decision: (noun) the act of or need for making up one’s mind; resolution; origin: 1425-75; late middle english

My job requires me to make a lot of decisions.

A lot.

These decisions range from what color to order of bandannas and shirts for the camp store, from who to hire for the summer, all the way from how to start dispersing with the camp things like canoes, kitchen equipment, etc. I make a lot of decisions. Many of them are decisions I hate making.

With a passion.

But, it’s like I say to my staff when Brad doesn’t make the 7-layer bars he is so famous for that they really wanted: “life is hard.”

Yes, life is hard. And we are all forced to make decisions we don’t want to make. Decisions, like how I respond to people when they send me e-mails telling me their life story with the camp; how they spent their summers there working in the kitchen, or how they sat on the beach when they were there watching one of countless sunsets, or how its the one true place where they can find God. Now, you might think, “wow, this is so emotional and I must cry each time I read one of these e-mails.”

Wrong.

Many of these e-mails actually upset and often times anger me. They anger me because when I don’t tell them that we’re going to save the camp, they blame me; they say I’m not doing my job or that I don’t actually care about camping ministry. Just as I read and judge their e-mails without actually knowing them, they judge me by my e-mails saying that I hope they can come visit and I’ll do what I can to make it possible. They judge me because I can’t give them what they want. I can’t give them their endless 7-layer bars.

Life is hard.

When I make a decision to answer an email, I have to stop and think, “how is this person hurting? What about their story do they want me to hear? What do they need to really tell me under their angry words?” I will admit, there are times that I don’t answer back. I sometimes make the decision that I cannot help them, they just wanted someone to yell at. And frankly, I don’t respond well to e-mail yelling.

And then, there are those who literally need an e-mail shoulder to cry on. They just need to know you heard them and that you stand in solidarity with them when you say, “yeah, this sucks, big time and I wish I could make it all better.” Those are the ones that wear me out emotionally when I read them, and that sometimes make me cry.

And I hate crying. I am an ugly cryer. I mean, like Claire Danes crying on Homeland. It is not pretty.

And then there are the ones where I am blamed for the fact that others have to make decisions about coming to camp or not. I actually get these quite frequently.

Let me elaborate…

Recently, I received an email from a parent who was upset that the one camp her child was able to attend was also the same week as another regional youth gathering not far from us. She insisted that I change the dates and move the camp so her daughter didn’t have to decide between the two. Now, while I responded gracefully and tried to be gentle with her, what I truly wanted to say was, “hey lady, life is hard and sometimes your kids have to make decisions. They have to learn that life is about decisions. Sorry, but this is one of those moments. Maybe you don’t want to make her face the real world, but she’s already in it.”

The fact is, we all make decisions. Daily. Hourly. By the minute. Everything we do is a decision. When I read my e-mails, I have to make a decision based on what I think someone is trying to say to me and decide how to respond in a manner that will help them. This woman and her daughter must make a decision. A decision that I can’t make for them, and I can’t make it easier for them. The camp is closing and that is a decision that came hard for many years for many people. But it was made and we have to make decisions based on that previous decision. We can’t turn back time and change things now because that’s not how the world works.

Here’s the bigger issue: we can’t make decisions if we don’t stop focusing on the decisions of the past. We can’t change them. But we can move on from them to make new decisions. Those new decisions are where new things come from. These decisions might or might not truly affect our lives in major ways, we will never know. Because once you have made a decision and gone through with it, you can never take it back.

Ever.

Abraham made decisions, really hard ones. Sometimes I think about the story in Genesis where Abraham leaves his father’s world and enters into covenant with our Father. He left behind a lot, all based on a decision to follow God. That is one hard decision that I cannot imagine making. I am so glad I didn’t have to.

Or, the decision of being a Christian in the times of the New Testament. It wasn’t cool to be a Christian like it is today. Things were done in secret so you didn’t get persecuted by the government. Being a Christian, for many, was a hard decision.

Or, like the times when other Christians tell me I’m going to hell for being the person God made me to be. Last time I checked, God doesn’t make mistakes. I could decide to let them know that the God I believe in is a God of love and that I don’t think that they believe in the same God I do and that the God they believe in doesn’t exist. But, I have to make the decision to not condemn them as they do to me. I would like to think that God didn’t make them into jerks, they did that on their own. That was their decision.

But that’s how it goes. We make decisions. Daily. Hourly. By the minute. We make decisions. And sometimes they suck, because frankly, sometimes, life is hard.

ordination: (noun) a decreeing; origin: 1350-1400; middle english

For the third time, I find myself beginning to study for my Theological Competence Exam, and my second for the Polity Exam, for the PCUSA. The first time I took these tests, back in August of 2011 and Jaunary 2012, respectively  I was excited and nervous; emotions about taking these tests that I had prepared for my entire life were flowing through my veins. I had prepared my entire life. In the handbook, it even says that is when your preparation begins. But when you fail one, and then another, does that mean God prepared you wrong all those years? It can send you into a tailspin, make you doubt your calling, and make you angry at the church, others, and God.

The most ironic part? They are just tests. But not just any tests.

The Standard Ordination Exams are just one step of several in the ordination process of the Presbyterian Church USA. You have to go to seminary and get an MDiv, you have to be a practicing Presbyterian with a session endorsement, you have to be an inquirer for atleast a year, many Presbyteries require atleast 1 unit of Clinical Pastoral Education, a psychological exam, atleast 1 year of candidacy, 4 senior ordination exams, 1 Bible trivia exam, meet with your Committee on Preparation for Ministry, and then, you have to find a job where you are called to be ordained. Once all of those happen, then you get to be questioned on the floor of your Presbytery where they will ask just about anything they want. And if you’re in a Presbytery who doesn’t like that you are a person of color, or your gender, or that you are not a heterosexual, then you might get screwed. And, let’s not forget that you will spend hundreds of dollars on this process alone as well.

It blows.

Many times, I ask myself, “why on earth do you do this?” I found myself asking this same question this morning when cracking open my Book of Order. Why in the hell am I still doing this when, as you can see from above, it can make you so miserable and tear you down to no end? It’s easy to complain, as you can also read. It’s even harder to want to put up with it. But I do. And for some strange reason, It kind of excites me.

My mother has always called me a masochist. She might be right.

First, when I open my Book of Order, it makes me excited and proud. It is a book that, along with the Book of Confessions, makes me realize how much heritage comes out of the Presbyterian Church as a whole. It tells me where we have been and where we have not been. It reminds me that there is a lot of work to do, and I want to be a part of it.

I learned early on, that if you want to change things, then be part of the change. Cliche, I know. But if you want something to change, you have to get involved. I learned this early, but the first time I did it, I was a senior in high school.

My home church, Stockbridge Presbyterian in Stockbridge, GA, was a church that was small, but packed a big punch. Each Christmas, we would have a program in conjunction with other churches and the local county: Community Christmas for the Needy. While I wasn’t a fan of the work”needy,” it was an important ministry. Our family helped in each year. As we would take in applications and meet with people in the community who were seeking our help, I was always noticing the babies. I liked to play with them while the moms were filling out the applications or interviewing with the workers.

I also worked after school at a local daycare and private Pre-K. It was a Christian organization, and it was one of the best jobs I ever had: Cornerstone Christian Academy off of Flippen Road. I began to tell the women that ran the program that we needed to have stuff for babies. We only gave food for older kids and adults. But babies needed things too, way more than adults. And baby stuff was often times, more expensive.

I would spend my afternoons after school working in the day care with my 2-year olds. Then I would head over to the church, to have meetings and work on the Christmas program; I did this for months. I saw that the parents that were sending their children to us at the day care, were sort of well off. They were more well off than the parents I saw applying for aid at our church. So, one evening, I approached one of the women in charge of the church program: “I want to give food, diapers, and toys for the babies.” She looked at me as to say, “I do not have time for you.” Instead she said, “So, go do it. Nothing is stopping you.” She gave me all the paperwork I needed and said, “good luck, there are only 2 months until Christmas, you don’t have a lot of time.”

I was determined to do this, and do it right.

With the help of my boss at the day care and local community members, we did it. For the families, the goal was food for one week, a Christmas dinner, and atleast 2 toys or presents for each child over the age of 3. When we handed out the babies supplies on Christmas Eve to the families with babies or expecting, there were enough diapers, food, formula, bottles, toys, clothes, burping rags, teething toys, and toddler snacks for each child, for atleast 3 weeks.

We had a meeting 2 weeks after Christmas, to begin planning for next year. The committee asked how I did it so quickly. “I really cared. I really wanted to see it happen. And, I had a lot of other parents that could not fathom babies not having food to eat or diapers to wear. So, because I cared, they cared.”

The fact is, it happened because I got in there and did it and people responded.

I don’t say all of this to make myself into some sort of hero. But I wanted to see a change, so I made it happen. I went to the right people, had enough determination and willpower, and had the means to make it happen.

This is how I feel about the church.

The church is like that local community program, it’s a wonderful thing, but it can be better. I want to help make it better and the way that I do that is from the inside out. It’s like when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes larger. His change happened from the inside out. So, taking these tests is the way to work myself in. If I want to see change in the church, I have to help make it happen. I have to be able to help make it better.

Now, there are other reasons for taking the exams and becoming ordained, but this is one reason that even though I see the PCUSA website and get angered at the thought of paying another $100 to take a test, that I still do it. While they are only tests, its the way to get into the boys’ club; I have to prove that I have what it takes in this area of test-taking, to get an invite in. Do I think it’s the right way to measure if you get in or not? No. It’s pretty inaccurate. But it’s the way in.

When we die, and the kingdom of heaven presents itself to us, I highly doubt that God will require a written test of us to make sure we are eligible. Because if there is a test, then we are all screwed, because I think we all might fail. Thank God for grace abundant.

memories: (noun, plural of memory) the reputation of a person or thing; a person, thing, event, act, etc., remembered; origin: 1275-1325, middle english

Watching my grandmother pass a few months ago, was one of the hardest, and most silently relieving things, of my short 29 year-old adult existence. It was hard because she wanted to go, and we (the family), wanted her to stay. But now, she’s gone and I believe that she is in a better place. Her body is buried right next to my Grandfather’s, but her memories live on; especially at Christmas time.

When my partner and I were out this past weekend, despite being on Weight Watchers, I urged her to stop at one of the local candy stores, to get a box of chocolates. Grandma always had chocolates at her house at Christmas time.

So, Christmas is the time I think of delicate little chocolates sitting under the tree, waiting for someone to come in and steal one out of the brightly colored boxes.

Or, there is the Christmas poinsettia that needs to be gotten each Christmas in remembrance of Grandma and Grandpa because she used to get one for me each Christmas at church. Christmas was the one time of year that you went to Little Rock and Westover Hills Presbyterian Church, without fail. It was the time of year we ate cheese straws that her bridge group brought over; it was the time I went out and bought little Ikea tea cookies for her because she was Swedish and it was the closest thing I could get for her to remind her of her childhood; its the time you put ginger cookies shaped like hearts on your Christmas tree, just high enough where the dogs can’t get them, so that they smell like Grandma’s house; its the time we do puzzles because Grandpa used to do them in between watching NASCAR and playing endless bouts of UNO with my cousins. Christmas holds a lot of memories; especially memories of my Grandmother and Grandfather. This is our first Christmas without both of them.

For all its joy, Christmas is a hard season to get through.

For all its representation of the birth of a savior and God’s greatest gift to humankind, it is also a reminder of all that we have lost. Well, I might have lost things, but nothing can take my memories. If anything, Christmas is the time when I get to have those memories over and over again. And nothing brings me more joy than to know I experienced those memories and that Christmas will help keep them alive.

This afternoon, the Presbytery of Chicago will meet for a called assembly meeting in Western Springs to vote on the contract of a possible sale for the Presbyterian Camps in Saugatuck, MI. It’s a good sale. It provides the Presbytery with the money it needs to pay off its debt from the lawsuit and to close a chapter in the life of the Presbytery. The stakes in this high roller game: 631 Perryman Street. Now, this property loss does not mean the loss of the ministry, but it doesn’t have to. Here’s the deal.

The camp has been around for over 100 years. Families have spent generations there. They have lived their lives with this property as part of it. Just as I lived my life with my Grandmother in it. It impacted their lives. It gave them a place to go to be kids, to grow spiritually, to get away from Chicago for a few days, a place to come for retreats: it was a place that was set apart. It’s the place where I held my first job out of graduate school. Some call it a holy place; but a holy place can be anywhere you want it to be. It can even be Grandma’s house.

One of the concerns that people have about the camp, is that the ministry will be lost. Well, that could very well be the case. The ministry might go away. Just like the ministry of San Marcos, it could go away. Now, I do not mean to be insensitive, I realize what one minister did while that ministry was going on, but it was a ministry and there were people helped. Nothing can ever make right what was done wrong to those victims, but it was still a ministry lost; all because of one man. If the property of the Presbyterian Camps is gone, the ministry might leave as well. That is a reality.

So, what’s the difference, you ask? Well, this could be the chance for the Presbytery of Chicago to embark on a new ministry; a ministry that envisions outdoor ministry differently. Yes, the property of 631 Perryman Street will possibly be gone, but those memories won’t be. Like the Christmas memories of my Grandmother and her generous helpings of pancakes, the memories of summers spent at Presbyterian Camps will not be lost unless you allow them to be.

The world changes. Ministry changes. People evolve, and if we do it right, ministry evolves with us.

I am not getting on the bandwagon of, “let’s sell the camp,” or, “we have to save the camp,” (I remain neutral on the topic because I have other things to focus on, such as a successful and meaningful summer 2013), but we have to live in the here and now, and we have to atleast give those memories their credit due. We have to hope that in light of this possible sale, that this ministry will evolve into something that evolves with the Presbytery of Chicago. We have to rethink how we do outdoor ministry with our uber-urban context. We have to rethink outdoor ministry so that the churches within the Chicago zip codes are actually included.

We have to make the ministry about the memories and the experiences that we make readily available, rather than a physical place. Yes, it is easier to have a specific place to remember where those memories happened, but it is better to have memories and experiences, than none at all.

While the property of Presbyterian Camps is that place that allowed us to have  some of our memories, it is also a place. It is a place like my Grandmother’s house that allowed me memories that helped me become the person I am, and I remember that place fondly, even though it is no longer around.

At the end of the day, we still have our memories and experiences. Those help to shape who we are and affect how we treat others and how we engage and share in ministry with others in new ways. The ministry of Presbyterian Camps should not be in vain, it should be a catalyst for new ministries and growth with or without the property.

camp: (noun) any temporary structure, such as a tent or a cabin, used on a outing or vacation

A few weeks ago I was sitting in my grandmother’s hospital room in Little Rock, Arkansas. Through her whispers, she said to me with sad eyes and cold hands, “Just let me go, I’m tired.” This wasn’t some plea because she was in pain, she wasn’t really. She had numerous medicines given to her and she was getting the nutrients her body needed, she had my mother and myself caring for her ’round the clock to adjust her and make her comfortable in her bed, take her to the bathroom, dress and wash her, and wet her mouth whenever she needed it. Her plea came from a different place; a place I saw in almost each and every patient I sat with while I was in my CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). My grandmother was tired and ready to let go. She watched as her family dealt with (and in some cases avoided dealing with) her impending death and declining health. It wasn’t about being sick, it was about watching her children suffer as their mother degraded in front of the; it was about being ready to let go when others around her just weren’t. It was about not wanting to cause a problem and cause pain.

As my grandmother told me to simply let her go, I held her hand and told her, “Go, if it’s your time, go. We won’t stop you, and we will survive. But we can’t make you go, and neither can you. That’s up to God.” She sat and stared at me, attentively. After a few seconds of disappointment and thought, she nodded her head yes, as to let me know that she knew that it was out of all of our hands. She had to wait on God.

A few weeks later, while on my vacation, my partner and I got a call from my mother, letting me know that my grandmother had passed, peacefully and without any pain or stress, in her sleep while at the Presbyterian Village in Little Rock. It was a slow relief on my end and I am sure an even greater one to my grandmother who could not bear to watch her children suffer because she would soon be gone. It was a relief that I often wish that I could feel with the camp I am running.

In May of this year, I took  job I did not want. I didn’t want it not because it was a bad job, I didn’t want it because I knew there was no telling how long this job would be around. It was only a three month gig with no benefits. But, as my professor told me, “It’s a job. It’s a job that will keep you from living in your mother’s basement and one that will keep you close to your partner. It’s a job. Stop crying about how it’s not the job you really want, and just take it. Three months of pay is better than nothing at all.” She was right and I didn’t have a comeback argument for her. I needed a job and this was the only offer I was getting.

So, I said yes.

Now, this isn’t like a marriage or something, it was a job. Correction: It was a hot mess of a job. And after three months of work, I was offered an extension, and this time I took it happily, not kicking and screaming.

First, a bit of background: The camp is technically up for sale. There’s a long story as to why the POC is in debt, and you can google that. But they are in debt. Not as much as they were, but, alas, they are still in debt. So, to cover the debt, the bank said, “hey, you have a camp and some property worth a lot of money. Put that up for sale and you can cover your debt.” So, the camp went from being a non-profit ministry of the POC, to collateral. Thus, began the long and drawn out grieving process by the members of the Presbytery. One by one, the churches began to say their goodbyes to the camp. But, the camp did not sell. It remained where it was, in limbo between saying goodbye and moving along like the little engine that could.

A group of people from the Presbytery got together and have tried to buy the camp, but alas, the money just isn’t there. Others have tried to go into negotiations in the past, but nothing has come from those. At this point, people are just hurt, exhausted, and want it all done with. They want the debt gone and they want to stop grieving the camp. But the camp isn’t going anywhere, atleast not yet. The hardest part for these people; the camp isn’t dead just yet. It is very much alive.

What do you do with a camp that is dying, not because it is lacking in life, but because you know you must kill it? You know you must give it away and that means that it will be lost and gone forever. Generations worth of memories will only belong to those that were once there, and no longer in a physical place.

When I look at the situation with the camp and my grandmother and my patients from the hospital, I see parallels. People don’t know how to grieve; or atleast, they don’t realize they are not in control of it. They are searching for a way to do it and then move on. They long for the process to be over and done with, but grief is a tricky bastard: he lingers around for as long as he wants to and for each person, getting rid of him is different and no one knows how to truly do it until it’s already done.

This is where I come in. Atleast, when it comes to the camp. My job title is technically Interim Camp Director, and that ‘Interim’ part is important. It reminds me that my job is complicated. Not only am I to plan summer camp and make it happen, I have to run the camp as is, knowing that at any moment, we could go.
I have to help these people in their grieving process and remind them that they can’t run from it.

Sometimes, it sucks.

Some folks want to just drop it from the face of the Presbytery. Others cling desperately to it, and others are indifferent, acting as if nothing is happening. It’s painful to watch and even more painful to try to wrestle with. Each time I encounter someone in the Presbytery, I often get the question, “So, the camp is still here?”

Yes. Yes the camp is still here. It’s not dead yet; as much as folks want it to be gone so they no longer have to deal with it. It isn’t dead yet. But people still have to grieve, and it can’t end when they want it to. It keeps going, on and on. So, that is my job, to help with the grieving. No one ever told me this would be happening when I was going through seminary. I knew I would be charged with caring for the sick and dying, but never with the healthy and waiting to be killed. It is a necessary killing. It must happen in order for other things to become possible. Like Abraham and Isaac, its a sacrifice that must be made. But will the angel stop the hand before it strikes? Either way, it still hurts those who love it.

After watching my mother and her two brothers mourn my grandmother’s death; after she was gone and in the ground, they began to move on. She was old, had lived a good life. But it still hurt. This too is like that. Once it’s gone, people will heal and move on. But the pain comes from the grief and the waiting. I guess a camp is technically a temporary thing, as is everything, but when you are hurting or grieving, it can feel like eternity for some. Grief, like camp, is a temporary thing, we just never know how long it will hold on for.

church: (noun), the whole body of Christian believers; Christendom; origin: before 900

A few weeks ago, I went to Dallas. Home of big hair, big steaks, cattle with big horns, and also a big gathering of Presbyterians trying to sustain and nurture the church. People trying to help breathe new life into the church; similar to the way that God breathes the breath of life (ruah) into the lungs of the first human in the second creation story in Genesis.

 

There were breaths, all right, Some were breaths of relief in seeing so many come together to work toward a common goal of helping the church thrive. Some were breaths of gasping for air when the traditional blue-book hymns were taken and sung by a performer along with the conference attendees and done with new tunes with lots of harmonizing and riffs. Some were breaths of delight at the new ways to worship. Some were breaths of excitement when we ran into old friends from 2005 that we never imagined of seeing. Some were bated breaths while listening to the speakers. Some were sighs of relief at realizing that seminary students (meaning the next generation of the church leaders), can actually worship and do it well.

I went to the NEXT Church conference, hosted by the congregation of the First Presbyterian Church of Dallas. The hardest part about this conference is trying to figure out just what the hell you say about it, exactly. This is the second conference, the first being in Indianapolis last year.

To begin with, there were almost 600, mainly white Presbyterians in a sanctuary together. I say mainly because last year I could have counted the number of participants who were not white on one hand.Frank Yamada, president of McCormick Seminary talks alot about the year 2040. 2040 is the estimated year that there will no longer be a majority of any one type of people in the United States. This is by race, because let’s be honest, with the way things are going, the rich will still heavily under weigh those who are below the poverty line. This year at NEXT, there was a conscious effort to remember that not all Presbyterians are old, white, male, and heterosexual. Granted, they had their token people of color there, but still, thank you for listening to people when they were bothered by the fact that all you had was a sea of white last year.

Second, the conference worship was interesting. Part of the problem with the PCUSA today, is that no one wants to hand over control. Basically, no one is retiring. There was a recent article posted to Facebook about current pastors asking people to stop becoming pastors, and I have to wonder, does someone feel threatened? Are we realizing that things have to change? Are we worried about job security? Are we worried that the next generation of the church is going to screw it up royally? Are we worried that all the things we worked so hard for will be thrown out the window by those new comers who don’t appreciate it? Yes to all of those and more. But the fact is, that someone passed down the church to the generation of pastors before us, and now it’s time to pay it forward. We’re not saying “get lost.” In fact, were saying the opposite. We’re saying, “hey, what did you do and how can I do it and make it applicable to my generation like you did for yours?”

I say all this because the opening worship was a bit of a shit-show. (Yes. I swore. And I’m probably sure that Jesus did too at some point.) The point is, that taking old hymns that people already know and love and adding new tunes, a wailing musician who is really putting on a show for people, and a guitar is not going to make worship somehow more special, it’s going to be uncomfortable, annoying, and a bit insulting to those young people like me, who you are trying to “reach out” to. Really?

Third, the conference has defined its goals a little better but its still sort of muddy waters. Which I actually find good and refreshing. People are still finding their way through this and they are also claiming their own identities of what they want the Next Church to become.

Trying to find your place in the world as the church and as the body of Christ is hard, but we keep on doing it. We keep on working and growing and trying to listen for the spirit as much as possible; and maybe, just maybe, we will get it right one of these days.

Here’s to hoping that we’ll figure out what it will mean to become the next church.

Listen: (verb), origin before 950; middle english; also see: hear

This week, I find myself in the midst of many things. First, I’m in my second, count it, second week of Shake it Up Cafe Vacation Bible School. The first one was with Rehoboth Presbyterian Church and now I find myself waking up at 6:30am to drive to Oglethorpe Presbyterian. Second, I’m in the midst of finishing my paperwork for candidacy with the Greater Atlanta Presbytery. Third, I’m attempting to get ready to go back to McCormick for my final year of seminary and also get ready to help teach and be taught. Last, I’m attempting to answer the question that’s on form 5a of the candidate paperwork: In what church occupation are you interested in at this time?

My answer: something easy to digest and what you want to hear, whatever that might be.

The good Christian girl answer: wherever God leads me.

Reality’s answer: a job that pays the bills and doesn’t put me living in the boondocks of America for the next 10 years alone with my two dogs and 6 birds and a few cats thrown in there. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe that God will lead me there, in fact, I know it. The the question is: how will I listen?

I think about listening and I am reminded that everyone listens everything differently. This comes from people’s background, moods, etc. When someone talks about certain things I don’t want to listen, then I shut it out, I might get upset about it if it’s not to my liking or I might buy right into whatever the person is selling because I like it; there are so many possibilities for how we decide to listen! So while I’m writing my statements to the questions for the presbytery, I have to wonder: how people will be listening?

Every word has to be perfectly arranged in place and meticulously thought out about why it’s used and what’s it doing there. Take my faith statement. Honestly, I make a bold claim that humans have freedom to make decisions apart from God. Some might say that this contradicts the statement right before it where I claim that God is all-powerful; but it doesn’t. And unless you’re having a campfire in my head, then it probably is pretty contradictory. But I promise you, it’s not!

Let me explain and maybe you can listen to what I’m saying.

First, God is all-powerful. No, God won’t create a rock so large that God’s can’t carry it or move it. God isn’t that stupid and also it’s not possible, because God is God. Second, I do think God has plans for what God wants us to do, but we have to decide as to whether or not we’re going to do it. Take the typical minister’s struggle. It happens before you actually accept the call to go and do this thing called ministry for real. We all make excuses as to why we should do other things, and you fight it, and it’s hard to fight, and eventually you give in and it gets easier (not in every way). God’s call in your life might be hard to accept whatever you are called to do (priesthood of all believers, just google it), but once you’ve given in to it, things get a bit easier in some ways (again, not in every way). But here’s the point: if you are adamant that you aren’t going to answer that call and do something else, then you’re just not going to and God will work in other ways through you.

Why? Not because you outsmarted God or because you’re big enough to resist God, but because God is a bit smarter than you or I and will always win out in whatever situation you find yourself in. Whoever said that we make our own destiny, was right, but didn’t count on the fact that God outsmarts us. Every time. We can make our own destiny in this life, but God can do with us what God wants while we’re making that destiny.

So, all of that being said, we have some free agency in this material world of ours. Now, let’s get on to the topic of evil. People do acts of evil. I suppose that your God nay-sayer could say that if God were all-powerful, then God could simply not allow those evil acts to happen; but that’s not how it works. In case you didn’t know, there are things that God knows that we don’t. God isn’t allowing those evil acts. We’re making the conscious decisions to do them and each time we do, we pull ourselves away from God. This isn’t just a “God-should-do-all-the-work-in-my-life” kind of deal here. It’s a two-way street. We’re called to live a life in communion with God, our neighbors, nature and all of God’s creation, which is everything. We’ve done a crappy job so far and we’re not getting better at it (That’s just my own personal opinion; you might think that the way we treat each other and our earth is acceptable, but I don’t and it’s my blog, so there.)

Each time we do an act of evil (and when I say acts of evil, I mean lots of things; basically, anything that ain’t right), we separate ourselves from God; and just because you might think you are close to God, you might want to really think about that means. You can be close to God and still pull yourself away from God. I know plenty of people who are close to God but in fact they turn their noses up at others who don’t dress as well as them or to those who are simply different than them. Yes folks, these are acts of evil. When I think of people who are Christians, who would put me down for reasons I deem ridiculous, then I don’t want to like them. In fact, I want to hate them. That’s an act of evil. I’m capable of it and so are you. Call me Jean Calvin, but we’re not all made of roses and cotton candy. We’re jerks a lot of the time. God didn’t create jerks. God created things that were good because God called all that God created as good. So, we’re good; but we’re also capable of being jerks.

What’s really important is that we know we’re jerks and that we are capable of evil and of that ever salt-rubbing-in-the-wound word, sin. We are capable of these things and when we act on them, we’re not only jerks, but we’re jerks that are pulling ourselves away from God. I think it upsets God when we don’t welcome our neighbors (check your Sodom and Gomorrah, the ultimate story about hospitality, not homosexuality), when we turn away those in need (the poor, sick, etc.), when we enable others to keep living in their own sorrows without attempting to empower them to take charge and help themselves (Jesus meets the leper who doesn’t take the initiative to get himself into the pool and let’s everyone else go first so he’s stuck living in his life as a leper when he should probably be a little more pro-active; it’s in the synoptic gospels, read it). I say I think because I cannot say for a cold, hard fact what on earth God is thinking, but I think I have a good idea from the God I know…

So, did you hear what I said? How did you listen?

In the end, what isn’t important is how people are listening; what’s really important is that I say it at all and pray to God that someone is listening. The people of the Presbytery of Greater Atlanta won’t read this, unless perhaps you are Rix or Jill; but those people in the presbytery will be in a room with me when October rolls around. And I can only hope that they decide to listen and that I am able to say it to the best of my ability without boring people too much.

Maybe this is what I should bring to my meetings.

Now that I’m done with this form of procrastination for my paperwork, I’m going to go for the ultimate form of procrastination: sleep.

This works better if I write…

How insane is this? I write a blog for my job, and I can’t even keep up with my own on here? Maybe it’s like a famous chef or something; they are fabulous in the kitchen of their four0star Michelin restaurant, but get them at home and they just want take-out. Now, I’m not claiming to have an award winning blog for McCormick, but it’s pretty darn good if I do say so myself. But this one isn’t about McCormick; it’s about me. I know, selfish, right?

Wildlife at the Ranch!

First off, I was in Texas. Yep, you heard it right. I went down to the hill country of Texas. I spent most of May, all of June and a few days in July working for the Crosstrails Ministry at their site, Ebert Ranch. I worked as their Adventure Program Director. I did a lot of work; high ropes, chicken wrangling, nurses’ station, out-camp, cookouts, campfires, etc. It was fun, but sadly, not all things are meant to last. In a nutshell, I left the job. There were just too many other factors that fit in to the equation and I needed to take my leave.So in the end, I asked to be let out of my contract. The directors, Adam and Julie, were sad to see me leave but I think they understood. I was sad to leave an amazing staff, but sometimes you have to take care of yourself first. I have truly missed them.

The view from the deck.

Now, on to other pressing issues: ordination exams, CPE and candidacy. These were some of the things that drew me away from Texas early, but not all of them. First Ordination exams. Those happen in August, right at the end. What do they do? Well, simply put: the goal is to take them, pass them and never have to see them again. Done. Next, we have CPE. Applications finished and in the mail, now, we just have to wait. Lastly, candidacy. This is the part where I write, write, write. And write some more. I’ll post my answers to the soul probing questions as they become available.

Okay friends, that’s all you get right now. One more year of seminary and then into the real world, so let’s see how this goes!

Peace~Shelley D.