Friday, February 14, 2014

Facebook chatter...

I grew up in a Christian home.  My mother was a homemaker who taught children about Jesus.  My dad was a night janitor at a bank who spent most of his “leisure” time going to church service so he could learn more about Jesus.

As a child, I saw my father bundle all manner of Christian reading materials – all my Sunday School quarterlies, Christian magazines, etc. – to send to his niece, my Tante Ruth, a single WOMAN who was teaching other’s about Jesus in Swaziland.  One afternoon a week, my father would take me to the Salvation Army where a wonderful WOMAN named Captain Johnson oversaw the Sunbeam program.  As a single woman, she was the “Pastor” of the congregation of Salvationists – she preached, administered, and served her corp as the sole officer.  Walking with my dad we'd often encounter Captain holding a street meeting on a corner.
As a child, I read a book about Malla Moe – a single WOMAN missionary who would trek across Africa.  As I got older I read and heard about Aimee Semple McPhearson.  The list could be quite long if I continued.

Today I responded to a comment on Facebook. I probably shouldn’t have because I sort of knew it would start something… my bad… but sometimes impulse gets the better of me.  It did start a small firestorm.  On and on it went about how women can’t be preachers, or pastors, etc., etc.

It still surprises me even though it shouldn’t.  I find it best not to “fight” a theological battle with folks.   I did add some links for ammunition today but usually the best answer is to say I’m doing what God called me to do – if I don’t, I’m being disobedient to God.  But that never seems enough – sigh….

I’ve been thinking about this all day – and I wondered – Do these folk think that one day I sat down and said – I know!  I want to be a preacher!  I just want to do this because it is a glamorous job – or it pays well – or the hours are good.  Really???  Do you really think that anyone that really loves God just sits down and says that to themselves?  Or do you think my problem is I don’t love God?  And of course, as a woman, I certainly can’t have God speak to me.  I think the women at the day of Pentecost would have an argument with that – or the women that surrounded Jesus, especially those who first proclaimed the gospel after the resurrection … You know those women who went to the tomb when the disciples were hiding?  Yeah, those women...

So I’m delusional – I’m so delusional that I have spent nearly the last ten years of my life in school preparing – preparing so that when I stand in the pulpit (a place I approach with humility and a deep sense of responsibility) I am “rightly dividing the Word.”

Whatever the problem some folks have – please take it up with God!  Ask Him with an open heart for guidance and wisdom – you may still come to a different understanding than I have – but, if you really seek the Lord He’ll probably ask you to receive me as a sister in the Lord with respect and honor. 

If my being in ministry offends you, I'm am sorry you are offended.  But nothing will stop me from answering the call of God on my life – like those women who proclaimed the gospel in my childhood – I’m going to continue.


Thursday, February 6, 2014

It's that day...

First thing in the morning, as I sit up in bed, I take my iPhone from under my pillow.  Now that I'm not working, I don't need it there as an alarm except on Sunday.  I have it there because all night it has been monitoring my sleep quality.  Last night was really good - 100%!  I have this cool little app that I got called sleep cycle.  It has the best alarm on it and it also monitors your sleep quality.  The more peaks and valleys, the better your sleep! 

But this morning, before I could slide the snooze off and see my graph and numbers there were two alerts from my calendar.  Both were reminding me of the same thing - not the luncheon I'm going to later this morning but the day I could never forget.  Today is February 6, 2014.  Today is the 17th anniversary of the day our precious granddaughter went to Jesus.  I have this date set on my calendars because I never want to forget her. I never want to forget the joy of her sweet smile and bright eyes.  I never want to forget the painful lessons I learned.

As I always do on February 6th, this morning in the shower I started to relive that day 17 years ago.  It was about the time I was putting the shampoo on my hair that I thought, yes, it was about this time that I got the call.  It had already been a painful year.  A house fire, emergency trips to Pakistan for my husband and youngest three children, living in a motel over Christmas without the travelers, being divided into two corporate apartments - my mother and younger children upstairs, my husband and three older children downstairs, and a very sick 13 year old son. We were preparing to take our son to the ER, me dressed and ready, husband in the shower, when the phone rang.  It was my secretary.  That meant it was after 8:30 a.m. eastern time, it was about 9 a.m.

Margaret said that the children's hospital had called and that our daughter was there with her daughter and that I should call immediately.  I called the hospital.  I heard my daughter's faint voice saying she's dead.  I collapsed to the floor.  Calls to our pastor, calls to the school to let our daughters out of school, calls back to my secretary - then in the van and off we went.

I've written the whole story before.  It starts here and ends here.  If you want to follow that portion of this blog, go to the start point and read forward.  Little did I know that a few weeks after I wrote about the One Hundred Fourteen Days that I'd be experiencing death again.  My mother would also go to Jesus - as much as my mother loved children and particularly babies, I imagine that her great-granddaughter was one of the first to greet her.  But knowing my mother, it was Jesus she wanted to see first.

I recently read Heaven Is For Real.  One of the things that struck me was Colton's account of the children - he said there were lots of children in heaven and that Jesus really loves the children.  I thought about our precious granddaughter - was she one of the children that he saw? Or do children continue to grow in heaven but Colton says that old people are young in heaven.  

Mysteries, mysteries...  I also thought about Juliette, the daughter I lost to miscarriage.  I smiled when I read about Colton's sister who had been miscarried years before him and how she had no name because her parents hadn't named her.  I thought of how I heard God tell me He had named our daughter Juliette because she was a jewel.  Fantasy of grief? Maybe? But I prefer to think of her as Juliette.

But as on every February 6th, I think of the song that seems to have the strongest lesson from our One Hundred Fourteen Days - I Will Cast All My Cares Upon You.  If you are old enough to have played Psalty cassettes when you were little or for your little ones, you know that song.  Over and over we played Psalty when our daughter was little.  She even had a blue Psalty Bible. Our daughter asked for it to be sung at her daughter's funeral.  

On the day we were to put her tiny white casket in the ground, her mommy, my daughter, remembered her Psalty Kid's Praise 5 song.  To cast our cares upon Jesus was so hard that cold February morning.  As we shivered in the cemetery, committing her body to the ground to await the resurrection, that was all we could do - all any of us can do is to cast our cares upon Him.  



Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Going Through


Yesterday, someone asked me - so, now that you've finished your PhD what are you doing?  I wanted to correct this person and say, no, I don't have a PhD, I have an EdD.  I knew this person thought that my degree of EdD was useless and that only a PhD will do... he is an academic elitist and quite arrogant.  I opted to ignore the PhD part of the question and just answer him.

Even though I'm not still working as a teacher I said - I've been teaching at a Technical College.  I'm sure that in his mind he was saying tsk tsk, a technical college.  If I told him that it was a proprietary school that taught welders, electricians, HVAC techs, and a variety of medical programs I am sure that he would have thought - what a waste of time.  I don't like arrogant elitist people.  I think that's why I loved teaching at the school where I've pour my heart into for the last year and a half.

By most standards, I'm considered well off.  I live in a nice house, in a nice small community.  I drive a Mercedes (used and older) but nonetheless, I have a Benz.  I get my nails done regularly now.  I won't let just anyone touch my hair - in that regard I'm almost snobby.  In the last five years we have finally reached that place that when a bill is due, it is paid.  Even my credit score has gone up.  Life is good.

I'm still the scrappy girl from Brooklyn.  I'm the girl who wore hand-me-downs and whose father was a janitor.  I'm still the poor single mother.  I remember having no food and standing in line to get it.  I remember getting my box filled with commodity butter, peanut butter, green beans, and even canned beef, chicken or pork.  I remember... I remember well.  

Food Stamp coupons
What a wonderful day when your food stamps came.  I never had an EBT card - I would receive large envelopes with monopoly type money - food stamps in the mail.  Or sometimes we'd go to a bank and the bank would give us our rations. 
 

Change for specific grocery stores
The grocery stores even had fake change that you had to keep track of so you could use every penny of your food stamp allotment.  Everyone knew you were poor - everyone saw you with those books of Food Stamp coupons.  Everyone saw you fumble to make change with fake money.  It was better than not eating.  I managed my money well and fed three children. Without those Food Stamps I'd never be who I am now.  I'd never have been able to get through school, alone, a single mother, with three children. 

I remember the hot August days of standing outside The Wardrobe in Columbia MO for new free school clothes for my kids and voucher for new free shoes.  Everyone knew what you were there for -- everyone knew the line was forming so children could get new clothes for school.  Tuesday was the day you could shop for free with a referral - a referral meant you were officially poor.

Not all of the students where I worked were poor, or single parents, or on welfare - but some where, most were there to better there lives just like I did when I scraped together every possible resource and went to school.  I saw myself in many of them.  Frequently when I'd share that my biggest accomplishment was a GED - they would smile and start raising their hands and say ME TOO Dr. J, ME TOO.  The single moms knew I knew what it was like to go to school as a single mom.

The conversation wasn't over with the man who asked me "Now what?"  I said I also pastor a church.  His response jarred me.  It didn't surprise, but comments like his always jar me.  He said "Oh there is better money in that."  He proceeded to tell me a story about a man who made a good salary as a president of a university but left it to pastor a church because the money was better.  I don't know if that's true - I rather doubt it - I don't know if the man who left the university was driven with a passion and a call for ministry or money.

Sadly, church and ministry have that reputation.  It's all about the money.  It's all about mega-churches and offerings.  It's about driving a big car and living well.  If you give, you'll get.  The bigger the church, the bigger the success and the bigger the salary of the pastor.  Later, we hear of sin and failings by these some public ministries.

He was wrong again.  I don't pastor for money.  I pastor because of passion.  I pastor because it is what God called me to do.    We seemed to have lost the idea of sacrifice, self-denial, and holiness.  We pour our hearts, our time, and our energy into success rather than being with the real folk - the folk like my former students or the folk who worship in a small church.  

And I guess not surprisingly my thoughts turned to an old song.  As a child I sang this song and wondered about being one of the Lord's despised few. We are no longer dying to self.  We are no longer sacrificing and giving all.  

As for me - I'm going through.

Lord, I have started to walk in the light
That shines on my pathway so clearly, so bright;
I’ve bade the world and its follies adieu,
And now with my Savior I mean to go through.
Refrain
I’m going through, I’m going through,
I’ll pay the price, whatever others do;
I’ll take the way with the Lord’s despised few;
I’m going through, Jesus, I’m going through.
Many once started to run in this race,
But with our Redeemer they could not keep pace;
Others accepted because it was new,
But not very many seem bound to go through.
Refrain
Let me but follow my Lord all alone,
And have for my pillow, like Jacob, a stone,
Rather than vain worldly pleasures pursue,
Than turn from this pathway and fail to go through.
Refrain
Come then, my comrades, and walk in this way
That leads to the kingdom of unending day;
Turn from your idols and join with the few,
Start in with your Savior, and keep going through.
Refrain