ever before.

I really am filled with joy at the prospect of new life entering our family, and on those two days when I felt well enough, my heart swelled with more emotion than I thought possible. But the reality of experiencing bodily pain (at least for me), is how difficult it makes seeing beyond the fog of the present. I want to dream about Briggs as a big brother, but it's hard to rip my focus from what has become a daily goal: survival. I share this with you in an attempt to be honest with myself, in hopes that it gives other miserably pregnant woman a sense of comfort (in a world that often expects us to be happy no matter what), and in the spirit of sharing more than the "happy-go-lucky" images we often project on social media.

And so I wait, in the pain of my pregnant Advent, hoping for the day in which I sense the light of Christ shining in more and more clearly. Here's one thing I've learned: I covet the prayers of those who pray, because although I can sometimes pray for others during these months, it's really difficult to find the words to pray for myself.  Thanks for reading, thanks for caring, and thanks for praying. Even amidst the pain, I have so much true joy! Case in point: the little guy right next to me, smelling like his dad's deodorant (don't ask) and dancing to Adele! May we all find ways to allow the hope of Christ fill our spirits, even amidst the pain life brings.

My growing boy!

hold you and hug you, kiss you and love you.

Perhaps it's the fog outside, or the dropping temps, or the fact that I'm working from home today (and when mom is on the computer, Briggs likes a little more attention!) But for whatever reason, Briggs is a little more cuddly, and I welcome these cuddles with my whole heart...as evidenced by my spontaneous outburst of joy and affection.

"Oh, I just want to hold you and hug you, kiss you and love you."

Really, I feel these things every day with Briggs. He is easy and enjoyable to love.

But my thoughts turn toward others in my life, to whom I don't often find myself saying such warm and loving sentiments...and I wonder, why not? Why don't I extend the same spontaneous outburst of joy and affection toward others I love? Or even toward those who are difficult to love?

After all, Briggs can be difficult too. He can try my patience with the best of them. He can frustrate me, and sometimes his behavior even calls me to question my abilities as a mom. Yet almost like reflex, I respond to him with open arms of love and warmth.

And so I wonder, on this foggy morning, maybe I can learn to do the same for others? Maybe being a mom is teaching me how to love in the midst of frustration, to show affection even when I feel wronged. Maybe I can learn lessons of love from Briggs and apply them to every other child of God that I encounter throughout my day.

Am I up for this tall order? Can I truly allow myself to apply what I learn from my son into other facets of life with others? I'm optimistic. I think it's the part of getting older that can be potentially rewarding. My perspective deepens, and I begin to recognize that life is too short to not be open to moments when spontaneous outbursts of joy and affection are what is most needed.

Thank you Briggs, for preparing me to be a better human, simply by enjoying you as my son.

When Swatting Flies is Fun

I have to say, swatting flies has never been an enjoyable part of my life.

In fact, as they buzz around my ear (maybe in it), flies become such a nuisance that I swat them in a state of frenzy, thoroughly exasperated at how they seem to multiply with each swat.

But this year, during our fly plague of September....my precious 1 1/2 year-old son has officially made swatting flies fun. As he runs around the room, modeling exactly what I now get is my flailing efforts to rid our kitchen of as many pests as possible, I see fly swatting through different eyes.

I see it through the eyes of someone enjoying the chance to expend some energy.
I see it through the eyes of someone trying desperately to learn and grow and gain valuable life skills.
I see it through the eyes of someone looking for adventure.

Seen through the eyes of Briggs, suddenly swatting flies brings a smile to my face. As I sit here, watching my son giggle each time he deliberately swats (what he hopes is a fly), I begin to realize that this relationship between mother and son is a mutual sort. My inclination is to say, "look at how much he's learning from me!" but if I'm honest, the reverse is also true.

Briggs teaches me valuable lessons every day, like how to transform mundane (perhaps even unpleasant) tasks into adventure.

Swatting flies. Pulling weeds. Cooking dinner. Typing emails. Sorting silverware. Folding laundry.

We as moms (and dads) have endless opportunities to learn from our children; what a gift this can be if we take each moment as it comes, keeping an eye out for inherent adventure!

Thanks, kids, for teaching us something new. Thanks, Briggs, for being you.

Why Worship? Why Church? Why Prayer?

This was my sermon title last Sunday, based on a passage from 1 Kings 8, a message that involved a few minutes (for even me!) to journal on each of these three questions: Why worship? Why church? Why prayer? One may assume that a pastor ought to have these questions answered quite thoroughly by the time they are ordained (into the service of God, in the institution of the church, through the power of prayer), but the beauty of a life in Christ is that each day is an opportunity for growth-- or stagnation--and both are very real in the lives of pastors and parishioners alike.

So I welcomed the opportunity to reflect on these questions anew last Sunday, and they've been reverberating in my mind the past few days. As a pastor mom, I want to choose growth everyday. And I believe that if I focus on these three questions, all of life's unpredictable and out-of-our-control circumstances begin to fall into a better place, a richer experience, a more holy perspective.

Why Worship? Aside from the obvious fact that I truly believe in the Triune God, I worship mostly to be reminded that God is God and I am not. This kind of perspective allows me to process what goes on in the wide-wide world, but also within my interpersonal relationships. I am reminded, lest I get all self-righteous, that I fall short of God's glory on my own. God is worthy of worship, and I am not; in essence, I suppose I'd say it keeps my focus outward and upward, and worship gives me the opportunity to see God at work all around me. It's only when I can see God at work, that I can learn to lend my hands to the service of God's Kingdom.

Why Church? This is perhaps an even more intriguing question, especially for my contemporaries who increasingly find the church less relevant to a life of worship. I told my congregation Sunday, "We can worship anywhere, why specifically the church?" It's a question that's been on my mind a whole lot as a young pastor (30 is young, right?), and I've come to truly believe that the church is a spiritual home. We don't spend all our time at home, of course, but we do function in society with greater confidence and a grounded sense of self when we have a nurturing home environment. This is true for our families of origin and for our families of faith. Family is a community of people who "get us," a group of folks who can frolic (or trudge) through life together. This is the role of a family...and the family of God, in my experience, happens to meet in a church.

Why Prayer? I love this question, because it's such a HARD question to answer with certainty. Why do I pray? Sometimes, if I'm honest, I'm not sure. I pray first and foremost because I believe in a God who cares, but I also pray because I've come to understand myself as exactly this: a person who prays. Prayer takes many forms; sometimes I pray at length, sometimes I simply take a deep breath and sense God's movement in my midst. Sometimes I pray with others, sometimes on my own. Sometimes I write my prayers, sometimes I cry my prayers, sometimes I can't bring myself to pray, so I ask for the prayers of others. The bottom line for me is that prayer, in some mysterious and inexplicable way, changes me. And so if I want to be a person who grows, then I need to be a person who prays.

Together, worship, church, and prayer connect me to my God, a God who transforms everyday experiences into holy occasions...a God who takes my hand as I try to faithfully follow the ways of Jesus. My true transformation occurs when I embrace the reality that I am not alone; nothing can separate me from the love of Jesus Christ. What a beautiful truth to guide our days, especially those when difficult circumstances attempt to cloud our vision and hinder our hope.

Need to feel a connection with God? (ahem, Emily?), try worship, try church, try prayer.

Sunset that inspired me on my way home from a church meeting. This makes a commute totally worth it!

16 months can change a world

The truth is, I've been madly happily in love with Briggs since he started his growth in my belly. But something about watching him tease me with his scrunched up nose, shaking his head "no" at the mention of giving mom a kiss, makes that love all the more palpable. I love this child, who turns 16 months old today, in a way that changes the world.

At least this love, a love exchanged between mother and child, changes my world...

In a conversation with my brother over the Fourth of July, he says, "I suppose having a kid makes you much less selfish, huh?" and I almost didn't know how to respond. Because "yes" is the obvious answer. Yes, I have less time to think about myself; yes, I care more about someone else's well-being than I ever imagined possible; yes, I often prioritize my child above my own needs....

But I honestly don't feel less selfish, because when I give myself to another, it makes me happy. It's a form of joy to be generous with one's self. And this is what I think God uses as the glue to keep a mother and family together. It's the same selfless joy I experience as a wife, giving myself to a union that has greater purpose than my own solitary life.

And this glue, this sticky kind of love, is the hope I have for every family God brings together, including my own. This love changes my world, every single day.

When I wake up each morning, I am reminded that I am not my own (often by the rustling and squawking of a 16 month-old next door waiting for his milk). I am reminded that I belong to a union greater than myself...a union created on the tenants of covenant and faithfulness and love.

And I aim to be mindful of this covenant I've made with my husband (just over 5 years ago) with faithful intention, dedicated to the growth of love within our family (even when that means quietly doing the endless pile of dishes and laundry). And when I forget why I chose this covenant, I have a beautiful, adventurous, inquisitive, loving, and (if I'm honest) adorable 16 month-old to remind me.

All thanks and praise be to God, the Creator of love that can change our world, one child at a time.

Pride of a Pastor Mom

Briggs and I are celebrating 15 months today, and I've been catching myself thinking about how truly proud I am of what he's accomplished in this short span of time- transforming from a helpless babe to an active and adorable toddler. And yet that tricky word "pride" often catches us Christians in an odd way. We realize that Jesus teaches us to assume attitudes opposite of pride (i.e. humility), yet as parents we intrinsically know that Jesus wants us to be proud of our children. So what's the catch?

Maybe only Pastor Moms contemplate these issues, I'm not sure. But as I've been thinking, I've come to realize a few things about the type of "pride" I feel on behalf of my son, and it is in fact akin to humility; thus, it's not likely the type of "pride" Jesus speaks against in the Gospel.

Here's what I mean.

I'm proud of the way my son is gaining his independence (like how he toddles away from mommy, returns for a quick hug, and ventures off again), trying new things (like how he insists on feeding himself with a spoon and sorting his food according to categories from least to most appetizing), and modeling all of daddy's mannerisms and behaviors (like propping his feet up as he reclines, combing his own hair, and mimicking funny noises).

And yet all of these burgeoning behaviors requires a certain humility on the part of a mother. Briggs is (too) quickly becoming his own personality, demonstrating preferences that aren't my own :), and testing my patience with each new streak of independence. All the while, I'm left re-adjusting the care-giving bond I created with Briggs when he was brand new to this world. The bond I worked SO HARD at, the bond that took my every effort for several months. And to re-adjust that bond, making room for Briggs to become the person God fashioned from the beginning, that's the most humbling act required of me in my (almost) 30-year existence.

And in spite of how hard it can be to let go, I am SO PROUD of Briggs. This is why I know the type of pride I feel is not antithetical to the humility Jesus requires of his followers. Another way I know this pride is not rooted in selfish gloating, is because I do not reserve my pride for my own son. I beam with pride as I see all children, related to me or not, grow into the little people (and eventually big people) God created for this world.

All of God's children are special, unique... not because of anything awesome they do, but because of who created them. And so as I display pride with each new developmental milestone Briggs reaches, I am certain that the God who created him is beaming with pride as well.

First encounter with Grandpa and Grandma's animals

Pure Joy for Mother's Day

May has always served as a time of transition in my life, and it continues to be so, even years after my life as a student has ended. And once again, I find myself reflecting on where I've been and where I go from here.

Two years ago this month, life as I know it in Mina, SD began; I started this blog without the slightest inclination that I'd be pregnant within a month and experience the life-changing joy of adding Briggs to our family.

One year ago this month I celebrated the baptism of my first son on Mother's Day; In the exhaustion of new motherhood, I marveled at the strength I'd been given for the task and the inexplicable feeling of sharing myself completely with a newborn.

This month, I'm spending time marveling at the growth a year provides. I am no longer exhausted (thank the Good Lord Almighty), and as I look into the vibrant face of my smiling child, I witness what has been my sustaining motivation as a mother: Pure Joy.

Pure joy at the giggles Briggs produces when we play the silliest of games, splash in the tub, chase one another around, play catch with Daddy, and make goofy faces together.

Pure joy as I've watched Briggs transform from baby to toddler in a matter of days. His plodding, yet determined steps reminding me both of the challenges behind us and the challenges ahead.

Pure joy as I see his face light up when Daddy gets home, toddling to the gate to say hello with his chirpy voice of welcome; pure joy as I see Briggs' light bring brightness to AJ's day.

Pure joy as I watch him crinkle his nose and grin while visiting our neighbors, pure joy as I hear him sounding his voice with the hymns sung in church, pure joy as I watch him tenderly interact with babies much smaller in size.

Pure joy as we cuddle to relieve the pain of teething or the heartache of a fall. Pure joy as my arm grows tired, reminding me how healthy and hearty Briggs has grown.

Pure joy as I deliberately take 10 minutes here and 10 minutes there to simply "be" with my son. Basking in the goodness of sunshine and lakeview, enjoying the touch of his still-tender baby skin, cherishing the soft pats on my back, as if he's saying, "You're a good Momma, well done."

This is my gift for Mother's Day: Briggs, and the pure joy he brings about... simply by being him.

Happy Mother's Day!

Life in Pictures

In light of my son's first birthday this month, I have been reminiscing on the past year. And as a rather verbose mom, I also have ten-thousand things I'd like to share. But I've decided to sum up my thoughts on life with a one year-old in pictures today, mostly because I am running short on time for such writing (it is the Lenten Season for this Pastor Mom)...

I will say this. As much excitement as a new baby brings, I am LOVING being the mother of a one year-old (even in the midst of his burgeoning red-head personality expressions, chatter, and scream-talk). So here's the wonder of being a one year-old in pictures...

 

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.