On the last leg of the journey . . .

117 days. That's all that's left on my life here at Candler . . . before I graduate on May 9. . . before I turn the tassel . . . walk the stage . . . and into a different life . . . as somebody's preacher/teacher and hopefully pastor. As a theological scholar. Today marks my last semester here at Candler. When I started on this journey three years ago, the end seemed a lifetime away. Now that I'm in the home stretch, it seems as though the end has come quickly. But it hasn't been without the heart- and headaches and uncomfortableness that accompanies any body in transition and metamorphosis. The growing pains have been great. The temper tantrums have been many. And God has been relentless in God's quest for me. Yes, this is what this journey has been about . . . a metamorphosis. I can clearly see I'm not the same young woman who entered Candler unsure, doubtful of my intellect in this setting . . . at this age. I'm not the same woman who came in without clarity of her identity . . . her skill . . . .her purpose. I'm not the same woman who fought against God's plan and put my hands over my ears trying to drown out the sound of the voice that continues to call me toward some new adventure I didn't seem equipped to take. . . or even wanted to take.

I admit there is some anxiety about what is in the unknown, but there is also peace these days that it will come together. I used to fret over how I would remember all the stuff that has been dumped into my head over these last three years. I used to fret over whether I would be able to adequately explain the Trinity or engage in conversations with my parishioners about why evil exists and where did it originate from. I used to beat up myself for not paying more attention in Old and New Testament and doing all the required readings and often cried over whether I would be able to adequately lead and care tenderly for the souls that will be in my care.

But now, what I'm beginning to learn is that what I need will come back to my remembrance at the right time and all that I don't know, I can simply look it up. Candler has taught me how to research. All that I didn't read, I can finish reading. The answers to certain questions are no longer elusive to me nor are the questions themselves a frustration. While I would love for things to happen in my time and the way I want, I know that will not be case. Change has been in the air for many years now and it will continue to be whether I like it or not. But what I do know is it will come together. . . that even as God led me here, God will lead me from here . . . even through the darkness of the unknown.

In an interview with Holly Robinson Pete on The Talk, Oprah Winfrey shared how she had read in a Vaniety Fair article Michael Jackson's continual quest to recreate "Thriller", a feat that he was never able to do. Oprah shared that in the moment she read that, she realized she too was afraid to move forward following her decision to end the show after 25 years. She too struggled with how she would create another Oprah Winfrey Show . . . how she could recreate these moments of her past. "Then I thought, I don't want to go the rest of my life saying Oh, I wish it was the Oprah Winfrey Show," she said, "cause it won't be. I have to let that time be. Now let's move on to this moment. Let's not try to hold onto that moment."

When I came to seminary, I began to shed my identity of journalist. Like Oprah, I toiled over how I would be able to recreate the success I had as a writer and editor and expert in my field. And like Oprah, over these last few years, I've begun to learn that those moments will never be again. I must create new moments. I must be willing as Jay-Z said, to "climb to the next mountain." Afterall that is what re-inventing one's self is all about. It's about answering the call of God to move when God says move. It's about having the courage to become who I really am.

For some time now, the Divine has been saying that I'm one of the chosen as God's mouthpieces. For some time now, God has been preparing me to become a greater self than the self that previously existed. And today, I choose to no longer fight it.

God, help me to understand . . .

On July 23, I woke up after a restless night where the power had been out during the night and penned this before it would go out again:

 

This week has not been a good week as it has been filled with power outages that occur multiple times without warning during the day and night. It seems to get worse every day as the power is more often off than it is on – maybe two to five hours during the day and another four to five hours at night. These old wood houses, which are not insulated, become hot very quickly when the fans no longer blow and the air conditioning has stopped running And for someone who has only had her computer to keep her connected to the "outside world" so-to-speak, -- considering that I have no television or radio -- it has become an extremely stressful situation. The power outages have affected my broadband connection. I've had no connection. Today it doesn't help that it is a torrential downpour. This week we cancelled Tuesday Bible Study because of the power outage. "It will be difficult to find someplace to keep cool," said Mrs. Margaret, the church's organist and one of two members at Epworth Methodist who faithfully attends the study. Although the lesson I had planned for that day was still on my computer as I didn't get a chance to print it out before the power shut off at 10 a.m., I was open to pulling another lesson that I already had put together for the Wednesday Bible Study class at St. Andrews. But it wasn't needed.

 

I read an essay earlier this week from a pastor who described a trying and challenging situation in his life as God's way of not trying to destroy him, but bring him in closer relationship through the means of daily devotion. I have thought about this in relation to my own situation and my time spent here in Abaco this summer. I can agree that this summer – with all of its challenges – has brought me into closer relationship. Being here has forced me to be more focused, helped me to hear the voice of God more and moved me to become more disciplined in my work. But I can't help but wonder at what point does an experience cease to be a divine attempt on God's behalf to get me to a certain place in my life. At what point do power outages just become what they are: power outages?   

Do I, could I, have the Naaman spirit?

Since I've been here, every sermon -- off of the lectionary mind you -- has miraculously dealt with some issue that I've seen arise within the week, leaving me with little worry over what I should preach or concern about what issues have taken root within these congregations. Not once have I had to do some extensive exegesis of a congregation to get a handle on what message God wanted to get across. My lectionary text, so far, has hit on them every Sunday. This past Sunday's sermon was no different . . . but yet it was different . . . disturbing really.

I am well aware that I can't preach a sermon I haven't lived so I wasn't surprised by what the mirror showed me about myself through the message "Misplaced Focus" on judgment and condemnation. Nor was I bothered by the revelations from "How Hungry Are You?", a sermon on discipleship and priorities. But this recent sermon out of 2 Kings 5, "Can't See for Looking" on the army general Naaman has had me wrestling in my skin. It's had me really taking a look at myself and posing the question: "Do I . . . could I have that Naaman spirit?

I started examining whether I was Naaman in the story shortly after arriving last week at another settlement, Hope Town, another island within Abaco. The plan was for me to stay there in the Mission House with the youth minister and her husband over the weekend since I would be preaching two services at St. James Methodist Church there on Sunday. No sooner than we had pulled away from the Marsh Harbor dock headed to Hope Town, do I hear they are without power. As the boat pushed further into the ocean headed to the well-known tourist village, I silently prayed the power would return by the time I reached the boat dock. That would not be the case. There was no power. . . hadn't been since the day before . . .and there was no idea from anyone when it would come back on. And it was another sweltering day! Why had I decided to wear blue jeans? Thank goodness I opted for a strapless halter top.

My first thought after hoping off the boat: "Are you serious? I didn't sign up for this. Can I go anywhere on this island where the power isn't going out every hour or so?"
Needless to say, I wasn't happy. (I was careful that my face didn't betray me). It was as though I had arrived on the day of a pending hurricane. People are moving about trying to figure out their own game plan. Everybody is looking for a cool place to hang . . . preferably with someone who has a generator. . . and not that many on the island have one. There is really no time to be concerned about the visiting minister-in-training who had come in. This was clearly apparent. I mean I didn't even get a phone call that the power had been out and my number was sitting right beside the phone.

But then more bad news follows: there is no water, which means no way to cook . . .no way to flush . . .no way to bathe. As I sat with the youth minister, her husband and his mother (she had come to visit) . . .and the dog in the Mission House, praying for a cool breeze to filter through the room . . .praying the conditions would get better. . . thinking of an alternate plan of how I would depart and get back to my own more comfortable surroundings, all I could think was, "I know they really don't expect me to live like this right? . . . sleeping in a house where there is no power, no water, and a dog roaming about. Surely, one of the church committee members will suggest I come to their home or they will put me up in a place where the accommodations may be a little better . . . not as stress producing . . . a bit more peaceful . . . a bit more fitting for the minister-in-training."

After all, I was preaching on Sunday . . . I had a sermon to write. I needed the Internet. I needed peace and quiet to meditate . . .hear from God and prepare myself for Sunday. I needed some familiar comforts. Not long after, it starts dawning on me, "I think I might be sounding a bit like Naaman in this text I'll be preaching from on Sunday." In the story, Naaman, a well-respected army general learns he can be healed of his leprosy by the prophet Elisha in Israel. He travels there with his entourage only to be met at the door by Elisha's servant who tells him to go dip in the Jordan River seven times. Naaman is enraged by what he perceives to be a lack of respect. The prophet never come to greet him and at that -- told him, a general, to dip in the dirty small Jordan River. Naaman almost doesn't do it because his pride is bruised. He almost misses his chance to be healed.

Here I was in this community that had no power and no water, surrounded by people who attempted to show me the best hospitality they could under the circumstances and I, like Naaman, was complaining to myself about what was not being done for me . . . how I was not being treated . . .how I should be treated. It was a disturbing internal exchange. . . one I'm embarrassed by and I'm still grappling with. I've since replayed in my mind what a resident here told me on my first night in Cherokee: "Remember, you are not in America." In other words, don't expect here what you get or find there.

I've come to the realization that I'm not the kind of pastor yet who is always ready or will always be that comfortable going into any situation and be able to handle the living conditions of that place with grace. I've come to realize that I'm not going to always respond and handle situations the way that people probably think ministers should. And maybe that's alright. I don't need to have reached an "Aha" acceptance moment in each situation. I think it's just enough right now that I had an "Aha" moment and recognized who I was . . . that I saw myself with all my growing edges still in need of being shaped and trimmed . . . and admitted it openly. That alone is progress. That's growth.

And it just may be another limb being cut away.

So I did hear right . . .

It never fails . . . just before I'm about to preach, I get an extreme case of nervous butterflies in the pit of my stomach . . . the most painful anxiety headache that seems to pound with every drum beat played during praise and worship . . . the feel of cotton balls in my mouth even as I drink bottled water after bottled water . . . and I experience extreme doubt about what I'm supposed to say. Over and over in my mind I'm asking, "God are you sure this is it? God are you sure I heard you right?" Then once the sermon is over and I've resolved that I did as best I could . . . I may get a message from someone saying, "You know I been thinking all day about what you preached. It really got me to thinking."

That's what happened on Sunday. After pulling an all-nighter and part of the morning trying to get the sermon written, I learn later in the day that my sermon, "How hungry are you?" was on target. I learn that the lectionary text, Luke 9:51-62 which was planned some years ago, was just what needed to be preached on this particular Sunday. Funny how that works. It was just the text -- one that deals with the issue of discipleship -- that the people needed to hear. . . that I needed to hear. I was already pretty confident that it was a message for one of the churches, as earlier in the week, I saw signs of what John in Revelation calls a "lukewarm" congregation. I learned that if some of the dedicated few -- which are 3 or 4 could not or would not be making Bible Study, then Bible Study wouldn't happen.

Admittedly, my spirit grieved that day as I cried over whether the people were really interested in going to the next level in their Christian walk. I was thinking here was an opportunity to up the ante. . . to get a better handle on this Christianity thing . . . and they didn't have time. Other issues were more of a priority. What I had heard them speak seemed contrary to their actions. When given the opportunity to "follow Jesus" as the text says, here they were offering excuses. I knew right then I needed to tackle the issue on Sunday. But as I shared, I had no idea if it would resonate. . . no idea of the people would think me too harsh . . . no idea of what to expect.

Then later in the day after I had preached two services . . . after I was winding down and going over the coming week . . .I get an instant message from one of the congregants saying how moved she was by the message. . . so much so that she posted on her Facebook status: "I'm hungry for a mighty move of God . . . use me Lord any way you choose!"

Unbeknowest to her, God had already done so. Her worldwide posting was my confirmation that I had done as God had requested . . . that the nervous butterflies in the pit of my stomach . . . the head-pounding headache . . . and feel of cotton balls mouth . . . and extreme doubts about what I had heard . . . was not for naught.

It was just as God had ordained.

On to next Sunday.

Pushing through my peculiarities . . .

I'm learning something about myself – the older I get, the more introverted I become. I've always known that I have introverted tendencies and it may be the result of being an only child where I spent most of my time with myself and never really longed to need or be with other people all the time. (I wasn't one of those children who begged my parents for more siblings or more playmates. I had plenty in cousins and that was enough.) While I have more extroverted personality traits and function well, I still find that I do not always want to hang around people every second. I actually treasure my alone time. . . look forward to my alone time. . . even become agitated if I feel as though someone is attempting to barge in on my alone time. I have a friend who says she is more energized by people and find she needs to be around them for that energy. I, on the other hand, become drained by people after a while and look forward to solace and spending time in my own space. I guess it should not be surprising really. After all I was a journalist and most tend to be slightly introverted, if not full introverts. They are slightly more comfortable with their writing, reading and sitting with their thoughts and engaging in stimulation that way. So as you can imagine this has become somewhat of a challenge as I attempt to do ministry here . . . in a community where people look forward to getting together with each other . . . and are with each other seemingly all the time . . . going between house and house . . . sitting for hours with each other's company . . . and asking questions when the pastor isn't out all the time every day.

I came across an article a few days ago entitled, "Hospitality for Introverts". It was written by a pastor's wife who classifies herself as a full-on introvert and how she has manages to share the gift of hospitality in spite of her introverted personality. After reading, I felt some of the suggestions could be applied to pastoral care. The writer suggested concentrating on reaching out to one or two people. I've done that. I allot different days that I will do pastoral care visits and plan out early who I will visit on those days. Usually it is two or three people.

The other suggestion is to set boundaries on time. I'm not so good at this. I usually find myself sitting for hours -- usually two or more -- with some in the community. I find myself feeling guilty if, after I have drank my tall glass of water, wanting to leave. This happened recently and the couple got me another glass of water, saying, "Now you can't leave until you've drank your other glass."

Pastoral care is essential in doing effective ministry. I did it last year, on a smaller scale. While it was one of my responsibilities as part of my pastoral internship, it wasn't a key responsibility as it is here. In a community like Cherokee Sound, where many of the 200 residents are older and the culture is one where visiting is a norm, it is a non-negotiable. Many of the residents are not able to get out as much and look forward to the visits. . . the conversations. Granted, once I'm out and about, I'm fine and enjoy them. It's just the initial getting up and going out to be with other people that sometimes challenge me. There are times my introverted self wants to take over.

I enjoy hearing the stories and learning about the lives of the people here, just like the recent story about the visit of one's grandson. This grandfather, who had never seen his grandson, largely because he had disowned the child's father years ago, saw his 22-year-old grandchild for the first time on his 84th birthday. He said to me: "He called me up and said he wanted to come see his grandpa!" I could see the emotion and joy on the man's face as he told me the story and proceeded to tell me more about his life in Cherokee and Marsh Harbor. I'm sure he hadn't told those stories in a while and my being there was a chance to live in his memories . . . recall a life of both joy and sorrow and blessings and regrets.

At that moment, I was glad I had pushed myself to make the visit . . . stop and even sit for a while. Apparently, so was he.

"Thank you for talking to me," he said, after about an hour or so, and after I got up to leave and head to the next house.

I have to remember that God knows all the peculiarities I have and knew them when I was called and knew there would be some things in ministry that would be more challenging to me than others. I have to believe those things make for a much richer ministry experience. The encounter was a reminder that what I do or attempt to do is so much bigger than me and that the ministry of presence is sometimes all that is needed. It was a reminder of why I have to, at times, push through my moments of introvertedness. . . cause in the end it'll be a blessing to all involved.

That cell phone was talking . . .

On Wednesday night I went to teach and also got taught:

So I led Bible Study at St. Andrew's last night. This is the congregation in Marsh Harbor that I will also be working with, although not with as much frequency. The night before, I led the lesson at Epworth Methodist Church in Cherokee Sound, where I live and spend most of my time. The turnout there was small -- only two people and the pastor and his family. Needless to say I was slightly disappointed. A few others said they were coming, but never showed. I'm glad I listened to the Holy Spirit earlier in the day and made the decision to have it in the manse. . . it was much more personal and intimate . . . a good atmosphere to talk about prayer . . . simple prayers.

Apparently the lesson was a hit. Pastor Joseph asked me to teach it to the members at St. Andrews. I'm glad he did. The members there loved the class . . . so much so that when the power went out, no one moved . . . no one gave an excuse of why they couldn't' stay. . . conversation didn't stop. Members simply pulled out their cell phones and illuminated the darkness and continued sharing their own experiences of prayer time . . . conversation time with God.

I'm not so sure that would have happened in church in the states . . . maybe if we were used to blackouts as often as they have them here during the summer months, but again, that might be a stretch. I think what was so amazing for me was that the members were so engrossed in their conversations and so hungry to learn about how to deepen their relationship with the Divine that the darkness didn't even matter.

That night my simple prayer was answered -- the lesson was relevant. And what I had been hearing was confirmed -- that I was on the right track concerning the mission God called me to carry out here this summer. The vision was clear -- I needed to turn a certain amount of focus to the spiritual needs of the adults here. Many are hungry. . . thirsty and interested in seeking an oasis from the drought.

They even asked if I was on the schedule next week.

There is something about being hungry and committed . . . nothing gets in the way. Even when you can't see your way clear . . . you continue on . . . press in . . . knowing that eventually light will shine through . . . even if it's from a cell phone.

My simple prayer: God make me just that hungry.

One in the bag . . .

Sunday reflections . . . a little late. . . oh well.


I pulled off my first church service today . . . the first service where I helped organize the order of worship for the morning and evening service . . .the first service where I preached. And I must say, I think I'm getting the knack of being a minister. That's what this experience is all about . . . more intensive training in the ways and means of handling congregations and leading God's people. It's an opportunity to begin to walk out who God says I will be . . .who I am.

The congregation said I'm off to a good start. That was encouraging considering I wasn't sure about the message. You never know what to expect when you tell a group of people they are hypocrites, especially on the first day you stand in the pulpit.

But hey, I blame it on the text. . . on Jesus really. That was the message he was getting across in Luke 7 in regards to Simon's view of the "sinner woman" . And that was the text I was called to preach and the message God delivered in the midst of my exegeting. I included myself in it of course, but a message about judgement and condemnation is not exactly the one I thought I would have been preaching on my first day . . . it's definitely not one you'll hear people shout about . . . or one that elicits "Amen's" and "That's Right!"

And if they do, as a friend says, it's more than likely because they think you're talking about someone else other than themselves.

Nonetheless, the word went forth. But it's my experience in the midst of the proclamation and the entire service, really that I reflect on. Something happened. . . something that I notice happening more and more as I take my place behind the pulpit. . . in front of congregations. I seem to stand a little more taller. . . with more confidence . . . and speak a little more authoritatively. More and more, I notice God taking over in those moments and I hear my voice saying things I didn't even think I knew or remembered and I hear it in a tone that sounds unlike my own. (That's exactly what happened during the alter call for congregational prayer.) And I feel a sense of urgency to say what I need to say . . . and I have a strong desire to do -- absent of fear and doubt.

A change is definitely taking place. And I may have -- in part -- my favorite Public Storage manager to thank. She prayed with me before coming here. While I can't remember all she said, I do remember her praying for God to build my confidence. And I remember her looking me straight in my eye saying that I would return changed . . . better . . . more self-assured.

Funny, she didn't even know that I struggle with my confidence. Nor was she aware that during that same week another friend had been praying the same thing concerning me. And I had been praying myself.

I can't speak for the days ahead, but I can say that on today, that boldness manifested. I surrendered . . . got on the passenger side of the car and allowed God to slide into the driver's seat. And what unfolded was a beautiful exchange between me and the people God called me to serve that day. What began to be unveiled was the "minister self".

And if I must say, it wasn't a bad look.

Is this another branch broken? Not quite. . . but there is at least a crack in the wood.