My Part-Time Sabbatical

My first post in quite awhile is a recent article I wrote for my church's newsletter...it might explain why I'm back again...

What Does Half a Sabbatical Equal?
Hopefully a Happier, Healthier, (Maybe Even) Holier Pastor/Wife/Mama/Friend 

I’d like to say this decision took a whole lot of time and a whole lot of prayer…but, really it was 

one of those split second eureka moments. And I haven’t changed my mind yet, so it might even be the 

right decision! So, here’s the plan: I am going to be working half-time until the end of the year 

(between 15-20 hours/week). Steve (I am so lucky to have such an accommodating spouse!) will now be working full-time. Most of you won’t even notice a change—I’ll still be preaching and in worship on Sundays, but my time in the office, on-call, and teaching will be limited for awhile. I am still available by text and e-mail (preferably text!), but know that I will be able to meet less often than I am now—not because I don’t like you, but because I need to divide my time a little more equitably with myself and with my family. 

 So here is where the vulnerability part comes in (Brene Brown would be proud!): I simply cannot 

do everything and do everything well. Since we moved here 18 months ago, we have spent so much 

time getting acclimated to our life in Eugene and at Bethesda, that I kind of forgot that being a pastor is 

not my only calling. As a result, I’ve neglected myself, gaining 30 pounds; my Rheumatoid Arthritis 

(partly because of the extra adipose) has become quite angry, making me bedridden for 2-3 days every 

four weeks or so and my children don’t even know what a home-cooked meal at the dinner table even 

looks like! I know that so many of you manage to pull it together every day; I know that I am truly lucky to have a vocation that is so very flexible; I know that this is something almost all of you wish that you could do. I also know, however, that it is something that I have to do, and in the end will be a much more faithful pastor/wife/mama. 

I write this partly so you can help hold me accountable; so that you can hold me in prayer, as I do 

for each one of you. I’m not going to set forth any lofty goals, but I am going to promise that I will not 

take this gift of time for granted. If you’d like to follow my ramblings about this part-time sabbatical, 

I’m restarting my blog at unholypastormommy.blogspot.com, where hopefully you can challenge and 

support me, as I once again seek to be a good steward of this precious life God has given me. 

With tremendous gratitude,

Sarah

Day Two

A no good, terrible, really bad day.  Yep, there it is.  I'm not even going to try and salvage it.  I'm going to bed and beginning anew tomorrow.

Day One

So, for three hours today, it went really well...I got out of the house this morning without yelling.  I was calm and composed; the kids got to school on time; and I went to work and all was well.  Then I went to a meeting, which started out fine, but as it continued, Steve started to annoy me, and I could literally feel crankiness welling up inside me (kind of like the blue outer-space alien Stitch...how his "bad-o-meter" red level started rising when he got cranky...").  Anyway, on other days, I would start to pout, or yell or hit him (actually I did hit him...but not in a totally cranky way), and today I breathed.  Seriously, that's all I did, I took a deep breath, told myself this was not going to turn into a cranky spiral, and my red level started to go down.  And actually I used that technique a few times today..actually more than a few.  Red level starts to rise...I breathe and feel a little bit better.  Not bad for the first day.  

However, tomorrow, I've decided for the 12th time, that I'm going to stop drinking diet coke.  I'm not sure if it's for Lent, or for me, but whatever it's for, I will definitely need to do some praying to get through the day.  And, I'm pretty sure, my crankiness level might get a little high.  So, wish me luck...or my family luck....

And tomorrow maybe I'll write without watching ridiculous shows on Disney Channel (what in the world is Kick Buttowski anyway, and why do I let Elijah watch it?!?!?), and my posts will make sense.  

Until tomorrow, I'll leave you with my new mantra/verse/motto given to me by a dear pastor friend of mine (Thanks Kurt!)  Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). 

I'm back...

     Looks like I haven't posted since the end of May.  Imagine that...me starting something and fizzling out!  I've decided, however, that I like writing...I like at least attempting to do something longer than two days, and since I can't keep anything to myself, I'm going to blog my efforts.  So, my new endeavor has nothing to do with weight loss, or church, or my children (but you know me...it will probably end up including all three).

    So, here's my new mission--I'm going to stop being cranky.  I know--if you actually are my friend or really even acquaintance, you know how hard this will be.  I'm not exactly sure how to do it...I come from kind of a cranky, complaining family (sorry mom!)...and I'm a pessimistic, look at the dirty, empty glass kind of girl.  But, lately I'm annoying even myself with my negativity, so I'm giving it up.  Right now.  At this very moment, I'm going to look on the bright side of life (cue--Monty Python) and think only positive things, and surround myself with positive people, and realize that I have a beautiful life...

    How exactly will this happen?  I'm not sure.  How will I measure my progress?  Again, not sure...but my guess is my children and spouse might have something to say about it.  In fact, I just told Evelyn that my new blog posts were going to be about not being cranky and she said (and I quote) "that will be a miracle..."  Obviously I have some work to do.

    So, maybe for the next few hours, I will find a few things to be grateful for....and when my eyes start to roll or an accusatory tone wants to be spoken, I will pause, take a deep breath and remember my new motto:  I am now a cranky-free girl.  Wish me luck!

The Same Me...

I considered posting the very first picture I ever posted on this blog.  Because it's exactly what I look like now.  Yep, lost 50 pounds, and gained back 45 of it.  I figured nothing's changed, I might as well collect my $200 and circle the board again.  Except, these past ten months, I've changed a whole lot...and not just the expanding of my ass...So, here's what I learned:

1.  Sometimes you just have to say no.  I've never really been a martyr kind of girl...I don't complain about how busy I am, or how much I have to do.  There are 24 hours in a day and I choose to spend them wisely, or not...more often than not...not.  But, this past year I failed miserably.  I took on second job that taxed my family, that taxed my body, that make me literally explode from the inside.  I've learned doing more does not make me a better person; that having a long to-do list does not send me to the front of the line in heaven.  Sometimes you have to say no...

2.  So that, you sometimes can say yes.  Because there are things that give me life--and are you ready to hear this...exercising makes me feel better--and getting a gym membership that lets me go sweat with the rest of Rochelle pushed me out of my comfort zone, got me off the couch, and although hasn't yet helped me lose weight, has made me feel much, much better.  And doing this gives me life--writing and thinking and reading...I absolutely hate being outside, and I'm going to quit thinking that good people go camping and hiking and biking...instead I'll put in my life-giving time on the ellipitical and then crawl into bed read a book, and start writing the book that is churning inside me.

3.  Sometimes falling on your ass is the best thing that could happen.  About six years ago, I slipped on a patch of ice and fractured my coccyx (or broke my ass); it still hurts sometimes; healing happens very slowly on something you sit on everyday...but I also have become much more careful when walking on snow and ice and any uneven surface that might send me downwards.  Falling has taught me how to walk carefully.  And falling this year has taught me that the world does not end if I don't succeed--that life will continue, and that before it, during it, after it, I am still the same girl looking at herself in the mirror (even if her face is a little (or a lot) fuller). 

4.  Sometimes it takes a village to raise...me.  This year I have learned I simply cannot do it alone.  So, I surround myself with people who pick me up when #3 happens, and who push me forward when I'm treading too carefully.   There's my doctor who sees me sometimes three times in a month because the depression is too deep and I need med re-adjustment.  And there's my therapist who teaches me to breathe and to love...myself.  There's my Health Clinic Coach--a wonderful girl who calls me every three or four weeks just to make sure that I have goals in front of me and helps me remember my successes.  There's my pastor friends who let me sit in morose silence when I need to, and who affirm my gifts even when I think they're non-existent.  And then there's my...

5.  Spouse, Partner, Lover, Man-I-Adore, Daddy to my children, who has taught me that love indeed can be blind (I really didn't know I was gaining weight for awhile, because his eyes shown with nothing but love--cheezy, I know).  I've learned that my struggles affect our whole family and that he will always...always pick up the pieces that fall shattering to the floor (and often puts them back together with krazy glue).  I have fallen more in love with this man than ever; we celebrate our 15th anniversary this year, and there is no one I would rather have journey with me through these peaks and valleys; skinny shirts and tent dresses.

6.  My children want me--not perfect mom...not skinny mom...not cookie baking mom...but me.  And hearing my youngest say at my lightest and at my heaviest..."You look beautiful mommy..." says that maybe I'm doing something right.  

7.  And finally I've learned that I am Me...that sometimes I carry a few more layers...layers my body adds to tell me it's had enough.  But, underneath it all, is Me...and I am loved by this gracious, amazing group of villagers.  And most importantly...most deeply...more assuredly I am loved by Jesus, who couldn't care less the size of my ass, who made me inside and out, and who wants nothing more than for me to love myself as deeply as I love my neighbors.

I'm kind of excited to start this journey...or continue this journey...to slowly uncover the Me that's been there this whole time. 

Things I wouldn't say...

Steve just posted, so I decided it's time to begin this process again.  I think when you're going in a mostly positive direction, it's much easier to let the world know.  But, when you're really struggling...probably when you need to share it the most, even people like me (who keep virtually nothing hidden) tend to stop the typing and turn to paper journals instead...

So, here it goes again, sharing with the world...I have a tape in my head, that is always playing, and honestly it says things I wouldn't say to my worst enemy.  "You're stupid, fat, ugly, and lazy."  I've heard it for so long, so many times; it's waiting for a mistake to be made, or a pound to be gained, or a failure to pounce on; sometimes it's deafening, other times I'm able to drown out the noise with distractions; but it's always there.  Don't worry, I'm in therapy...I'm trying to override it, to speak the truth to what I'm told is lies; But, often it wins--as it has been for the last six months or so.  So, there you go, sometimes simply to name it, takes it power away (at least that's what I'm hoping); maybe tomorrow we'll talk more about quieting it, but today, no neat little bow, just naming where I've been.   Today, just softly tip-toeing into the typed word...

My Unbound Heart

    Staying true to the name of my blog, I'm known to be quite the unholy one.  I tend to swear during my sermons (it's those times I'm so happy the little old ladies can't hear); I got drunk at a parishioner's wedding and had to be driven home; yesterday, we played cards during Sunday School instead of opening the bible; and on more than one Sunday, I too wish I could stay in bed like the majority of the people in my congregation.  That all said, however, I love Jesus!  And it is absolutely amazing how often he keeps popping up in the world, showing me that the the Spirit roams free--if only I would get my substantial ass out of the way.
    So, you know what I've started doing?  I've started praying.  Yep, that's it; good old fashioned, sit down, stand up, fold your hands, raise your arms, opening my heart to the Spirit, praying.  It started with a book (which I'll probably talk about a lot in the near future) called Unbinding the Gospel; my congregation did a test group (10 of us gathered together for about 10 weeks), and we simply prayed together, shared together, cried together, and laughed together.  Now, like I said, i'm the unholy one, who would much rather keep Jesus in my head, and interpret scripture, and talk about things...and praying is not something that us unholy people really like doing.  But, I swear to you--once you let those scales fall away (actually once you let Jesus tear them down), you start to see things in a whole new way.  You actually start to see Jesus.  And people who were scared, start to take a few steps, and the fear you used to have about making mistakes, starts to lessen and you screw up a whole lot more.  And the way you thought God was meant for an hour on Sunday starts to look quite foolish, and you see her in the grocery store and when you tuck your children in at night and even in your mother-in-law.  And you even start to sound a little Jesus-freaky, and for the first time in your life, you really don't care, because that man changed the world and conquered the darkness and made death obsolete and you kind of want everyone you know to hear the story too.
    So, here I am, a stoic Lutheran, who's had a change of heart, who will not become Baptist, but who just might raise her hands in the air.  And who knows prayer changes things and who doesn't care how cliche that sounds.  So, there's the ramblings of the unholy one for today...I'm going to go for now, because the Spirit is moving, and I gotta go find her. 

Shepherding Our Incarnate Hope

Every year it’s something different.  Sometimes it’s Mary—wondering about giving birth in the middle of some strange city, with a husband she barely knows.  Sometimes it’s the manger scene—the smell of hay and cows and crying babies. 

This year…this year it’s the shepherds.  In the nativity scene on my piano, they are almost as beautiful as Mary—always looking lovingly at the baby lamb they hold in their arms.  They’re calm and serene, contemplating the wonders that have taken place.  We love to see them, when they’re little children dressed up in their daddy’s robes, traipsing down the center aisle with staffs made of duct tape and smiles that light up their faces.

But, really, shepherds were pretty awful people…no one liked them—they were the beggars of the working class…they pastured their sheep on other people’s lands, in essence stealing the grass under their feet.  They were away all night, leaving their wives to fend for themselves—giving themselves the description of dishonorable and unreliable.  And, my guess is, they were anything but beautiful and serene—with faces weathered by the wind and clothes worn for days and weeks at a time.  And yet, yet…it was to these ones to whom the angels sang:

“Do not be afraid.  For see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people:  to you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

            I’m trying to imagine this…you’re hard at work—doing what you can to survive—doing what you’re called to do; maybe you’re preaching a sermon to a bunch of hope-filled faces; or you’re sitting at a desk making a phone call; or you’re in class listening to a lecture; or you’re guiding planes to their destination; or you’re stocking shelves or driving to your next appointment—when suddenly the skies are filled with angels from on high, bidding you to put down your phone, to stop your typing, to cease your preaching, to strain your eyes toward heaven.  And what you hear is far from an ordinary birth announcement.  And surprisingly enough it’s not the angels proclaiming, or the arrival of a Savior that knocks you over, but this time you hear that your baby has been born.  Your baby.  Because in case you missed it—To you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior.  To You. 

            It would have made much more sense to hear what we always hear:  “Mary and Joseph would like to announce the arrival of their new bouncing baby boy—Jesus.”  And the shepherds could have send a nice card and some well-wishes and gone back to tending sheep.  But apparently when God enters the world, even birth takes on a whole new meaning, and instead of getting nine month to prepare, those despised shepherds discovered they were parents in the wee hours of the morning.  And so what did they do?  Did they shake their heads: “I’m pretty sure the angels must be talking to someone else?”  Did they wait a few moments, trying to figure out if indeed that was God talking or the strong ale they had just consumed?  Did they try and analyze or discuss or disregard…

            Nope…they ran.  They hiked up their dirty shepherd robes, used their staffs for leverage and ran…because when you’ve just been told your baby has entered the world, there is nothing more you want, then to hold him in your arms.  When you’ve just been told hope has flesh, you have to grab hold of that promise and never let go.

            Can you hear them?  Can you hear the heavenly chorus of angels?  They are singing their song once more.  “To you…to you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior.”  To you, is born a baby…to you is born God.  I vote…we bypass voting and discussion altogether and instead…we hike up our robes, use our staffs for leverage and run…run to our baby…and hold him close…because today hope has a body; today a promise has been born; today we have heard the angels.  And clinging to the One born this day, seems to be the only thing we’ll ever need. 

I hesitate to begin again...

Well, it's back to this crazy weight loss journey, that has been going backward for a very, very long time.  There are reasons (I started a second job, got a pretty bad case of tendonitis and bursitis in my shoulder, broke my foot...), but really those are just excuses.  I still could have eaten the right calories, and not buried my sorrows and loneliness and stress in chocolate. 
When I started 18 months ago, I had a goal in mind:  be at goal weight by 35th birthday.  I was so angry at myself for not getting there (missed it by 30 pounds), but instead of keeping moving forward...well, you know what happened.  And, I simply cannot stop beating myself up for it...I can't stop thinking "why start, I'll just fail again."  I don't want to go out in public because I know people's first thoughts are "crap, Sarah--why did you let yourself go like that?!?!"  I'm tired of hearing myself whining, but I can't seem to just get going...
Anyone have a story where you failed and failed and failed and failed and then didn't?  I need help; I need a kick in the substantial ass--I need reminded why this is something important to do...i simply need help.
So, if you don't find me too incredibly annoying, would you mind sharing some thoughts or hope or grace with me!

It's Friday (and my sermon is done!)

This probably has never happened before.  But, I have a lock-in with 130 kids tonight; I will be miserable tomorrow, and this sermon is written.  Again, thank you to workingpreacher.com which helps me more than it should...but here it is (maybe even it will help some struggling pastor tomorrow!).

Usually I sidestep these parables…This is a really hard one, so let’s talk about something else…

However, the last time I did that, I was called out—next time, you’ve really got to help us understand what’s going on here.

So, here it goes…

I’m not sure of your reaction, but when we read this at text study, the entire group moaned—“not this one again”, and then Thursday at our bible study at the bar, I made the college kids help me out, and their reaction was exactly the same.  “I hate this one,” Carolyn said…”I’m so cautious; I hate taking risks, and I really don’t want to be sent to where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth, just because I take what I’ve been given and protect it.”  Good point, I said…and really our discussion ended there…

So, obviously this is a hard one…because although the Master is not technically God, and all his actions might not be directly attributed to God, nonetheless according to Matthew—who is a very cranky gospel writer, by the way-- God obviously has the power to send us frolicking into the joy of our master or grudgingly into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth (whatever that means)…so, indeed this is a parable about God…but it’s also not only about God, maybe it’s also about our understanding of who that God is. 

Let’s start here:  I absolutely adore my daughter—but when she was born, she cried nonstop for the first six months…and after awhile, when that exhaustion set in, Steve and I started talking about how she was obviously meant to be a middle child—she was exerting her will and independence, fighting with us before she could even move, making us stay up all hours of the night—and we began lamenting what she would be like at 12, at 16.  And for the longest time, we continued this—expecting that she would be difficult, arguing with her almost instantly, because those things we began saying as a joke to get us through her infancy, started to ring a little more true.  Finally, we began to see that the reason she was acting out, was because we were expecting her to.  And slowly, we began changing our own attitudes—looking for her compassion and empathy, seeing her smile, not as mischievous, but as welcoming—her conversations, not as challenges, but as inquiries.  And bit by bit, our relationship has changed…not so much because she did, but because I expected something different when I looked at her. 

You know a little about that too, I would imagine.  If not with specific people, with situations.  A job change might be a new adventure or a terrifying journey.  A conflict with a friend, might mean the gloves come on, or a way to deepen and connect more to someone’s heart. 

It’s more than pessimist/optimist thing, but a way that you view the world…and coming from someone who tends to view the world more negatively, I pray it’s something that can be learned, if not innate.

So, might this logic be translated into our image of God as well.  You see, servant number three, although he knew deep within his soul that his master was a harsh and controlling man—there is absolutely nothing to prove that this was so.  In fact, the first two, were called to enter into the master’s job, were given more gifts and responsibility and connection.   The first two reacted with diligence and service; the third reacted…or maybe refused to act…because of fear, because of who he understood this master to be. 

I’m going to stop here for a few moments, and I’d like you to talk with each other or outloud (you pick!)…but what do you expect of God?  What is your image of God and how God is going to act in your life and in the world?  How does ‘how you envision God’ shape your way of relating to God and to each other?  (GATHER IN GROUPS)

I would imagine that each one of you have a different understanding of who God is and what God does—and honestly that understanding probably changes, develops, even throws you a curve ball every once in awhile.  But, and here’s the most important thing:  we know most clearly who God is and what God does by looking at the person of Jesus.  Jesus, time and time again, shows us that sinners are redeemed; that the hungry are fed; the poor are gathered in.  Jesus shows us time and time again that God loves, and saves, and lives in us.  What kind of God do we expect?  One that looks exactly like Jesus—a man who loved the world, even to the point of death, and who rose again, so that each one of us might live. 

Sometimes I think that this kind of God, might even be one taking a risk for—I’m not always sure—but I do know that what I expect is often what I get—and burying my life in the ground gets me absolutely nothing.  So…how about together, we expect life for ourselves and for the world?  Because I imagine, that’s exactly what God’s got to give…

A sermon written for me...

This indeed is for tomorrow, but it's really for me.  Lots of quotes of an amazing little book a dear friend loaned me (thanks Brion.)...for someone who feels quite broken at the moment (figuratively and literally), I pray I too might someday feel that cradling from God I long for.
   (Not sure it's actually done, but for this time of night, will have to do...)

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”       

There is a man named Jean Vanier who had a promising career in the British navy, and then after earning a doctorate in moral philosophy, a promising career as a professor…in 1964 felt called to invite two men with Down’s Syndrome to leave a mental institution and live with him.  That simple act in 1964 grew into the L’Arche communities—homes which bear witness to the reality that persons with intellectual disabilities possess inherent qualities of welcome, wonderment, spirituality, and friendship.  In the early 90’s, Vanier presented a series of lectures at Harvard, that were collected in a little book From Brokenness to Community.   In it he tells of his experiences living in the L’Arche community.

            “Our people are close to God,” he writes, “and yet they are so little and so poor.  They have known rejection and have suffered a great deal.  I am always moved as I hear them speak of Jesus.  When somebody asked one of our men, Peter, if he liked to pray, he said that he did.  So the person continued and asked him what he did when he prayed.  He replied:  “I listen.”  Then the person asked what god says to him.  Peter, a man with Down’s Syndrome, looked up and said:  ‘he just says, ‘you are my beloved son.’” 

            “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

            A story like that makes us smile—makes us catch our breath with its preciousness…but is it possible it makes us smile, because we want to hide what makes us uncomfortable.  What we want to hide is not just the pain and brokenness in Peter, but the pain and brokenness in ourselves.

            Because although it’s so difficult to admit, we are just as broken as Peter is.  We’re just a whole lot better at hiding it; so we bring out the make-up to cover up the blemishes, or the spanx to hide the jiggle.  We buy a little bit nicer car to hide the fact we’re really swimming in debt; or overlook the neglect from our spouse because we don’t think we deserve better.  We become angry and bitter and sad and lonely because it’s easier than opening up our hearts just one more time.  You know it…even if you hate to admit it.  You can try and hide it, but deep inside you know, you cannot do it alone…you’ve tried and time and time again you come up short…and time and time again you look in the mirror and see what you long to hide…you are indeed broken and hurting and are simply not sure what else you can do.   

            “Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

Another story.   “Eight-year-old Armando cannot walk or talk and is very small for his age.  He came to us from an orphanage where we had been abandoned.  He no longer wanted to eat because he no longer wanted to live cast off from his mother.  He was desperately thin and was dying of lack of food.  After awhile in our community where he found people who held him, loved him, and wanted him to live, he gradually began to eat again to develop in a remarkable way.  He still cannot walk or talk or eat by himself, his body is twisted and broken, and he has a severe mental disability, but when you pick him up, his eyes and his whole body quiver with joy and excitement and say ‘I love you.’  He has a deep therapeutic influence on people.     

One day I asked one of the Catholic bishops from Rome if he wanted to hold Armando in his arms.   He did.  I watched the two of them together as Armando settled in his amrs and started to quiver and smile, his little eyes shining.  A half hour later I came to see if the bishop wanted me to take back Armando.  “No,” he replied, “no.”  I could see that Armando in all his littleness, but with all the power of love in his heart was touching and changing the heart of that bishop…was penetrating his barriers…In some mysterious way, in all his brokenness, Armando reveals to us our own brokenness, our difficulties in loving, our barriers and hardness of heart.   If he is so broken and so hurt and yet is still such a source of life, then I too am allowed to look at my own brokenness and to trust that I too can give life to others.  I do not have to pretend that I am better than others and that I have to win in all the competitions.  It’s OK to by myself, just as I am, in my uniqueness.  That of course, is a very healing and liberating experience.  I am allowed to be myself, with all my psychological and physical wounds, with all my limitations but with all my gifts too.  And I can trust that I am loved just as I am, and that I too can love and give life and hope.”

“Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see God.”

What if what it takes to see God, is to realize that you indeed are not God?  That you are hidden-ly broken, in all the ways Peter and Armando are visibly broken?  What if in holding Armando in your arms, you see yourself…and realize that as you cradle him, God cradles you?  That when you finally break into pieces in front of Jesus, that is when you are gathered up, knit into a new creation and marked blessed deep within your sou.?  What if a pure heart, is indeed your broken heart…a broken heart set free by that most amazing love of God…a broken heart set free to transform the world?