What a Strange Time to Dream

I had my clergy evaluation today. I sat at a desk and we plotted and planned for the future, for the next few years. Plan A was quickly thrown out and plan B was assessed as the best, and I got everything I wanted for the church I am leading. Everything. Some of the things I did not even know how to ask for, but there they were in the other people’s heads too.

This thing seems to be coming together. And I have two secret projects that are coming together. And I am finding new paths for dreams long held, and old hopes are coming home. I thought they were gone forever, but there they are, waiting for me in my current reality. Who knew?

And as I am living into some of my wildest dreams, my friends are scared for their marriages because they happen to love other women. My congregants are nervous about how their family and neighbors will be treated if they are found by ICE. Every woman I know feels unsafe.

And yet, here I am, with all of these dreams. All of these dreams of a safe place for people to know God, of a community that actually loves each other well, of a place where people could actually have the space to reach their full potential because they are reminded of their intrinsic value. I dream of a place full of good art, and thoughtful prayer, and interesting learning opportunities that might actually make a difference AND are affordable and accessible to everyone. Like ACTUALLY everyone.

I was heartbroken on Saturday, felt like the world was impossible, and I read through my sermon again and there it was, that EVERYONE was worthy. EVERYONE was valuable. That was what I had to give the church the next day, the assurance that God is wildly for them, even when they feel like all powers that be are not. The world feels like it is spinning apart, except my tiny corner of the world where we dream of serving those who are most often forgotten, but not by God.

It is a strange time to be dreaming. But here I am. Maybe it is a strange time to be dreaming. Maybe that is exactly when we need the dreams God has.

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To Priscilla on Her 7th Birthday

Dear Priscilla,

A couple of days ago you turned 7. 7! I cannot even believe it. You are more and more yourself every single year and I hope that never changes. I hope you keep growing into yourself because who you are is totally remarkable.

I often describe you to other people using words like powerful and fierce. I joke with my friend that when you are our dictator I hope you are a benevolent one. You know your will and you express it effectively and very often the world bends toward it. It is truly remarkable to watch.

I hope you are always this good at expressing your desires. I hope you know how often people are delighted to make your world good, how often it delights us to delight you.

I also hope that my description of you as fierce and powerful don’t pigeon hole you into not having feelings. You are SO sweet and generous. You are so kind and loving. Those things go hand in hand. You do not have to choose. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO CHOOSE.

You get to be your whole self, all the time. You know that now, at seven years old. I pray that you will never unlearn it.

Love,

Mom

When I am Relying on Manna from Heaven

One of the lessons I learned, early on in blogging, was unsurprisingly taught by Sarah Bessey. Of course I resonated with her blog. She wrote a lot about motherhood and writing with the scraps of time God gives us. The thing that she wrote that has stayed with me all this time is this: your ideas, your creativity is like manna from heaven. Don’t store it up, use it up. There will be enough that will appear next time. You don’t have to horde your best ideas. Tomorrow you will have new best ideas. Your creativity is from God, and it will not run out.

I worry a lot about running out. I worry a lot about whether there will be enough. Mostly, it is enough love, enough energy, enough support from the people around me. I want to know there will be enough to go around. I want to know that I am enough to go around. And then I stretch myself so thin only to prove what I fear most: I am not enough.

And y’all that is exactly true and exactly not true. I suppose if I was supposed to do it all I would not be enough. But that is very much not my job. I am only supposed to do what I am supposed to do. I am only supposed to use up my manna for the day. I am only supposed to say yes to MY stuff, not to all the stuff. That part is hard.

I said a pretty huge YES in February. I started pastoring a church. Then we decided to close and re-vision and re-vamp and re-furbish and most of my summer has been dedicated to that yes. I have so many ideas and so many dreams for New Hope and y’all are so amazing at blessing that community. We have been having a ton of fun all summer on your squirt gun and slip’n’slide donations. I know that very many of you want to partner with us, but sometimes I am afraid the partnering is going to run out. I know that the stuff is really kind of God’s job, but I get nervous.

Meanwhile this summer, in the midst of the busy I received another yes. I have been accepted on the Ruby Woo pilgrimage for this year. It is an amazing opportunity where I learn how to advocate for my community as a faith leader. It is training I need and it is just the most remarkable opportunity. I kept meaning to tell you about it but I did not, and I have realized why: I need financial help to get there, and I am afraid that if I ask for me now, I will somehow be stealing from New Hope later. Like, people will either support my personal growth as a pastor, or the growth that I am praying for in the church I pastor. I am afraid I need to store up this manna so no one will go hungry later.

Y’all, this is such a lie. The truth is, if I am called to do this, I need to do it. If my church needs something God will work it out. I don’t have to hold back. I don’t have to starve for someone else to eat. In this kingdom there is enough.

I am attempting to raise $5000 for the RubyWoo pilgrimage. This will cover my cost of the event and travel AND it will help others get there too. I don’t want to go alone, because I want to go far. I want everyone who feels called to be able to go, even if they don’t have the reach or audience to fundraise for themselves.

I am currently serving a congregation and community that is often forgotten about by city council and government agencies. Going down to city hall to raise a ruckus isn’t a class they teach at seminary, but it is what my people need from their leader.

Can you help me get there?

Can you pray for me and tell me you are?

Can you share this?

Can you donate? 

I am so ridiculously grateful for the ways y’all support me. I am praying for you, and praying that God would bless this world by allowing each of us to pour out our gifts. I am trying hard to model that.

What if Church were like Hamiltunes?

My husband and I found an activity that might be nerdier than the live streaming of the national speech tournament awards show and rooting for our team as alumni. Our favorite date night activity is to go to Hamiltunes and karaoke through the entire soundtrack of Hamilton with other people in our city who love it as much as we do. We love Hamiltunes, because we love the musical but our consistent presence at Hamiltunes goes deeper than that. We like the way the event makes us feel.

As I spend this summer preparing for a grand re-opening of a faithful little church, I can’t help dream about what that will be. We are sticking with the hymns because we all know them, and like them, and there are plenty of books around with the words. At Hamiltunes you are not out if you don’t know the show. We are excited to introduce you to the show, to tell you our favorite lyrics, to see the delight in your face when we all throw our hands in the air to snap and yell WORK! We are in a club or sorts, but you are invited and we want you there to experience it. What if the church sang hymns like that? Like we actually believed the words, like what we were singing mattered, like this thing that we sing about is really remarkable and we want to introduce you to it? I want to go to a church like that.

At Hamiltunes everyone is in and everyone is welcome. This is also true at New Hope, I have truly never seen a more welcoming church than the one I serve. I went before I started preaching there, and y’all they were amazing. Every single person who walks in through those doors knows they are loved. At Hamiltunes everyone is also welcome to participate. We WANT you on the stage, as a chorus member or to throw out a random line. We want you to sing along from your seats. We want you in on the action, as in as you want to be.

What if that is how it was at church? What if you could come up and lead because you just love this song so much, or you could sit in the back and just take it all in. What if every way you wanted to participate in worship were a good way?

I like Hamiltunes because I can try out different parts. I like that I can try being King George, or George Washington, or Angelica. I like that you can figure it out and see. Turns out that the range for Hamilton is not the best for me, but Burr works well. I know that King George is way more fun than I thought it would be and George Washington is where my heart lies. I know that because I got to try. I got to try and see if it wasn’t for me then I knew. I want church to be a place where the people get to try and see if their heart sings, if they love something. I want church to be a place where you can discover you love something, and your church roots for you. Your church can’t wait to see you nail it. Your church is longing for you to succeed and wants to cheer you on when you do.

I want to go to that church, one that feels like Hamiltunes. I want people to be as comfortable on Sunday, as they are at the Vista room, singing their hearts out.

I’m a Pastor on Prozac

Hello. My Name is Abby and I am a pastor, and I am on prozac.

Both of these things are pretty common knowledge. My Facebook profile has me in a collar. If you have talked to me recently I have probably invited you to one of the four community picnics my church is having this summer. Also, I make it a point to talk about my depression medication. I think it is important to talk about, because sometimes it feels like the only people talking about it are saying it is my fault.

My brain does not make enough serotonin, also I am extremely near sighted. Both things are true about the way God made me, but no one has ever suggested I pray away the near-sighted=ness. They just tell me they like my glasses. I want there to be the same stigma free conversation about mental health as there is about eye health. No one has ever said that the reason I can’t see more than 3 feet in front of my face without my glasses is because I lack faith.

Historically, this is how the church has been pretty terrible to people with mental health problems. For that I am deeply sorry. I am sorry that even as recently as yesterday people have taken the opportunity to use the suicides of very public people to let the world know that God’s people aren’t depressed. What hogwash. What a terrible lie.

I am called, and collared, and I have chronic depression. I am God’s people. I am God’s beloved daughter, and I take prozac every single morning. I believe that tiny pill is a good good gift from a good good God who is inviting me to participate in this world as my full self. I need some more serotonin. This pill provides it.

I prayed for years that my depression would leave me. There were times when it was better, and times it was worse. There were times when I was exercising and meditating and it felt better. The depression felt better. But there were also days when there was a constant loop of criticism in my head telling me that I was not good enough, that I was a failure, that I was going to screw it up and everyone else along with it. I didn’t always even know what it is.

Depression is a liar, and unfortunately the church has sometimes contributed to those lies instead of calling them out. You being depressed is your fault as much as you being nearsighted. There is help. Of course pray about it, but be open to the spirit leading you to medical intervention.  I spent a long time avoiding meds because I was sure God was against them. I was wrong. When I tried to give up negative self talk for Lent and could not do it, I got the help I had needed for a long time. For me, prozac is the miracle I have prayed for. I know that not everyone has the same medicine journey. I know that sometimes it takes a long time, or the meds stop working, or a doctor pumps you full of a drug that isn’t meant for you (this happened when I was 16, it took me 15 years to try again).

I wish that I could send you to any church in America and they would support you, hold your hand, cry with you, and hold your hope on the days it was too hard. I wish that the church was always a place where we could weep together, and hold each other in pain and joy, where we really did laugh and dance and weep with those who were doing any and all of those things. There are churches like that, I just wish they were all like that.

For now, all I can say is that I am a pastor, and I am on prozac. Both of those things are from God. Both of those things are good gifts from God. I am grateful for my call and grateful for my meds. I am grateful for a community that walks beside me and encourages my full gifts in my full health. For me, that means believing that God loves me, preaching truth, and taking prozac. Depression is not your lack of faith, it is a lack of serotonin.

 

When This is a Summer for Faith like a Child

We used our Christmas money to buy season passes to the amusement park. The same pass works for the water park. I thought it was maybe a little indulgent but the girls certainly did not need anymore toys. We go at least three days a week. With the dining passes sometimes we just go for dinner and ride until it closes. If we miss our favorites, it is okay we can go tomorrow.

My friend Micah wrote once about delight. How it was a practice, how it was a spiritual practice. I think about that a lot. I want to be delighted by this world. I want to believe in a God who enjoys delighting me like I enjoy taking my kids to 6 flags. Just because I can, just because I love them and it delights them. I want to practice delight in this world.

Christian had to go to work so the three of us headed to the park right after the storm came through. The rain had chased everyone away and the only thing holding us back from the rides was how fast we could run through the turnstiles.

We hit the waterpark we had been eyeing, the little one inside the park. We ran up and down the play place and slid down every slide we could fine. Purple! Orange! Turquoise! Green! Yellow! Again, again, again! Just as I was thinking this was a completely perfect day, I looked to the right and found the big waterslides and the wave pool. Apparently, there was even more to be delighted by. We hit the slides and hit the wave pool. The waves weren’t on yet and my girls were super stoked to just splash around. When the waves turned on you should have seen their faces. How could this perfect thing get better? But it did. It really did.

I love watching the kids at the water park, at the amusement park, at the local park. They are just so good at being delighted by life. They are just so good at being surprised by joy. They are just so good at giggling with abandon, and unbridled squealing, and embracing the good things of life like the gifts they are. I am learning how to love something again and again and again, not just the first time. I am learning how to expect good things, then be completely delighted by them when they come around. I want my faith to be like that. I want faith like a child.

I need faith like a child this summer, my foray into local pastoring with the Methodist church has moved into revitalization/ church planting. I have said for years I would not church plant, but I love my little church and I know this is the right next step. It turns out I didn’t want to be a lone wolf church planter but am happy to lead my pack into the great unknown. This involves a lot of expectancy, and a lot of asking. It involves inviting people to be involved in a New Hope. It involves eating at the local ice cream joint and seeing if anyone wants to come to our free community parties. It involves asking on Twitter if anyone wants to buy my church a slip-n-slide and getting half promised before I can finish this post. It involves being delighted by our fresh eggs and honey and being expectant and also joyfully surprised when my whole budget gets approved.

Kids ask a lot, they just do. They want with abandon and they ask for things. But then, they are totally delighted when it comes through. I want to have faith like this. I want to have faith with more squealing in delight and being doubled over in laughter. I want faith like a child. I am learning how to make this a spiritual practice.

 

Mother’s Day Confession: I don’t want kiddie crafts in my house.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, and I am very excited. Mostly because I get to take a nap and will be getting things off my Amazon wish list. I am SUPER picky about my gifts and this makes everyone happy (also the girls can pick out my presents without seven hours of wandering around Target and having to be reminded that mommy probably does not want the monkey-farting board game they have picked out). Look, I like what I like and I come by that honestly. My mother is super picky and I have her asethetic. My sisters and my father clear their presents through me. I know what mom likes, cause mostly we like the same things.

And y’all, very very rarely do I like what my kids have made me. Cards are great, Priscilla made me one that says “I am so glad that you can eat!” It went on the fridge. I am not saying my kids NEVER make me anything that I don’t want to hang up. I have some of those frames that open and close so I can constantly rotate their constant flow of art work coming into the dining room. But I will not paper the walls with their art work (they have decided to paper their own room with it, which works for both of us until their is a piece of art I want to display but they want it in their room).

But mostly, I don’t like the crafts that my kids bring home and I will not treasure them for a week, let alone forever. Look, maybe I am shallow, and if so fine, I am shallow, but I don’t want to wear jewelry made of food you are supposed to cook. I don’t want to wear broaches made of puzzle pieces, necklaces made of macaroni, or earrings made of salt dough. I just don’t. I am a grown ass professional woman and I get to decide what I wear, and I don’t want what I wear to yell MOMMY. I like being Juliet and Priscilla’s mommy, I have zero interest in being the mommy to the world. That job doesn’t pay anything no matter how many people you parent.

And I don’t want to put something in my living room that doesn’t match my decor. I grew up and chose my stuff on purpose and I like what I like. My kids like pink and purple respectfully. Those are not my favorite decorating colors. I will not dust something that I do not even want in my home. I mean, I don’t dust, but if I did, I would not want to have to dust something that doesn’t match my other things and is not even recognizable as the thing it is. I want all the art in my home to be PURPOSELY abstract.

I also do not want to wear anything that has my child’s handprint on it. I spent the first three years of my kids life wearing my kids handprints on accident. Peanut butter hand print on my butt, dirt hand print on my knees and hand print of some unknown sticky substance on my boob every single time I was supposed to speak in public. Y’all, we JUST got out of the accidental hand prints stage, I am not wearing a shirt with hot pink hand prints on it. I am just not. I am not even wearing it to bed. The hands I want on me in bed are not my children’s. They just aren’t.

I think there is some idea that mommy is supposed to take over my whole life, my whole identity. It is supposed to be my job to let my kids be in every single part of my life, my wardrobe, my house. But I don’t want to raise girls who think that mommy is the crowning achievement in their life, and I don’t want to raise girls who think that moms aren’t allowed to have boundaries, or opinions, or their own aesthetic tastes. If they bring me a masterpiece I probably am not going to put it in my house, but I will raise girls who can be their whole selves and be unapologetic in their wants and needs. I have to model that, and trust that will do more for their self esteem than me wearing ugly jewelry for mothers day.