I do my best writing when I'm angry.

I do my best writing when I'm angry, and I don't really like being angry.  Go figure.  So, a lot of what I write stays in draft folders and journals because it feels mean, and it isn't particularly helpful to anyone but me.  Some of you somehow combine mean and funny (kudos to you!), but I seem to only be able to combine mean and direct.  This does not seem to be the best combination to compel others, and it reads as self-righteous (and likely is).  

I'm trying to learn to distinguish between righteous anger and unrighteous anger in my life.  I know the difference in definition; it's the application part that gets me.  Also, I seem to be able to combine the two at times.  Is that helpful?  Maybe.  But what is my motivation?  Helping or shaming others? 

Righteous anger is typically anger on behalf of others, anger that sees injustice, anger that wants better for the marginalized.  Unrighteous anger seeks to score points and—indirectly or directly—hopes to shame others.  I'm not really interested in doing that.  Well, if I'm honest, I am a little bit interested in doing that (shaming jerks), but again, it's not really helpful.  It simply encourages me to congratulate myself for not being a jerk (when I'm maybe being a jerk).  Go away irony!  

It's good to write because no matter my feelings or motivations, writing helps me understand what I think and why I think it.  And even if I'm being a jerk, it's good to write the jerkiness down, but it is probably not good to share it with anyone but God.  Maybe it should only be a whiny lament to God, who will no doubt help me see better and through a lens of grace; rather than a whiny rant to you (and everyone!  this is the world wide web!) that is helpful to no one.

So, I'm trying to develop a list of questions for myself that will guide what I post.  Here goes:

• What is my goal here?  
• Am I trying to help bring peace, or am I trying to be clever?
• Am I helping or hurting?
• Am I trying to shame a jerk or am I being a jerk (or both)?
• Is this a prayer of lament meant only for God?

I'm working on this.  I haven't really figured it out, but I'll keep trying.

Gravedigging Pastors

Job descriptions for pastors are a fascinating read. It can be difficult to understand what we do. I get that; but some of the most meaningful work pastors do can't be described on a list.

Tonight I'm thinking of a pastor who helped dig a grave to cut expenses for a family. Funerals can be costly, and not everyone can cobble the funds together to make it happen.

This pastor made it happen.

Pastors are not perfect (not even close!), but some of the best are serving in the early morning hours, before you arrive at the gravesite, before you eat the casserole at the reception. They dig because they love. The best pastors serve humbly out of love.

Never have I seen 'gravedigger' on a job description, and yet this is a pastor who reminds me of Jesus.

My Ordination Can Get a Learner's Permit

This week I'm celebrating the anniversary of my baptism (28 years) and my ordination (15 years).  My baptism can rent a car and my ordination can get a learner's permit, so some reminiscing felt in order.

To prepare for baptism, I got a new outfit at Walmart.  It was peach, white, and light blue and had a matching peach bucket hat (I blame Ug from 'Salute Your Shorts').  The outfit was important to me because we were baptized in our plain-clothes.  I'm a robe-wearing baptizer now, but I like the idea of a plain-clothes baptism—that we die to our regular, 24/7 bucket-hat wearing selves.

Making a profession of faith was a big deal to me.  It wasn't a brave decision; I grew up in the buckle of the Bible Belt (!), but it did feel weighty.  I now know this initial faith decision was preparing me for the next weighty decision 14 years later:  Ordination to gospel ministry.  Knowing no examples of ordained women growing up, I could've scarcely imagined participating in the laying on of hands, much less receiving them.  

But look at God.

My ordination was joyful, but again—weighty.  I have a distinct memory of feeling the heaviness of friends' and family's hands on my head.  What an apt picture of ministry!  So then, having graduated with my Master of Divinity and having survived the ordination council of Calvary Baptist (!), I was then as ready as I could be to begin at Memorial Baptist in Arlington, VA.  

15 years of Christian vocational ministry feels like the right amount, with 3 distinct seasons of serving the Lord.  Each year has been weighty and joyful, full of challenge, fun, doubt, celebration, beauty, and friendship.  I am grateful.  

The most meaningful moments of ministry have been those when I am completely, 100% dependent upon God in the thin places between heaven and earth:  Praying with hospice patients, cradling newborn babies and blessing them, singing with beloved friends in the ICU, sitting with church members as they mourn or doubt, baptizing adults and children new to faith, preaching my own fears and joys.  

In this season, I'm working on relying on God more; for that's when the weight provides meaning instead of stress.  It's taken awhile to learn this.  I still have much to learn, and yet miraculously God gives me opportunities to shepherd those along the way in my current role.  I am still surprised when ministers and friends, often older and wiser, ask for guidance.  It is humbling and weighty and joyful.

I am grateful today for family, friends, and mentors who teach me about Jesus and light the way.  My parents, brothers, and sisters-in-law are dear to me, and bend over backwards to support and love me.  Thank you.  Thank you to all the churches who've been part of my journey.  Each one has blessed me:  Beaver Dam Baptist (KY), Faith Baptist (KY), Calvary Baptist (TX), Memorial Baptist (VA), Scottsville Baptist (VA), and Church at Clarendon (VA).

And most importantly, thanks be to God.

My Uncle Tom

In November, my Uncle Tom had COVID which developed into double pneumonia.  He miraculously recovered and was able to go home, but eventually his health took a turn for the worse and he died on Wednesday.  

I didn't know Uncle Tom was different until I was older.  I only knew he liked to play with toys, and enjoyed coloring with Ben and me.  Slowly I began to understand Tom had special needs.  I don't remember it being spelled out for me; I only remember he was family and that we loved him.

Tom loved his sisters and his parents.  Tom worked for 40 years at a tape factory with his dad.  He liked Batman.  Dairy Queen Dilly Bars were his favorite; Dad would take a bag full to Tom and his friends.  Often we'd visit Tom when I was home for Christmas, and he was either in a great mood or a not-great mood (I can relate). Either way we'd end up getting ice cream.

I am thinking of Tom this evening, and I wanted to tell you about him.  I am grateful for Tom's life, and for my parents for loving him.