It is What It is...

...And what it is, is an aggressive form of breast cancer--a "triple negative," in fact. There are three forms of hormones, as I understand it, to which it might be receptive or sensitive. Any one of them could be used for treatment (Clarification: the hormones "feed" the cancer/tumour--assuming there are any cancer cells left or, possibly, unidentified tumours elsewhere--so by eliminating those hormones from the patient's body, the tumour/cancer is "starved" and dies). Unfortunately, mine isn't sensitive to any of the three (and so eliminating them or stopping my body's production of them, will not affect the cancer). Therefore, it will be treated aggressively.

I'll be getting a total of six cycles of chemo, each of three weeks. During week 1, I'll get the chemo. Then I have week 2 and 3 off, then the next cycle starts with week 1 and chemo again. That repeats for six cycles. I'll be getting two kinds of chemo, one is a "cocktail" that goes by FEC for short--I get that the first three cycles--and then docetaxol for the second three cycles. Once that's all done, there will be radiation therapy.

This is going to be complicated. When people talked about needing energy and time to cope with chemotherapy, I thought simply of the physical side of things. But, wow! I have to have blood tests drawn at the clinic the week before chemo, then see the doctor a couple days before chemo. Then a week-10 days after chemo, I have to have blood tests again. And then it's about time for the pre-doctor's visit blood draw again. Periodically I will also have to have heart tests. Before I can even begin, I have to be sure my vaccines are up to date, be tested for Hepatitis and HIV, and have a stent placed. Luckily, my surgeon already had me get a bone scan and some baseline ultrasounds.

It will probably get more complicated, as I hope to be accepted into a clinical trial for a drug under development for the "triple negative" tumours. That will require more tests; but at least they can give it at the same time as the other chemo.

So now I'm doing what I can to get ready--from the medical stuff to planning worship for the next few months to making sure my car is in running order to replacing my wonky stove (I know its quirks, but I'll probably have friends and family cooking on it and they don't know the tricks...).

I do plan on a "shaving party," as most of those chemo drugs have hair loss listed as a "usual" side effect; the other one says "frequently." I'd say the odds are pretty good I'll lose some! So my plan to crop it very close (and Stylist and I have been working so hard on growing it out! Oh well...) and then I won't notice it so much.

Strong Heart and I are very pleased with my medical oncologist. It took him a few minutes to adjust to the fact that SH was my partner, not simply a good friend (it's a cultural thing), but once he did, he carried on just fine. He's patient, clear, willing to explain, to discuss (instead of decree), and genuininely caring. For that matter, all the staff (and I mean everyone--social workers, pharmacy techs, nurses, volunteers, lab techs, etc.) in the cancer centre seem to be the same way--caring, focused on what will make life easiest for the patients and their families, supportive of what the patient needs, etc. A very positive experience--as positive as possible, anyway, given the circumstances.

And I'm going to need some positive experiences! The church is still struggling, looking for solutions to the financial crisis. One consolation--we are not alone in our struggles. Most non-profits here in River City are facing similar issues. It's not just our short-comings--it's the economy!

My plan at this point to post about my progress in treatment--detailed but not graphic, partly as an update on how I'm doing, but also partly as a document of what this journey was like for me. Everyone has a different story (see last post) but this will be one woman's story, in any case. I'm committing to be as honest and as open as I feel comfortable--maybe pushing that comfort envelope a bit--so that this is a true account, not simplified or glossed over so that it doesn't worry anyone. It is what it is; and I'm getting wonderful treatment, and an amazing amount of support from all sides.

I'll keep you posted!

Update...to be continued...

Strong Heart and I visited the surgeon again yesterday.

The cancer is at Stage 2, which means that it was found in my lymph nodes, besides the tumour.

The usual treatment is radiation and chemo combined. We'll know more about scheduling and timing after we meet with the care team tomorrow (Wednesday the 8th).

It's not what I wanted to hear, but after wallowing in negativity for a couple of weeks, I got angry this weekend, and that got me out of it and now I'm in a positive place.

What got me out of that boo-hiss place? Well-meaning people who want to 1) treat me like glass and coddle me; or 2)tell me they know exactly how I feel because their sister/cousin/co-worker had breast cancer; or 3)tell me how I should be eating/sleeping/treating it, because of what worked for their sister's best friend's cousin's daughter-in-law.

I know they mean well, and so I do my best to respond graciously. SH gave me a great phrase to use--"Everyone's story is different"--and I embellish on it.

Sample: "Well, everyone has a different story. We really like my surgeon and we're going to see what she recommends. I'll remember what you said; but we really trust my surgeon."

So why does it make me angry?

• Because I'm still healthy--don't treat me as if I'm suddenly unable to do anything. I want to do as much as I can for as long as I can. I appreciate the support and love that people are trying to express, but I don't want to let go of what I CAN do until I have to.
• Because they DON'T know how I feel! The people who have survived cancer have simply told me that; "I'm a survivor," and nothing more. They understand.
• Because I need to trust my surgeon, myself, Strong Heart and my care team. The advice-proffering folks have no idea what my health status is like, my life circumstances, my options. I personally plan to fight this tooth and nail. I have a 19-year-old son I want to see graduate from university, get married, etc.; a partner I love and plan to spend the rest of my (long) life with; work to which I am called and love passionately; family I want to be with; friends; experiences I haven't had that I want to have--I am going to do what it takes to be there for all of that. That's my decision, and mine alone, and I want to be free to make it without any suggestion that what I'm doing may be OK in the short term but ruinous in the long term, or vice versa--or harder on SH than it needs to be, or bad for my health in other ways, etc.

I know they are all well-intentioned. So I smile politely and repeat, "We're very happy with the surgeon. Everyone's story is different. I'm fine for now--if and when I need help I will be sure to call on you."

(Note: I do intend to ask for and accept help when I need it, which won't be easy for me to do; but I don't just yet!)

Tuesday Morning Giggle

Why does this make me smile every time I see it? Am I just sick?

Sunday Morning Reading

In my Sunday morning procrastination reading, I came across this article by Nathanial Frank, on the religious-not-so-right's stance on "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" (the US military's policy on gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgender servic members, for my two or three global readers).

Frank has a book coming out which I can't wait to read--"Unfriendly Fire"--about GLBT servicemembers. He has several excellent points to make.

We are wasting human lives and resources and actually undermining our troop morale (try living without being able to be honest about who you love, having to monitor your conversation, having your deepest relationship ignored--or not even being permitted to mention it--and living in fear of being "found out").

My ex-husband was in the US military--yes, I was an Army wife (although I don't recall those 17 years being nearly as dramatic as the TV show...), and I have some understanding about what is needed for troop cohesion, morale, etc. It's about trust. And trust goes both ways--trust that each individual is the unit can be accepted (perhaps with some teasing, that's par for the course) as long as s/he does his/her part. That's called professionalism, and how dare those who would enforce DADT inply that our troops, on a mass scale, are less than professional and well-trained?

Thing is, most of the military leaders of 15-20 years ago were of a generation when it wasn't acceptable to be out; and so their prejudices ruled, as Frank points out. Today, with leaders and troops of a different generation, same-gender-loving mostly gets a shrug--as it should. Of course there are prejudices among the troops--but there were to African-American servicemembers, to Latino servicemembers, and to Asian servicemembers as well--not to mention women. Part of the military experience is learning to simply get the job done without allowing personal issues to get in the way--personal prejudices. That's called professionalism.

I love the Huffington Post...

Back to Normal?

Yeah, well, first define normal!

I led worship last Sunday, and will do so again this week. I started back to my semi-secular job (it's at another church of my denomination) this week, just two days, to ease myself back into it.

It's been hard, though, to get through a certain lethargy...I know there's a sermon to be written for tomorrow, and I want to write it, and I have ideas and plans for how I want it to go, but I can't seem to muster up the oomph to actually do it. I don't know if I'm still recovering from the surgery or if it's psychological or sheer inability to shift gears from enforced laziness.

I slept 12 hours last night--I haven't slept that long in years.

Well, Monday Strong Heart and I go in for the pathology results. Wednesday is the "intake" appointment at the cancer centre here in River City--that's when we'll get some idea of a schedule for treatments.

I continue to be amazed and touched by the support and caring of my friends, both here in River City, across the continent and around the world. Simply knowing people are holding me in prayer is powerful and humbling. Thank you for those prayers...and keep 'em coming!

And keep SH in your prayers too--she does so much for me and yet feels she isn't doing enough. Her love and strength have held me up many times these last few weeks--her presence in my life has been a blessing. If she had not been present, of course I still would be fine. But because she is here with me in this, everything is that much easier to bear.

Mood: Grumpy

Can I just vent for a moment?

I'm tired, I'm bored, I'm uncomfortable. I want this drain out, I want to be able to drive, I want to be able to go to work (!!!), I want to be able to take a decent shower!

OK. I'm over it for the moment.

Thanks for listening.

Sunday Evening Update

Not quite the "60 Minutes" of my childhood, but the news around our house, anyway!

The surgery went well on Tuesday. Mom, Strong Heart and Boss Pastor were all there--BP anointed me and we prayed together before they wheeled me off to the OR. Woke up in the Recovery Room (actually very pleasant, it has skylights and the sun was beaming in on Tuesday morning--a wonderful way to wake from surgery!). I'm still uncomfortable, but "1-800 WAH" as Strong Heart said, when she was in a similar situation. I loved that my surgeon, anaesthesiologist, and both scrub nurses were all women! Sorry, guys--I just thought the female energy was very appropriate for breast surgery.

I've been taking it easy--reading, talking, computer games--just wish I could sleep better. I overdid it a bit yesterday (an interment and a wedding rehearsal), but am trying to make up for it today. I will do some work tomorrow--but light things like research for the sermon next week and some paperwork.

Tuesday I go back to the surgeon's office for the pathology report and plan of action. Sadly, SH can't be with me--she's even more upset about it than I am--but her work is inflexible. However, Mom will be there, so I shan't be alone. I'm writing questions as I think of them, so I wont forget to ask them Tuesday.

How am I feeling? Odd--physically not up to my usual workload and yet very aware of what needs to be done and can't be put off another week. My mind is willing but my body is weak...

And again, the blessings I mentioned last Friday are once again surrounding me--the support and love of friends; the grace of the sunshine through those skylights; the skill of the surgeon; the skills of the nurses, both in hospital and the visiting nurses; the nectar of my first sip of ginger ale (even if it did return fifteen minutes later); the care and tenderness of SH helping into and out of the car and up the steps into the house; Mom's loving hands settling me for a nap.

Truly, this may be no picnic, but I am certainly learning just how blessed I really am!

My Personal Friday Five

Mother Laura's Friday Five looks great, but today I have my own personal Friday Five I need to share.

The lump I mentioned last month? Well, I had a biopsy last week, and the pathology report came back positive--I have breast cancer. I am scheduled for a lumpectomy on Tuesday the 16th, and then radiation later on. Prayers are coveted...

So--What's my Friday Five? Five things I am grateful for, that are blessing my life in this moment of fear and uncertainty.

1. First and foremost, the love and support of Strong Heart. I could not ask for more than she has given me--she knows what I need when I need it, by some miracle. She also isn't afraid to shake me up a bit when I get stuck in the fear and forget the faith.

2. The love and support of my family and friends--from my sisters, son and mother to co-workers to people I work with on community projects to my dearest friends--all offering love, encouragement, positive vibes and everything from lawn mowing to meals.

3. My confidence in my surgeon. Simply put, she is awesome--I like, trust, and respect her very much. She's not only a nice person, but is a great surgeon. The ultrasound technician and a friend who works at the hospital both had very positive things to say about her, too, so it isn't just me!

4. The medical researchers and the fundraisers who have contributed to the advances in medicine that allow me to have this done as an outpatient surgery and to know, unlike women of my grandmother's generation, that this not a death sentence or necessarily even a painful long, drawn-out process ahead of me.

5. That it was found early on--I do self-examination (because my sister is a survivor), I was taken seriously by the surgeon, I had an ultrasound and biopsy quickly, she got me into the office and then scheduled for surgery immediately. No messing about here!

And a bonus--I also recognise that I am especially blessed to be living in Canada and covered by the Ontario Health Insurance Plan (because I am working here and most certainly paying taxes!). I don't have to worry about paying for the ultrasound or the surgeon's office visit or for the surgery or radiation treatments--not even a co-pay. If I were at a similar pulpit in the States, I would be on my own--which is to say, no coverage. Thus, this is a huge blessing!

So--Tuesday, I would crave your prayers. We are thinking positively!

Dance Night!

Just 'cause it tickled me...and I know how they feel!


see more crazy cat pics

Update and Gone For a Bit...

Thanks to all of you (you know who you are) who sent good vibes and prayers and suggestions my way before the debate last month--they were felt and appreciated!

We're struggling here in River City. Finances at the church are very tight--this is a factory town, and our main product is cars and car parts, and they aren't selling well these days. The trickle-down effect here is that people get laid off, or they fear getting laid off, and so they spend less. They don't buy clothes as much, they stay in the old house instead of buying a new one, they order pizza in instead of going out to dinner, they rent a movie instead of going to a concert...you know how it goes. They also, unfortunately, tithe less. Things need to pick up very soon.

Strong Heart is back to work! Too soon, in my humble-and-not-medical opinion, but then I'm not the one in charge of when she goes back (nor is she, unfortunately).

We're checking out another health issue for me--lump on the other side, probably a cysy but uncertain. I felt a bit stupid and hypochondriac for even bringing it up, but the doc reassured me. Between my family history and plain prudence, it needs to be checked out. No word on the date for that yet.

I'm still missing Mr. M. From time to time, something will remind me of him--a photo of a corgi at I Can Has Cheezburger (my new favourite time-wasting site, BTW), or the biscuit bar at Mega-Pet when Strong Heart and I stop by for fish supplies; or his crate, still in the corner of my living room. It was time to let him go, but I still miss him...

Next week is vacation time! Well, clergy-vacation...I think a lot of people wouldn't see it as vacation, but Strong Heart and I do. We're off on a retreat for a few days, to my fav retreat place EVAH...GilChrist Retreat Center.

Wow, two links in one post--better quit here before I hurt something! I hope to check in to the Friday Five and the Preacher Party (even though I'm not preaching this Sunday), but if I don't, y'all have a good week!

Dogs and Crumbs

(Sermon draft for August 17, 2008)

Isaiah 56:1-8 (New Revised Standard)

Thus says God. Maintain justice, and do what is right, for soon my salvation will come, and my deliverance be revealed. Happy is the mortal who does this, the one who holds it fast, who keeps the sabbath, not profaning it, and refrains from doing any evil. Do not let the foreigner joined to the Holy One say, “God will surely separate me from God’s people”; and do not let the eunuch say, “I am just a dry tree.” For thus says God: “To the eunuchs who keep my sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant, I will give, in my house and within my walls, a monument and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off. And the foreigners who join themselves to God, to minister to the Holy One, to love the name of God, and to be God’s servants, all who keep the sabbath, and do not profane it, and hold fast my covenant— these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt offerings and their sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. Thus says God, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, I will gather others to them besides those

already gathered.

Matthew 15:21-28 (New Revised Standard)

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Teacher, Descendent of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But Jesus did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Teacher, help me.” Jesus answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” ²⁷She said, “Yes, Teacher, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

****

Will you pray with me? Holy One, bless this time, hallow the words spoken and heard, open our hearts and spirits to what you want us to hear. May I be a channel of your truth, your peace, your love. In all your names, amen.

This is an interesting pairing of readings. The Isaiah passage is one of my favourites in the Bible—poetic and hopeful, so welcoming and inclusive. The Matthew passage, on the other hand, is very painful and difficult to hear.

Jesus, the Jesus I worship and love, here is insulting, rude, and even brutal to this woman who is looking for healing for her ill daughter. He calls her a “Canaanite woman,” but there was no Canaan at the time Jesus lived on earth. The Canaanites were the ones the Hebrews kicked out, conquered, after they left Egypt. He’s insulting her, reminding her that her people are conquered, even as the Jews were conquered by the Romans. And then he gets even more offensive, when he compares her to a dog—an animal that was unclean to the Jews of the day. In other words, he’s calling her dirty, unfit to speak to a religious teacher, outcast, lowest of the low. She is frightened for her daughter, and goes to the only source of healing she has available to her—Jesus. And he turns up his nose at her.

That’s hard…very hard to hear.

But she’s brave—she doesn’t let him get away with that bigotry. At some level, she knows she deserves to be heard, and reminds Jesus that while he may view her as an outcast—a dog—she is still one of God’s children, made in God’s image, part of the household of God, and that God cares for her, too—even if it’s just to give her crumbs.

Crumbs.
Big City Church collects food for the Youth Center in River City which offers meals, safe space and shelter to GLBT youth. With the worsening economy, many of the kids are losing their jobs, having to move out of their apartments because they can’t pay the rent, facing a choice of paying their rent or buying groceries—needing help of all kinds. So BCC collects food every week. As the office administrator, I bag it all up and meet the folks from YC who come to pick it up. The last few weeks I’ve noticed something that bothered me at first. The baskets were full of cans of fruit and vegetables, boxes of cereal, jars of pasta sauce and bottles of juice. There were bags of rice, boxes of granola bars—even some bags of chips! But I also saw that someone had apparently cleaned out their cupboard of food they didn’t eat anymore, they had purchased by mistake, or had been given to them and they didn’t want it. There were bags of holiday-shaped pasta—red and green Christmas trees and stars and candy canes—of fancy salsa dips and salad dressings, cans of artichoke hearts and lima beans.

My first thought was sarcastic, I’m sorry to say. “How generous—giving away stuff you don’t want anyway!” And then I thought again. Those folks were giving food, after all; it might not be the kids’ favourite, or mine; it might not be terribly practical for a food program; but it was good food and edible. The cooks at YC are ingenious, as the executive director told me when she picked up the latest batch of food. They can use just about anything, one way or another, even a single can of artichoke hearts and some lima beans.

Those cans of lima beans and artichoke hearts may be crumbs—but they are food for the hungry.

The woman who insisted on healing for her daughter didn’t get crumbs, though, did she? Jesus gave her exactly what she had asked for—healing for her daughter. Not crumbs, but a full meal.

Later in Jesus' life, when he’s at the Temple in Jerusalem, he becomes angered by the profiteering he sees there, and overturns the tables, and says that God’s temple should be a house of prayer—and everyone who heard him would have known the rest of the verse—A house of prayer for all nations. He took the woman’s words fully to heart, and made them part of his mission.

Jesus learned. Jesus learned! Some people might think that’s a bit blasphemous or wrong—that Jesus was perfect, that he had nothing to learn. But I believe that Jesus was human—human and divine—but while on earth, human. And therefore he could learn, and change and grow.

Who do we think of as dogs? Who do we begrudgingly pray for, knowing we “ought” to, when we really feel that those persons don’t deserve our prayers or our time? Is it the Fred Phelps of the world, who blames the ills of Canada on the fact that same-gender love is recognised and accepted here? Parenthetically—Phelps says that God is allowing lawlessness in Canada and such events as the horrific murder of Tim McLean on the Greyhound bus because Canada legalised same-gender marriage. Is it the homeless person we see in same bus shelter day after day whom we think could surely find someplace to live if she only looked hard enough? Is it the man with depression—surely he can just snap out of it? Or perhaps it’s the radical feminist, unwilling to compromise her principles; or the Muslim—of whatever sect—whom we feel is simply wrong. Is it the co-worker who always has something negative to say? Who do we see as dogs?

If Jesus opened his eyes, widened his vision, can’t we too? Can’t we get to know them, listen to their story, hear them out? We may not like them as individuals, we may disagree with their politics or religious views, but if we know them as people, if we can talk with them, then we can learn to see them, too, as children of God, worthy of our acceptance and help. And we can also understand that we can learn from them. I do not accept anything Fred Phelps says; I do not believe in a God who hates anyone, much less a God who hates me. I cannot accept any of his statements or beliefs. And yet I am impressed by the strength with which he clings to his convictions, wrong as I think they are, and I have to wonder—faced with the derision and laughter and resistance he faces, would I be able to continue as strongly as he does? As someone once said, in another context, “I may not agree with what you say; but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”

Over and over, I have found that people I thought I didn’t like, or people I feared, turned out to be people I could like, or accept, or even be friends with. When I accepted the invitation to speak at Conservative Church a couple weeks ago, I was, I’ll admit, a bit scared. I assumed that the congregation would not be very welcoming, that the pastor was setting me up just to knock me down and make the congregation feel all right about their beliefs on same-gender love. I was afraid of the person I was opposing in the debate—he’s a journalist, experienced with words and media, how could I hope to appear as informed and glib?

The reality was far different. The pastor was very welcoming, wanting to be educated, wanting to understand. He told his congregation several times that he was not going to tell them what to think—they should listen to me and to my opponent in the debate, and then make up their own minds. They were the ones who had to answer to God for how they resolved their beliefs, he said—so they had to use their own God-given reason, understanding, and compassion. I had expected cold politeness; and instead received a warm welcome. The congregation was wonderful; attentive, respectful, responsive. And my opponent turned out to be a relatively young man whose skill lies in writing, who, I think, is still struggling with his identity.

They were not dogs. Nor was I. We did not share crumbs, but a meal of conversation and honest exchange. We got to know each other, to really see each other.

Can we do that? You and I, every day? Can we open our eyes to those around us, and offer them a willingness to understand, to share, to get to know them?

That’s what Jesus learned that day—that are no limits to God’s love and bounty and grace; all of us are part of God’s household and welcome there. No one should be getting only crumbs, but everyone deserves a share in the rich meal of God’s plenty.

Next time we are faced with someone we think is outside that circle of God’s love, can we open up and allow ourselves to learn from them? Can we come to see those “others” whom we fear or distrust as a part of God’s people, not as outcast dogs? That’s our task—difficult as it sometimes is—to see God in every person, to learn from them, to hear their story and try to understand them.

Be warned, though—just because you are willing to be open and learn from them doesn’t mean they will be willing to be open in return. You may only get hostility, mistrust and dishonesty in return. But I guarantee you that if you don’t reach out, you won’t gain any understanding, and they won’t either. All you can do is make the attempt—try to learn from them—and if they are not willing to teach, at least you know you attempted.

Next time we are faced with someone we don’t like or trust or understand—can we agree to talk to them? Try to understand their beliefs, try to find out why and how they think and feel and act the way they do. What barriers have they faced? What do they believe? What is lacking in their lives—or what is there too much of in their lives?

Once we learn something about them as individuals, whether we come to like them or not, we can see them as truly God’s people, as we are. And then indeed, in the words of the Psalmist, how pleasant it is when families live together in harmony! I might add, especially when the family of God lives together in harmony.

In all God’s names, amen.

Debate Debrief!

Long time no blog!

Let’s see—updates. Strong Heart was approved for ordination! I ended up traveling with her, through a complicated series of events… It was all for the good, because then I got to be there to celebrate with her.

Pride went very well here in River City. We had some rain on Saturday, and early Sunday morning, which may have pulled the numbers for the worship service down. Still, we had the service, with the chair of the Pride Board in attendance…trying to get the community here to be supportive, and we’re making some progress.

But I barely had time to recover from Pride when I had to finish preparing for my debate on the next Sunday—this past Sunday, as those of you who attended the Preacher’s Party know!

What happened was this—the pastor of a local Presbyterian church contacted Pride about someone willing to debate the topic of homosexuality in a church setting. Monsieur passed it on to me, and I contacted the pastor. Now, the Presbyterian church in Canada is more conservative, historically, than its US counterpart, because the more progressive congregations tended to join up with the United Church when that merger took place in the 40s or 50s, not sure—I know one of my United Church colleagues out there will correct me on the date—Gord?

Of course, over time, many of those congregations have shifted a bit. Also, don’t forget that this is Canada, after all…

So I read Jesus, the Bible, and Homosexuality: Explode the Myths, Heal the Church, by Jack Rogers, who is a former Moderator (head) of the Presbyterian Church in America. Great book, addresses the evangelical audience, and is very readable. I also got some talking points from my “bishop,” and talked things over with United Church colleagues and, of course, Strong Heart.

Saturday night I had dinner with Presby Pastor, his wife, an elder from the church and her husband, and my opponent. He’s a layperson from Large Canadian City, who believes that while he is gay and indeed made that way, he must remain celibate—in other words, it’s acting on his desires that he feels is sinful. We had some conversation, got to know each other a bit better, and had a good dinner.

I felt much relieved—I had feared that he would be someone who had been active for a long time, who was practised at this sort of debate, who had soundbites at his fingertips…but he wasn’t.

I don’t mean to disparage his belief—it’s what works for him, apparently (although I have my doubts). But he simply wasn’t prepared, and it showed.

We had two debates, one at the early service and one at the later service. The structure was that after an introduction and set up by Presby Pastor, we each had ten minutes to make our statement. Then we each had five minutes for rebuttal, and five more for a final summary. Not a lot of time to make complicated arguments about how we read the Bible or dissecting 1^st century Greek!

My basic points were these:

• Christ is the centre of Christianity, not the Bible; to whom do we give ultimate authority?
• Christ never turned anyone away, in fact when people were dissuaded from coming to him, he insisted they be allowed to come (the children, the woman who wiped his feet with her hair, etc.)
• God and the Bible do not change, but our understanding and interpretation of them do; over time, the circle of inclusion has enlarged to bring in Gentiles, slaves, women, people of colour, divorced persons, and so on, as we have changed our understanding of what the Bible is saying to us
• I asked two questions (really the same one): “What would Jesus do?” and “Would Jesus discriminate?”
• For you United Church of Christ pastors, I borrowed your denomination’s wonderful phrase: “Never put a period where God has placed a comma.”

I didn’t try to address the individual verses (the “clobber passages) partly for lack of time and partly because I didn’t want to get too technical and complicated. I did talk about them briefly but in the larger context of not being able to examine modern relationships in 1^st century terms—context, in other words.

It was curious for me—I did not feel nervous. I was keyed up, but not scared or nervous. I could actually feel the prayers and positive thoughts and feelings of so many of you surrounding me, I knew it would be OK. No matter what the end result was, I knew it was in God’s hands.

There was no declared winner or loser; Presby Pastor told his congregation that they were responsible for their own consciences, their own opinions—he wasn’t going to tell them how to think. It was their duty to do the reading and research and make up their own minds, and then hold to that opinion with commitment and compassion.

All in all, a better experience than I had thought it might be. Wonderful conversations with members afterwards too, mostly supportive.

So what’s up in your world?

"Where's the Fire?"

Please pray with me. God, your child Jesus taught us that we should love one another; your Spirit teaches us your truth and love; give us now the strength to love each other—not just the people we know, but each person who needs our love, even those who hate us. Give us the wisdom to speak your truth, the fire in our bones that Jeremiah felt. Open us to you guidance in our lives, to the ways you want us to show that love and speak that truth.

We’ve heard a reading from the Jewish prophet Jeremiah today, and the testimony of the New Testament gospel writer called Matthew. Hear now from a modern prophet, someone who has gone into danger bearing the truth of God’s love for all God’s children, and who spoke that truth to power, who did not leave those longing for God’s word to hunger and thirst in vain.

Our bishop wrote of her trip to Moldova:

"I am battle weary, bone tired, emotionally wasted and I could cry so easily. Not for myself but for those who must exist in this place of so much fear and hatred. I am profoundly sad."

The security guards were pushed further and further away from the bus, and the bus had begun to rock from the press of the people outside. I was sitting at the back of the bus and heard noises coming from the rear. I looked out the rear window and saw people ripping pieces out of the engine of the bus. I passed the information forward, and the bus driver got out to investigate. As he got to the back of the bus, the protestors began hitting him and pushing him away. People were raising crosses and icons, and they were yelling; anger and hate made them look less than human. A group of young men, who had decided that I was particularly evil, were waving crosses and moved to the back of the bus with lighters raised, passing the flame closer and closer to the engine, taunting me and laughing.

On the bus people were trying to stay calm, and those of us with phones were calling embassies and the police. A couple of people panicked, wanting off the bus to take their chances with the crowd. We talked calmly to them, trying to ease their anxiety. Nine times we contacted the police, and nothing. We could see they were in the crowd in plain clothes but doing nothing. We had observers in the crowd who told us there were armed police officers between buildings, leaning against their cars, talking on cell phones but not responding. We could see the chief of police in the crowd, and we were told that he was telling the protestors what to do, colluding with the crowd. The Swedish embassy had spoken with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, who contacted the police and was told that they would not respond even if there was violence. The mayor's office had set us up.

I was on my phone the entire time, calling the embassy and emailing back and forth with our communications minister, who had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning in LA so that he could be available if anything happened. I sent hurried messages back and forth. I wanted there to be some record of what was happening on the bus. I know that he would get word out quickly and that he understood what it could be like. He had travelled to Eastern Europe for pride two years ago and had seen what hate-filled crowds were like. He became my lifeline. I know that sounds dramatic, but I knew that he was there at the other end of the phone and it helped. It was a light in the midst of darkness, a tether to everything that was whole. Our moderator sent me a quick note saying that she was praying, and I felt it and knew, "Okay, MCC is here with us". I don't know if I will ever be able to convey just how much that tenuous connection meant to me, but it was MCC at its best.

The tension was thick, we had been sitting like this, being shaken and taunted for 30 minutes. The crowd had grown, and they were getting more and more riled up. Two protestors broke onto the bus. They were religious leaders who said they could keep the crowd from killing us if we handed over all of our banners and the Moldovan Flag and destroy the balloons. Hand over hand, the banners moved forward. "Tolerance", "Would Jesus discriminate?", "Would God hate?", "For God so loved the world", "Love your neighbor as you love yourself", "Stop Discrimination", "Human Rights for ALL" - each banner was lovingly passed forward and taken by the religious leaders who threw them to the crowd, as you would throw meat to a pack of hungry dogs. The crowd fell on them and shredded them. The driver was allowed back onto the bus, and we edged our way forward.

As we gained speed, the crowd surged after us - older women running with icons raised and fists clenched, young people running, yelling and pounding on the sides of the bus. The bus driver was supposed to take us out of town but instead took us back to the Gender-doc offices, exactly where the crowd would look for us. He was too traumatized to take us from the city. People from the bus scattered; only ten of us remained, trying to decide what we should do next. Police cars were at the corner. Then security people arrived; they said the crowd was on its way. They had received a message from the police telling them where we were.

Ten people braved the police presence and gathered to study together. It took such courage for them to arrive and participate. There is such a hunger for God and for understanding, and I wonder what would happen if we had to fight in North America, Western Europe, and Australia to express our faith. I hope that we would be just as courageous. It made me think of what the early Christians had to do to come together. This is the "why," the reason our work around the world is so important. It is in these gatherings that we are "Tearing down walls, building up hope". It is here the teachings of Jesus and the work of MCC is so critically important.

As we met, the landlady came to the apartment to see if we were having a worship service. The police had visited her and told her we were holding illegal worship services. Moldova claims to have freedom of religion but only if you are with the Orthodox Church. Apparently I was being investigated for hosting and presiding over worship. People left in groups of two and three as taxis arrived. We were so conscious that the actions of this community were revolutionary, and we wanted as much as possible for them to be safe.

I cried when I read this for the first time. Besides the obvious danger to our bishop, who has been an amazing leader and pastoral presence in my life, and to my friend with her, with whom I went through pastoral intensive training, the tragedy of the violence and hatred taking place tore my heart. So many people lost to hatred, so many people suffering for what they believe, so many people trapped in a web of lies and deceit.

And then I turned to my other emails, to my work here in River City. And I began to get angry. Where is our fire here in River City, in Canada? Are we too comfortable, “fat, dumb and happy,” in the popular phrase? Are we complacent because we can marry whomever we love; because our rights are codified in law? I have had a couple people tell me they feel Pride is irrelevant, not needed anymore, and that it does a disservice to the gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, two-spirited and allied community to parade down Main St., to have the young men show off their bare chests, the young women their tats and piercings, to have floats with drag queens and leather people, let alone the abomination that we, as lesbian, gay, bisexual, two-spirited and transgendered Christians are to many people from other religious traditions; that we “alienate” people when we are honest about who we really are. These folks would rather we just shut up now that we have what we wanted.

Where is our fire?

Sometimes I just don’t know what to do…we as a community have so much to be grateful for, and it seems to me that we waste these good things, we take them for granted. People complain about Pride—“The men are running everything,” or “the women don’t want the men at their events” or “There’s nothing for kids,” or “those crazy drag queens are just too bizarre.” We are spoiled!! As our elder would say, we need to get over our own damned selves! We can have Pride, openly, freely. The elder was in danger of her life—but she could leave Moldava. The Moldavians cannot…and they are still in danger. That’s not talking a few insults on the street or graffiti on the garage or even individuals being beat up, horrific as that is. In Moldova and other places around the world, it’s gangs, violence, the name of a loving God being taken in vain to promote hatred and murder. We’re talking about governments, including the police forces, that do not see LGBT rights as something to be protected, nor do they believe in free speech. That is what the LGBT Moldavians have to live with every day.

Jeremiah had a fire in his bones…yes, he got tired, yes, he was literally burned out, but he could not deny the truth, the call God had on his life. He had to speak up—he could not be silent, not even when people laughed at him, scorned him, when he was exhausted and tired and didn’t think he could move forward. Jeremiah had the fire of God’s truth in his very bones, in his marrow—and he had to speak it.

How can we be silent? How can we act as if things are well for us, for our sisters and brothers around the world, when they are not? Not only in Moldova, but in Russia, in Nigeria, in Egypt, in Turkey, in Saudi Arabia, in the Philippines? Where is our fire?

Do you feel the fire, church? Do you feel that divine flame in your heart and soul and bones? Yes, we have most of our rights and the law on our side—but there’s still education needed, even here in Canada. Being in a border town, we have to talk about the US too—and in the US, things are improving, but they aren’t where they should be. Too many states have defined marriage as between one man and one woman, too many hospitals are denying people visits and a voice in the care of their same sex partners, the US military hierarchy is still acting as though gay men, lesbians, bisexual people and transgender people are a threat to “good order, discipline and morale”—just as they said about African-Americans fifty years ago; and too many bigoted foster care and adoption agencies are allowed to get away with denying same-sex couples children solely on the basis of their sexual orientation—and not-so-incidentally, denying those children a safe, loving home. There’s obviously room for improvement, and LGBT people face violence and discrimination on an individual basis.

In the States and Canada and Great Britain and Brazil and many other places, LGBTT communities have to have a clear voice and must continue to speak up for their rights, but they may speak; and the law is on their side. In Nigeria, in Egypt, in Iraq—LGBTT people are threaten with being put to death. In Moldova, they are threatened by gangs, their danger ignored by the police, they are followed and watched and investigated as if they were criminals—which they are, according to Moldavian law.

Where is the fire, church?! Where is your fire? Yes, we’re small in River City, but Jesus himself started with only 12 people, and one of them betrayed him! The truth cannot be defeated, cannot be silenced.

I don’t know what speaking the truth might look like for you as individuals. Each of us has to hear God’s direction for ourselves. I don’t know what it might look like for the church—I have some ideas, but we as a congregation, as a church, must listen for that guidance together.

It is not enough to sit in church on Sunday, to feel good about ourselves because we have been to church, sung a couple of hymns, heard some scripture and a sermon, put our loonie in the plate, shared Communion, had some coffee afterwards and gone home to a BBQ with the neighbours.

That’s lazy Christianity—it’s not what we are called to. Jesus never said it would be easy to follow him, to carry that truth, that fire, within us. Yes, he said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light—“ but there’s still a yoke and a burden. In the gospel reading, Jesus warns us that it won’t be easy. He tells us there will be bullies, there will be conflict and pain and struggle. Some of us will lose our families, some of us will lose our jobs, some of us will lose our lives. But if we believe in the truth God has spoken to us, if we hold to the truth Jesus taught us and the truth the Holy Spirit renews in us every day, then we don’t have a choice.

God’s eye is on the sparrow, and on us. Do you think the one who put that truth in our hearts will abandon us when we speak that truth, when we live it out in the world!? Of course not! Jesus knew what it was to be hated and scorned, to be condemned for the company he kept, to be mocked and teased and bullied—and to be killed, ultimately, for the truth he knew in his bones.

We will not be abandoned. We who speak truth to power—whether it is political power or economic power or religious power—we who speak truth from the fire in our souls will not be alone. God will be with us to strengthen and encourage us, to give us words to say and courage to lift us up when we are terrified. Our elder had a line to the communications minister and to our moderator; their presence, even through text messaging, was a source of encouragement, God’s strength flowing through other humans as our elder spoke God’s truth to power in Moldova.

Sometimes I feel like I’m preaching to the choir—usually the folks I see on Sundays are the ones who do feel God’s truth. But do we get tired sometimes, and want to stop telling that truth? Do we get weary of being scorned, of having our concerns politely shunted aside or ignored or condescended to? Do we get so tired of it that we quit, and say, “Forget it. I’ll go to church, because I should and because I need the presence of my sisters and brothers in Christ, but enough of this working for God’s realm. I’m tired, I need a break.”

We cannot rest, we cannot set it aside, we cannot quit, we who feel God’s truth life fire in our souls and hearts and spirits. We cannot be silent, and we cry out that truth in spite of the scorn, the anger, the ignorance, the hatred and violence. We will not become complacent and rest on what we have—because until all our sisters and brothers are free, we are not truly free.

Feel that fire—and speak that truth.

In all God’s names, amen.

Up and Down in May

Well, yes, it’s been a while. Literally no time to journal, let alone blog.

Mid-May, Strong Heart was told she needed surgery. So three days later, there we were—me in the waiting room, her in surgery. The staff was marvellous—again! I had some real reservations, since this time we were in a medical facility in the States, in a relatively small town. But they were accepting and even affirming of our relationship (one of the aides came running in to tell us the good news about California), and took wonderful care of Strong Heart. To be honest, they were some of the best medical staff I have ever seen, and I have worked in more than one hospital. They were cheerful, helpful, upbeat, and friendly—it almost seemed as if they LIKED working there!

So Strong Heart is now staying with me while she recuperates, which is an experience all in itself! I’ve learned to drive her car (it’s easier for her to get in and out of), we’re catching up on all those DVDs we’ve always wanted to see, and she’s resting—more or less. The surgery seems to have done what it was supposed to, and given her relief from pain.

But on top of that good news, we had bad news. This past weekend, we had to say goodbye to Mr. M. He had been having more and more trouble navigating stairs and controlling his back legs; and there were other signs of possible kidney failure. So the vet was honest with us, but clear and kind—we could keep Mr. M. around for a while, but he would be in pain. So, remembering how good he had been to us, we were good to him, and gave him release. The staff was great—we have been surrounded recently with wonderful medical people, for which thank God!—and allowed us all the time we needed to say goodbye.

Mr. M. was my best friend and companion for the last 14 years—he saw TO from first grade through his first year of college; me through seminary, a divorce, coming out, denominational transfer, ordination, an international move, the end of one relationship, and the beginning of another. He had many friends, both human and animal—best of all was his buddy Teddy, another Corgi who is waiting for him on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge. One of my recent joys was watching him and Strong Heart become good buddies—bonding over time spent on the porch, drinking coffee and having a smoke (Strong Heart), sprawling on the floor (Mr. M.), and watching the world go by (both of them).

It’s been a roller coaster of a month, May has—to be capped (pardon the pun) by Strong Heart’s seminary graduation this coming Saturday!

Celebration!!

The surgeon says she thinks it is merely a cyst--to be monitored and checked again in three months, but not to be operated on!

Jubilation!!

And gratitude to the office staff and the surgeon, who with their graciousness and matter of fact acceptance of Strong Heart's presence with me, once again proved to me why I LOVE living in Canada.

And Round We Go Again...

Well, I have an appointment with the specialist--Monday morning. As always, Strong Heart will be with me.

I'm in a curious place--mostly I'm OK, thinking that this is nothing--but then from time to time, more ominous thoughts form, which I quickly shake away.

Trying to stay with the former....

The Saga Continues...

Well, the cytology report was equivocal. “Unusual” was used; “family history” was mentioned as well. And when my doctor realised that my sister was the same age I am now when her breast cancer was diagnosed, she (my doctor) felt that settled it—I’m going for another exam.

This time, it’s a general surgeon, but someone who specialises in this sort of thing. She’ll examine me, look at the test results, etc. and make a recommendation. That could be any number of things—another ultrasound, a mammogram, a biopsy… But she’s really the expert, so I’ll take a deep breath and plunge.

Strong Heart will be there; as she has been and continues to be.

Friday Five--24 Hours!

Elrond
(JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings; as portrayed by Hugo Weaving in Peter Jackson's film)

This week’s Friday Five, from RevHRod (who comes up with some of the.best. Friday. Fives.)

1. If you could dramatically change your physical appearance for 24 hours, what would you do?

I’ve always had this double chin thing going on. Even at my thinnest, back at university, I had a really thick neck. Profile shots are horrible, and some face-ons aren’t much better… So, yeah. I’d like to have a real neck and chin. Just to see what it’s like.

2. If you could live in another place for 24 hours where would you go?

This one is difficult. In only 24 hours, you really can’t see or do much. I think I would probably want to go either someplace totally hedonistic, like a cabin in the woods with Strong Heart, or totally altruistic, such as the mission project Strong Heart worked on a couple of years ago in the Dominican Republic. In some ways, just getting away would be a blessing. At the same time, I think I need to experience the realities of life for other people—knowing, of course, that in 24 hours and in that situation, I would still be privileged.

3. You get to do somebody else's job for a day...

I almost said US President, but you know, any changes I made would vanish the next day as soon as Dubya got back. Still it might be nice to have 24 hours when the war stopped, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell went away, a trans-inclusive ENDA was mandated by executive order, and all women’s restrooms were required to have enough stalls.

On the other hand, I’ve often thought about running a combination used-book-store and café (with perhaps a gifty/music shop on the side). I wouldn’t mid trying that for a day.

4. Spend the day with another person from anywhere in time and space...

Well this one’s easy. Strong Heart.

Not that there aren’t other people I’d like to meet and talk with—Joan of Arc, Alexander the Great, Abraham Lincoln, Walt Whitman, k.d. lang, King David (yes, THAT King David), Mahatma Gandhi, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Gandalf, and Elrond, for starters.

5. A magical power is yours. Which one would you pick?

Healing body, mind and spirit. There’s so much pain—I would be so blessed to be able to heal some of it. I was once told by someone who “reads” hands that I am a healer of healers—a meta-healer if you will—and certainly my heart inclines to those in need of healing.

Which partially explains Elrond (keeper of wisdom and healing in JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Ring).

Random Cogitations...

Some thoughts that have been rattling around in my brain since yesterday’s experience…. I was impressed by the hospital staff’s acceptance of my relationship with Strong Heart.

I asked when I checked in, “Is it possible for my partner to come into the examining room with me? I’d like for her to be with me, if possible,” or words to that effect, making it clear that my partner was another woman. The receptionist didn’t blink, just told me I’d have to ask the technician.

So I did. And, again, a simple, “no, there really isn’t room,” was the only reaction.

And then, when the preliminary exam was done and the technician went off in search of the doctor, I asked if it were possible for someone to tell Strong Heart what was going on, or to bring her in so I could—I knew she’d be waiting to hear, out in the waiting room, and as it got to be twenty minutes, then half an hour, I didn’t want her to worry. And again, even though it was clear my partner was a woman, the response was professional and simple—if the doctor isn’t available right away, yes, we’ll let her know.

And the truth is, there really wasn’t room in there for anyone else. And while I was getting undressed/dressed/waiting, at least two other people were also told they couldn’t be with a patient. Both were mother-daughter pairs, and in one case, the (adult) daughter was actually the translator for her non-English-speaking mother. So it wasn’t just us by any means.

So why am I making such a big deal out of this?

Partly because it feels so good to be able to make such a request without a negative reaction, partly because it’s a sign of progress in River City (which tends to be conservative) and partly because it made me think.

Why am I so pleased at simple acceptance? Why do I feel so positively about simply being treated like everyone else?

Obviously, it’s partly because that hasn’t been the case for so many same-sex couples, even recently. And it’s especially poignant when medical issues are involved. When your health or your partner’s is threatened, you want both of you to be present at important moments, whether it’s tests or childbirth or treatment decisions.

But a part of me is annoyed and irritated that I even have to think about it; and that I am, in fact, so pleased at being treated like everyone else.

Why should I even have to think about these things? Why should it be doubtful whether the person who is closest to me, who knows more about what I want and need than anyone (except perhaps my son and my mother), is permitted to be with me when I need her?

I don’t really have answers to these questions…just thinking them over and putting them out there.

Good News!

First, I have to thank all of you for your prayers, comments, thoughts and support yesterday. I could feel the positive energy all the way over here in River City...thank you all so very much.

The ultrasound showed a cyst, which they drained. Further tests will be done, to be sure it wasn’t precancerous, but it’s looking good. And I have only a band-aid! The technician and doctor were great, very professional and yet caring. The procedure room was so small, though, that Strong Heart wasn’t permitted to be with me...the only downside.

Again, many thanks and blessings to you all for healing energies, for prayers, for thoughts and for encouragements….What a wonderful blogring this is!

It's Nothing?

Well OK. I’m taking a deep breath and jumping about putting this out there. I don’t usually like to talk about this sort of thing, but I may—just may—need all the support I can get. On the other hand, this may (I hope will!) be a tempest in a teapot. But just in case it isn't.

I’m having an ultrasound mammogram on Tuesday. Yes, there’s a lump. It feels huge to me—somewhere between an almond and a walnut. My doctor seemed a bit alarmed (I have a family history of breast cancer), but not overly so. She scheduled me for the procedure “ASAP” which is a step above "urgent" but not "emergency." She also warned me that depending on findings, they may want to do a biopsy then and there. I’ve had a biopsy before—it was not pleasant or fun and the fear of the results made it even less so.

So this may be nothing. That’s the attitude I’m trying to cultivate—just a test to make sure everything’s fine, which it is, blah blah blah.

The plus side—if there is one—is that the few non-blog friends I’ve shared this with have been uniformly caring and supportive in their various ways—holding me in prayers, reassuring me, promising me support. And Strong Heart has been simply stellar. Words fail me to describe just how, but she has been. “The sacrament of presence” pretty much covers it.

So friends—if you also would keep me in prayer on Tuesday, I will be very grateful. “For prayer avails much.”

Postscript: In rereading, I have realised how ungracious I sound about my friends. You are on the plus side of this, every one of you. Especially SH, who is going to be there with me on Tuesday.

A Moving Tale....

(sorry, I couldn't resist the pun...)

Mother Laura over at the RevGals offers this as the meme for today’s Friday Five. I haven’t done one in a while, but I am a veteran mover, so here goes.

1. How many times have you moved? When was the last time?

Let’s see…from birth? Sixteen, not counting back and forth to university. Four of those were overseas moves (States to Germany and back, twice). Yeah, I’ve had some experience in it—not as much as some of my friends, but a fair amount!

The last time was the move to River City, and it was such a nightmare that I don’t want to move again, even just down the street! A lost driver’s licence, rain, mountains, an international border, an overloaded truck….Yeah. Not a memory I cherish.

2. What do you love and hate about moving?

I love the adventure of it—the sense of a new start, even if it’s just down the hall or across town. The opportunity to clear out junk—both literal and metaphorical—and rearrange my home and my life. There’s so much to discover and explore about the new place, that it almost makes up for the hassles.

I hate the unpacking and settling in—not being able to find anything, whether it’s to wear or cook with. Well and the packing before, too.

I like things to be settled and to know where things are. You can’t do that in the middle of a move.

3. Do you do it yourself or hire movers?

I’ve done both. With the overseas moves, we were moved by the gov’mint—my ex-husband was in the US military. That was nice in some ways—just had to sort things out ahead of time and make sure they didn’t pack things they shouldn’t and did pack what they should. On the other hand, there was an absolute deadline—they were showing up at a date and time and you couldn’t fudge it and tell them to come back the next day, you weren’t quite ready.

For the shorter moves, I’ve done it myself, with the help of friends. They curse my book collection and my oak furniture. But I do pack well—almost everything is in boxes or containers.

It’s a toss-up as to which is better. As I get older (cough) , I’m leaning more towards paying someone to help me.

4. Advice for surviving and thriving during a move?

Again as a veteran…and having moved with pets and a small child, I think I am qualified for this one!

• Take care of yourself—get your hair cut, meditate every day for an hour, get a massage, whatever it is that makes you feel good and strong. Trust me, you’ll need it.
• Clear out the junk before you move. As soon as you know—are told, make the decision—that you will move, start immediately. This is when you get rid of the ragged towels and unfinished art projects and dried-up makeup and books you never read past the first chapter. Believe me, especially when you’re paying for it, it’s very discouraging to unpack things and think—“why did I bother moving this?”
• Get the pets and small kids (say, under 10) out of the place the day of the move. Life will be happier for everyone involved.
• Have a “no-go” room. This is where you put everything you don’t want moved by the movers (whether they are professionals or your friends). If you want to move your computer, or Great-Aunt Tilly’s china, or your cherished art yourself, this is where it goes. So do papers like insurance policies, pet health records, clothes and other things needed during the move—anything you will need to touch during the move. It can be a closet, too, but the key is a door that be firmly closed with a sign saying “Do Not Enter” in as many ways and languages needed.
• Be sure to have more than enough of whatever special stuff you need—diapers, pet food, medications, etc. And now is NOT the time to lose Junior’s special blankie! Or to try potty training. Or to give up the binky.
• Don’t be afraid to spoil yourself and your significant others a bit around the move. A new bedspread, pizza the night before the movers come, not starting to unpack the minute the movers finish unloading but instead taking a walk around the new neighbourhood—whatever you and your loved ones need to feel a bit special. There is plenty of time for frayed nerves and exhaustion.
• Last rooms to pack, first to unpack—kitchen and bathroom. The rest you can make do—these you need functional ASAP.

There—now I sound like a Family Morale Support Specialist on an Army base…

5. Are you in the middle of any inner moves of not outer ones?

I’ve been contemplating a move, mostly for financial reasons, to a smaller, cheaper place. Given my recent disastrous foray into housemates, it’s my only real alternative for reducing my housing costs. The issues are the costs of moving itself, and finding a place where Mr. M would be mobile and accepted. So for the moment, I’m here.

Bonus: Movies/books, etc about moving.

Do you know, I couldn’t really come up with one? Strange. The closest I can come is the opening of When Harry Met Sally and they’re moving from Chicago to New York City—everything fit in a station wagon. Now those were the days…

Thanks for this, Mother Laura! Lots of memories—some not so great, some wonderful—but all worthwhile.

(and look, a whole post with no mention of Strong Heart...oops.)

Authority

I am so going to try not to dwell on what is sweetest in my thoughts at the moment—namely, Strong Heart and our growing relationship—and look at something she and I have discussed a bit. Being both clergy geeks, this really is the sort of thing we discuss…well, some of what we discuss, anyway.

Authority and leadership. Ordained clergy are set aside for leadership in the church. Every denomination has its own refinement on what that means (only clergy consecrate sacraments? Only clergy officiate at baptisms? Etc.) as well as the process by which a person is ordained (seminary and denominational requirements, denominational training course, anointing by congregation, etc.). But the question remains—ordained to what? Set aside for what?

When I was consecrated in the United Methodist Church (ordination is a two-step process there, in which first a person is consecrated as a probationary elder, then after 3 years, ordained an elder—and don’t get me started on the illogic of that), we were told as part of the consecration, “Take thou authority…” Authority to do what? Well, to preach and to order worship, to consecrate Communion, to baptise—and also to send in the annual church reports, to meet with the district superintendant, to counsel and mediate and lead council meetings….in short, to lead a church.

But what gave me that authority? Yes, the words spoken over me at the consecration; and the training I had received at seminary and through my mentors. But more importantly than either of these is the call I received from God to pastor. When the United Methodist Church could not accept or hear my call, I went where it was accepted—where the authority of my call was recognised.

And what is the nature, then, of that authority? Is it rule—being the one in charge, the one with the final say, like the mother who says, “You do this because I said so, that’s why.” Is it the shepherd—being the one with the vision, seeing the goal, herding the flock towards that righteous end? Is it the guide—who knows the pitfalls and dangers as well as where the wells of living waters are? Is it the servant—who, by example and patience and love, offers an alternative to self-absorption? Is it the CEO—always seeing the bottom line, figuring how many new members pledging so much per year we get per five thousand flyers going out into the community? Is it the politician—working with the government or elected officials to set up needed services? Is it the activist—raising a lonely voice and taking a stand?

I think true leadership is a blend of all these—none should predominate, but all blend into a whole—so that each may emerge as needed. This is an ideal, to be sure. But in my experience, when one of this overshadows the rest, trouble lies ahead.

Does that sound like I’m afraid to make a stand? Perhaps it does seem that way, but I do have a position on this—every clergy person must be able to act in any of those roles at any time. Sometimes the flock needs to be pushed in another direction; sometimes they need to be loved and supported and served; sometimes they need to take a hard look at finances.

And every clergy person has one of those roles that predominates—that’s based on their personality and style. Myself, I tend to the servant leader—to me, the stole I wear on Sundays is a symbol of the yoke of obedience. I responded to my call because I could do no other—in obedience to God. And so I did what I had to do in order to serve God.

Others will have other stories. I have friends who are politicians, who are activists, who are CEOs. But they also are able to be servants or guides when needed.

“Take thou authority.”

Spring...

Life is good.

There is someone very special in my life now. I’ve known her for a while; definitely noticed her, but…well, my own stubbornness kept me from admitting that I was attracted to her. She’s also clergy (well, to-be at the moment, but soon enough…), and we’ve had some similar life experiences (though by no means all), and many of our mutual friends thought we’d be perfect for each other. So of course I said I didn’t think so—it was expected, it was too perfect, it worked too well… Someone should really have smacked me upside the head.

Well, God did. Strong Heart and I began associating more often recently through a complicated chain of events, and we talked...and talked...and talked. I found I had been very foolish to resist God’s nudging.

Strong Heart is everything I have hoped and prayed for—a warm, spiritual, loving, strong, nurturing person who, mysteriously, finds me interesting and attractive. I’m not going to argue anymore—just enjoy it until she wakes from her delusion.

Seriously, I cannot imagine what I have done to merit such support and caring and trust; I am simply receiving it gratefully as a sacred gift. My prayer is that I am able to give her the same in return.

God is teaching me something—probably a couple of things, to be honest. First is patience, and the second is that She really does know what She’s doing.

I can truly say, “Thank you, Jesus!”

Good Friday Five

Trying to get back into the rhythm of my week… I will make a start with this!

RevHRod over at RevGalBlogPals offers this for the Friday Five:

1. Our prayer concerns are as varied as we are this day. For whom would you like us to pray?

2. Are there things you have done or will do today to help the young ones understand this important day in our lives?

3. Music plays an important part in sharing the story of this day. Is there a hymn or piece of music that you have found particularly meaningful to your celebrations of Good Friday?

4. As you hear the passion narrative, is there a character that you particularly resonate with?

5. Where have you seen the gracious God of love at work lately?

And here are my responses:

1. Our prayer concerns are as varied as we are this day. For whom would you like us to pray?

CaliPastor’s partner, Piano Man lost his aunt last night—she was like another mother to him, so this is a blow to the whole family. Prayers for all of them, please, especially as PM’s mom is also very ill. And for a dear friend whose relationship is imploding, amidst tears and insults and anger and confusion and much pain…prayers for understanding and compassion and, eventually, healing and the return of hope. And for me, as I explore gingerly the possibilities of a new relationship.

2. Are there things you have done or will do today to help the young ones understand this important day in our lives?

Sadly, no. I don’t think I’ve ever had children present for a Good Friday service—and I know none of the services that I have participated in have made space for them. A sad commentary. Thank you for the nudge, RevHRod. I will rectify that in future.

3. Music plays an important part in sharing the story of this day. Is there a hymn or piece of music that you have found particularly meaningful to your celebrations of Good Friday?

“Were You There?” has always moved me, and today we heard an amazing instrumental version using pipes and drums. Very haunting and dramatic and Celtic. The closing hymn afterwards was an anticlimax.

4. As you hear the passion narrative, is there a character that you particularly resonate with?

Always Peter. I try to do what I know I should, and I can be brave up to a point—but when it comes to the point, all too often my courage fails and I pretend I don’t know the man from Galilee. It’s not that I don’t know the right thing to do—I do. I just can’t bring myself to do it, because it would mean more work or stares, or nasty phone calls, or the loss of friendships. None of them good enough reasons. And so I take comfort that Peter does redeem himself later. Also in the fact that Brit Boy took “Peter” as his confirmation name—for much the same reasons, I suspect.

5. Where have you seen the gracious God of love at work lately?

In the aforementioned possible relationship… In the support of the local community here in River City around the study the church is doing. In the expressed and supportive love of Cali Pastor and Piano Man during my recent visit (to be honest, they spoiled me rotten, from the gourmet coffee I love but they don’t drink, to the use of the sporty Jeep to luscious meals to wonderful company).

Withdrawal Pains

My faithful laptop has to go to the big laptop repair shop far away. I will not be able to post for several days. This is what I get for procrastinating on the repair.

The good news? It's still under warranty.

Will post regularly once it returns...

Catching Up...

Oh my more than a month!!

I can’t believe it’s been so long. Well.

I’ve been involved with a presentation at a conference, then went to Large Western Coastal City to another conference and also to visit friends, and then back to catch up. Also, with a second job I have to be a lot better at time management. It’s a challenge.

Projects I am currently working on: worship planning for the next couple of months, working with Brit Boy on the church’s website redesign, rewriting the membership class materials, and working on SOPs for a community organisation. That’s in addition to the usual sermon writing, worship and bulletin preparation (for two churches), Powerpoint presentation, etc.

Events for me personally: On the positive side: visiting my friends was wonderful. It offered a much-needed break with people who love me and support me unconditionally and who spoil me shamefully. They fed me bountifully, listened, entertained, and loved me. On the negative side: I’ve told Roomie to be out by this Saturday. And that’s a long story…suffice it to say that I was being taken advantage of—rent not paid, lack of responsibility re: house cleaning, no respect for boundaries… So she’s going to be gone, with the help of Landlord if needed.

So I will endeavour to do better at this—even if it’s a short note. I promise!