Beautiful Teenager

I had an amazing afternoon with a former parishioner.  She has moved to our city because of her husband's job.  We were able to spend a couple hours catching up on people from my former community -- deaths, births, divorces, illnesses, events. 

When you spend seven-and-a-half years in one church, you develop a lot of close relationships.  When you arrive, children are toddlers.  When you leave, they're in elementary school.    The changes are pretty incredible and it's so exciting to be along for the ride.

As we were sitting in the kitchen, the oldest girl arrived home off the school bus.  She's in grade eight this year, moving up to high school next year.  Although I'd seen her briefly on Thanksgiving Sunday, today I was able to see a tall, gorgeous 14-year-old who is still shy, like she was when she was four, but whose blue eyes shine like her brunette hair. 

For sojourners like me, who float in and out of people's lives, I see glimpses of beauty in all kinds of people at many different stages of life.  Every stage is important.  Teenage-hood, however, is very special and should never be discounted as just "something we need to get through."  It's beauty speaks to all the bristling potential that is ready to arise and find it's voice.  And that's precious, oh so precious.

Advent Unfinished

For my art journal, I found an old crappy binder and transformed it.  I painted the binder, and then used spackle to cover up some problems and then stenciled advent on the front so that there is a 3D effect.  This is still unfinished.

 This is my opening page.  I have to make the writing a bit clearer. 

 When I think of advent I think of the cosmos, the "advent" of all creation.  I am trying to reflect that in these two pages.

 This is a good example of an unfinished page.  I put a layer of paint on the bottom and then wrote the word "wait" repeatedly.  I am going to add more layers.

These two pages are on watercolour paper and they are only the base layer of paint.  I wanted to show a lot of unfinished pages so that I can show you the progression. 

Advent Art Journal

How did I get from May to December without posting?  I'm as surprised as you BUT I'll tell you what's been happening.  My son was married on May 17.  He and his wife graduated on June 21.  They moved to Toronto on August 2, with help from my husband and I.  My twins sons moved out of our house on August 1, with our help.  On Sept. 4, we had a second celebration of Nathan and Melissa's wedding.  On Sept. 5, we had a 25th wedding anniversary, double 50th birthday party.  On Oct. 9, my niece was married in Ottawa, with all my family coming again.  On Nov. 13, my mother had an 80th birthday party.  And now...I'm looking forward to a family gathering on Dec. 31, to celebrate my mom and dad's 60th wedding anniversary.

Okay, enough personal stuff...you get the drift.

During advent, I've been working on an art journal.  It includes a lot of playing with colour, texture and shape.  It's really my first thoughts about what advent means.  When I'm closer to being finished, I'll post some photographs.  I love art journalling because it's about making art for myself. It's not for sale, and I'm not trying to please anyone.  In art journalling, I get to experiment with paint, stencilling, and all kinds of techniques.  If I make a mistake or I don't like it -- so what!  In how many aspects of our lives can we say the same? 

I'm really working on what I feel and think about advent.  I know on one level that I just love it.  It helps me to get ready for thinking about God-with-us.  What does that mean?  Yet, the whole idea of God's presence feels me with such peace, awe, wonder, excitement.  Moderns ask, "Is it really real?"  Post-moderns ask, "What is real?"  I think I'm caught somewhere between the two. 

I love the story of a baby being born in a manger -- outside the norm but a survivor...tough and determined parents.  With all the Christmas fripperies, we need to get ready for the deep meaning, to really have a moment of gratefulness and thankfulness.  That's what I seek and I know it's hard to have a genuine experience and not just a feeling of nostalgia for what was.

So I'd like to share my journal with you.  It will be coming soon.

50years of ordination -- oh my!

I'm coming up to 14 years of ordination and I'm starting to feel like that's a loooong time.  Yet, last Sunday, we celebrated the 50th anniversary of the Rev. George Clifford's ordination.  George is my colleage in ministry.  He works about six hours as our minister of visitation, which works out to be about two afternoons per week. 

George was ordained in 1960  -- what a time to be a minister!  The churches across Canada were growing and going gangbusters.  What amazes me is that George has lots of energy for ministry and doesn't seem to be too cynical!


He loves to visit and he's very organized about it.  He has his "list" and he keeps track of when he has visited.  He has a great memory, too.  He's always reporting to me about the goings-on of our seniors and where they are moving and what they are doing.  I have to admit that I do miss visiting the seniors of our church because I enjoy them so much, but George does such a wonderful job that there's no sense in duplicating another person's great work.

We try hard to work as a team, although I probably fall short on that in many aspects.  With all of George's experience, he's a great sounding board.  He's also very open to taking services, presiding at communion.

Our celebration was very positive, which I think reflects on George's positive nature.  I feel so fortunate to be working with such an experienced minister.

50-25-50

Yesterday, my husband and I celebrated 25 years of marriage.  Even though it was cold and rainy here in Ottawa, it was a special time of awe and disbelief.  It's hard to believe that we've survived, and that we can still laugh and dream and enjoy each other's company.  Perhaps we're together because both us never really thought of divorce as an option.  That hasn't meant that everything's been smooth sailing.  In fact, at points our marriage has been downright rough around the edges. And yet I can't say how glad I am that we've come through all the tough times and are still together.

Many years ago a friend of mine told me that if you make it to 25 years, the time following will be like a re-birth.  I'm sensing that that is the opportunity ahead of us.  To be content is a great gift and with that contentment comes the freedom to be adventuresome.  There's nothing to prove and in terms of our relationship, nothing to fear.

The other big event is that my husband ALSO turned 50 yesterday.  For some reason, we decided to get married on his birthday.  He always gets teased about the fact that it must be easy to remember his anniversary.  This double celebration is a good and bad thing.  Sometimes it does feel that one gets shortchanged in relationship to the other marker.

With such a double marker coming on the same day, it doesn't quite feel that we've celebrated either.  However, we're working on remedying that.  For we are having a big smashing party on Sept. 5 AND our congregations (my husband is also a UC minister) is having a party for us on May 30.

The other milestone -- I turned 50 last Dec. 25 (yes, on Christmas Day) -- and so we've dubbed this year our 50-25-50 celebration.  It sort of sounds like a fertilizer, doesn't it?

What does this have to do with ministry?  After fourteen years of pastoral ministry, I feel more settled in my skin and in my relationship.  When these aspects of your life are going well, you can be strong and vibrant in your work.  For that I am extremely grateful, thanking God for the amazing gifts I have been given.  I pray that I can continue to do this work.  I was so afraid of turning 50, thinking that my life was half over.  Yet, I don't feel that way now.  I realize that every minute and day is a gift no matter your age.  And when you truly see that, age is irrelevant.

Reflections on last Sunday

The shape of last Sunday was typical but also intense.  I arrive at the church at about 8:50 a.m. and go to get settled in my office because I want to attend the bible study that starts at 9 a.m.  I get waylaid by a couple of people who have questions and concerns and as I walk into the sanctuary someone from the bible study comes looking for me.  It turns out that the normal leaders aren't there so I'm supposed to lead the discussion. I might have been asked to do this but I don't really remember being asked to do this so I'm a bit surprised.  I get up to the bible study and voila, I'm leading it. 

I usually prepare these kinds of things but the study is pretty informal and so soon we're talking about the reading from John, the one about doubting Thomas. 

When 10 o'clock rolls around, I leave to get ready for leading the service at 10:30 a.m.  I'm not sure if the choir is going to be up in the loft, and thus whether they'll be waiting for me in the downstairs rehearsal space, or whether they'll all be in the congregation.  So, I find out they will be in the downstairs hall and so I go there to get ready and say a prayer with them.

The service goes okay.  It's one of those Sundays when I don't get one comment about my sermon.  That's always a sign to me that something didn't quite go right.  Oh well, can't hit a home run every Sunday!

Then it's off to greet at the door.  This is an important time because this is when I meet new people.  There are a few this week but not as many as on Easter Sunday.

I walk out of the sanctuary and towards the reception hall.  I take off my stole and put it in my office.  Then I go to have some coffee and chat and catch up on what's happening in people's lives.

As soon as the after-church crowd has thinned out a bit, a group from the church who travelled to Nicaragua on a work project start setting up lunch.  Four women and myself gather to reflect on their travels and to talk about a possible presentation.  It was amazing to hear their experiences and to see the growth in their faith life.  We plan on a Sunday morning worship component with an after church presentation.  I leave the church about 2 p.m., driving one of the women home.

I get to relax for a couple of hours before I'm off to another meeting at a local restaurant.  That meeting is set for 6 p.m.  It's a Discernment Committee for an Inquirer thinking about becoming a UC minister.  It's a gathering to celebrate the signing of the "interim" report.  It's finished about 8 p.m. 

One of the arts of ministry is to be able to served in short, intense bursts of activity.  From 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. I didn't have one break.  This is why ministers have to take care of themselves so well.  I don't think it's the quantity of hours so much as the energy which is needed to constantly switch gears -- from laughter to tears to ideas to contemplation.  I have to say that I'm glad that not every day is like Sunday.  I enjoy it immensely but it is wearing.  This week is a "reading" week for me, a time of non-church activities so that I have time to reflect and get recharged again.  I'm feeling that I really need it this week.  It's good to be able to get away and have time to see the bigger picture.

Crying for Chester

Yesterday, about 9:30 a.m. I took my dog Raffi out for his morning walk.  As we walked down the street, we met Barb and her 14-and-a-half year old dog.  Barb was sniffling and as Raffi ran over to Chester she said, "Say goodbye to Chester, Raffi, he's going to heaven at 10 o'clock."

I was shocked.  I knew the day would have to come when Chester "was put down."  He could hardly walk and he was in terrible pain.  When you watched him walk along the street, you would swear he was on a slant. He was a beautiful tawny colour and friendly.  He always let Raffi bark at him and there was never any retaliation.  He had a gentle soul and was interested in everything. 

I looked at Barb and her words sunk in.  My husband James had told me that Barb had told him that the vet was going to come to the house to give him the lethal injection. What I couldn't quite get my head around was that here was Chester out for his final walk, with his time of death set, and here I was petting him and saying goodbye.  I couldn't believe that in a bit over a half an hour he would be dead, gone, finished, no more.  But what was worse was we as humans could decide the time and place.

Barb was crying as she spoke to us but I was amazed at how strong she was.  There was another neighbour outside and she also had the chance to say goodbye to Chester.  He was truly the neighbourhood dog.  Everyone knew him.  Whenever Raffi saw him out walking around, he always wanted out to see him.

Not only did everyone know Chester, but everyone loved him.  The knowledge that his days were numbered was bad enough but to be present and have to face that death first hand was particularly painful.

I shed a few tears in the morning but it wasn't until later in the day when I was telling my husband about the experience that a flood of grief waved over me.  The tears poured out of me. Why?  Why do the creatures that we love have to die?  And why do we have to take their lives into our own hands?  I realize that it's a brave and merciful act, and I would have done the same, but I couldn't get over Barb's words.

"Chester is going to heaven at 10 o'clock."  As a person who's walked beside a lot of persons who have died, I'm not unfamiliar with death.  I've been privileged to stand beside the beds of two persons at the actual time of death.  It seemed a natural process and not scary....so why, why did this feel so painful and NOT RIGHT?

My heart still aches for a beautiful dog that could not live forever even though we wanted him to.  He was an angel dog, a dog that loved life and his owner, Barb, and it seemed, everyone.  One thing I know for absolutely sure -- I will never forget him. Never.