The Cloud Quilt

We took a road trip just after Christmas to visit extended family a few hours from our Vancouver-area home. The better part of the trip is through a range of mountains, up to the top and down again into a semi-arid desert valley.

The sun was exceptionally bright for a December day. So much so, in fact, that even our boys, who are not prone to notice details of any sort, remarked at how the light glistened off the mountain snow.

As we began to descend into the valley near the end of our trip (I had dozed off and was half asleep in the front seat,) Rob remarked, "Look at that you guys, there's a cloud covering all of Kamloops!" There was a bit of awe in his voice, and I wondered why a mere cloud had caught his attention. When I heard the boys respond "WHOAAAAAAAA!" from the backseat, I shook off the sleep to see what the fuss was about.

The sight was truly remarkable. At age 39, I thought that there wasn't much I hadn't seen in my lifetime, at least when it comes to weather. It caused me to marvel at this mid-life "first."

The largest single cloud I'd ever observed lay unfolded like a gigantic quilt atop the mountain range. The very peaks of the mountains poked through the fluff like pointed arrowheads through a piece of fabric. The sun shone brightly atop the quilt in a pure azure sky, bathing the mountain peaks in effulgent light, making the snow shimmer as if it were bespeckled with millions of minute diamond chips.

We were descending, and as we drew closer to our destination in the valley the road disappeared into a gaping hole in the quilt. The cars in front of us looked as if they were driving into a grey, swirling abyss, or the mouth of some great, yawning giant. They may have been dropping off the very face of the earth for all we could tell, so dark was the opening.

Soon we too drove into the yawning cave, where suddenly the sun was completely hidden. A light snow was falling inside, in stark contrast to the blue sky we'd just left behind. It was almost as if we'd entered a completely different dimension or plane of existence.

And at that moment I couldn't help but think of this scene in relation to the coming New Year, and the year we were about to leave behind. I thought back to the dawning of 2009.... the year had held promise for me, personally, in a number of ways. I remember thinking of all the things I wanted to do and re-do in 2009. My business was thriving, and I looked forward to taking on new challenges. Ministry at our church was fulfilling, our family was happy and healthy. I had much to be thankful for and even more to look forward to.

But when 2009 came, a different picture began to unfold. We had left the cloudless blue skies behind and had entered a grey abyss, much like the one we were driving in now. 2009 turned out to be a difficult year for our family in a number of ways. Professional and personal challenges and some significant health issues made it seem as though we were driving in thick, swirling fog most of the time. As the year progressed, the cloud seemed to thicken rather than dissipate as I had so strongly hoped for, so that I had begun to believe that the sun had only been a distant fragment of a dream or maybe even a figment of my imagination.

But as we drove that day in the snow and fog, I thanked God for this very real and tangible reminder that the sun never really disappears. Imagine having a greater perspective, such as the one that our Heavenly Father has. While I can only see what is directly in front of me, He is able to see the whole picture. I realized that I needed to trust God, remembering that above whatever cloud cover I might find myself under lies the sun. Blocked temporarily, it never really disappears.

In fact, as we progressed through the fog, now and then we could see small holes in the clouds that allowed a few rays of sun to pierce through, another reminder that the sun is always there. My 2009 had many of these cloud holes, where even amidst the fog I knew that God was in control, giving me strength and light to proceed through the storm.

I doubt I'll ever have the mind of God. But I hoped that after that day I would remember what it was like to be above the clouds, looking down on what lay below. That I would remember that God sees what I cannot, and that I can take comfort in His omniscience and not worry when the road ahead seems to be obscured by fog. And that I will never overlook those little patches of sunlight that inevitably break through even the thickest and blackest of clouds.

So far I'm not sure what 2010 will look like. But if I remember all of this, then I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?

My Favorite Christmas

Whenever I'm asked to remember my favorite Christmas, it only takes an instant for the "Pepsi Thief" Christmas to jump to mind.

I was about 14 or 15 years old at the time. It was Christmas Eve, and a fresh, fluffy snow was falling as we left the Christmas Eve service at church and headed home. I was a typical teenage girl, so I had visions of Guess and Gucci dancing in my head rather than sugar plums. Other than that, it was a night a lot like that famous Christmas poem.

A few hours after going to bed, I was awakened abruptly by the sound of glass breaking. Startled out of a deep sleep, it took a minute or two to shake off the fog, and as I lay in bed trying to figure out whether I was dreaming or if perhaps the rapture was occurring, I could hear hasty footsteps coming from both ends of the house. Next came muffled but frantic whispers, and I began to realize that I wasn't dreaming, nor was I the only person in the house that was awake.

I stumbled into the living room, following the sound of the whispers, which had grown in decibel level to almost normal conversation tone, and were still rather frantic. I reached the kitchen just in time to see my Dad exit into the garage.

The garage of our rancher had been added as an afterthought, sometime after the building of the rest of the house. Because of this, the window over the kitchen sink, which I assumed had once borne a lovely view of the wooded lot next door, now looked straight into the garage.

My Mom had, only minutes before, gotten up for a 3:00 am glass of water. As she'd stood over the kitchen sink, glass in hand, she'd been startled nearly out of her skin to see someone... a stranger, poking around in our garage. She'd been so frightened she'd dropped her glass in the stainless steel sink. Now she and I both stood in the kitchen, near, but not in front of, that same window, stealing furtive, nervous glances out of it, hoping and praying that my unarmed father was not going to get beaten or shot at.

It seemed like we waited for an hour there beside the sink, listening for guns or screams but hearing nothing. In reality, it was probably five minutes or less, but eventually my Dad returned.

That snowfall had lightened up since we'd gone to bed a few hours earlier. It had left in its wake a perfect palette for capturing footprints. My Dad reported that the garage was burglar-free by the time he'd gone in, but he'd been able to follow a distinct trail through the freshly fallen snow and had tracked the thief, probably just mere seconds behind him.

From the looks of the prints, the thief had been just as startled to see my Mom as she'd been to see him. The prints leaving the garage were considerably less pristine than the ones going in. Clearly, he'd fled quickly and under some duress.

My Dad stayed inside just long enough to call 911, then headed back out to follow the footprints. By this time the neighbors behind us had been awakened too. It was clear that the thief had also entered their garage. However, he'd obviously encountered their dog, Jake, who slept in the garage. Jake's bark, which was piercing and deep-throated, was worse than his bite (which was non-existent,) and he probably wouldn't even chase a cat in the daytime. But loud and large, the sight and sound of him at 3:00 am after being so rudely awakened would have been bone-chilling.

Within minutes it had become obvious that the prowler had visited a number of homes in our small subdivision. Strangely though, this thief had only been interested in garages. Footprints, deep and perfect in the near gossamer new snow, led from garage to garage to garage throughout the neighborhood. He had apparently tested every garage door, entering the ones, like ours, that weren't locked.

Eventually the thief's footprints disappeared at the highway that ran alongside our subdivision. Snow plows and tire tracks had obscured any other prints, and it seemed as though the thief had made his escape.

My Dad returned to see if anything had been damaged or was missing from our garage. At first it looked as though nothing at all had been touched. Upon closer inspection, though, he realized something was missing after all. Oddly, a 6-pack of Pepsi, which my Dad always kept next to outside freezer, had disappeared with the intruder.

Soon other neighbors had awakened and were conferring over fences. Others whose garages had been unlocked began reporting similar oddities... there were missing Christmas turkeys and frozen apple pies, cans of cranberry sauce, bottles of wine and jugs of milk. Our burglar, so it seemed, wasn't interested in jewelry, cars or even loose change. He was looking for a Christmas dinner.

After the shock of finding a stranger in the garage began to wear off, the three of us.... Mom, Dad and I, began to chuckle at our predicament. Our feelings of indignance and violation were mixed with mirthful thoughts of little children praising Daddy the next day for the delicious Christmas dinner he'd provided for them.

My parents were still shaking, as much from laughter as from adrenaline and fear, when the phone rang in the wee morning hours of Christmas day. It was the police, who by then had been able to attend and exhaustively investigate the scene of the "crime."

They'd gone where Dad hadn't, crossing the highway and following tracks in the subdivision on the other side. The tracks converged upon a drainage ditch, the "rendezvous point," like the hub of a wheel, with footprints stretching outward in multiple trails like spokes on a bicycle tire.

At the bottom of the ditch lay the thief's booty: turkeys and pies and bottles of champagne that were by then ice-encrusted. But there was nary a trace of the bandit, who'd been in such a hurry he'd left his haul behind, perhaps to return later with a pick-up truck in which to carry it away.

Instead, the investigating officer was having a good laugh, and had called my Dad for a final statement. "And," police man said, "If you want to come across the highway and identify your Pepsi, you can have it back."

Friday Funnies

Continuing on in the spirit of the season, here are a few more Christmas stories for you to enjoy:

Yes, There IS Room at the Inn....

Last Christmas the Travelodge hotel chain in England decided to repay the sins of the fathers, so to speak. They offered free lodging to any married couples named Mary and Joseph on Christmas night. Couples were required to supply proof of marriage as well as birth certificates or other official name documentation.
Travelodge operations director, Jason Cotta, said, "The phrase 'no room at the inn' is something that resonates with us in the hotel business. Therefore this year we have decided to evoke the true spirit of Christmas and invite Mary and Joseph couples as our guests." No word on how many Mary & Joseph couples actually took the Travelodge up on its offer.

* * * * *

Savvy Christmas Bargaining on the Part of a Weary Tourist

Rebecca and Benjamin, a young couple, were touring the Holy Land over the Christmas holiday period and decided it would be very meaningful to them to spend Christmas Eve in Bethlehem, the birth place of Jesus.

When they arrived they searched high and low all day for a room for that night. Finally Rebecca and Benjamin drove to the plush and rather expensive Intercontinental Hotel in Bethlehem.

"I'll pop in and see what I can do," said Benjamin feigning confidence for his, now exhausted, young wife.

Benjamin approached the desk and the receptionist told him there were no rooms in the hotel and probably no rooms in the whole of Bethlehem. "Sorry, sir. It's Christmas Eve, it's probably our busiest time."

No matter how much Benjamin offered to pay, the receptionist still replied that said he had no available rooms.

Finally, Benjamin said, "I bet if I told you my name was Joseph, that the woman waiting in the car was called Mary, and that she had a newborn infant, you'd find us a room for the night."

'Er....well,' stammered the receptionist, "I.....I suppose, in that case, I would."

'OK, then,' said Benjamin determinedly. "I guarantee you, they're not coming tonight, so we'll take their room."

* * * * *

A Nativity Actor's Revenge

A budding young actor was very put out when he wasn't picked to be Joseph in his school play. However he was asked to be Innkeeper No. 1 in an effort to keep him quiet, or so his teacher thought.

When Mary & Joseph approached him to ask if there was any room at the inn, he replied:

" Yes, come right in! We have a lovely room overlooking the pool!"

* * * * *


Christmas in the "Olden Days"

A little boy returned from Sunday School with a new perspective on the Christmas story. He had learned all about the Wise Men from the East who brought gifts to the Baby Jesus. He was so excited he just had to tell his parents: "I learned in Sunday School today all about the very first Christmas! There wasn't a Santa Claus way back then, so these three skinny guys on camels had to deliver all the toys!" And Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with his nose so bright wasn't there yet, so they had to have this big spotlight in the sky to find their way around."

* * * * *

Thank You for the Wagon, Jesus

It was the day after Christmas at a church in San Francisco. The pastor of the church was looking over the cradle when he noticed that the baby Jesus was missing from among the figures. Immediately he turned and went outside and saw a little boy with a red wagon, and in the wagon was the figure of the little infant, Jesus.

So he walked up to the boy and said, "Well, where did you get Him, my fine friend?"

The little boy replied, "I got him from the church."

"And why did you take him?"

The boy said, "Well, about a week before Christmas I prayed to the little Lord Jesus and I told him if he would bring me a red wagon for Christmas I would give him a ride around the block in it.
* * * * *


And finally, here's one that has nothing to do with church but I thought it was just plain funny. Please don't send me nasty emails, men.

Feminist Reindeer's Story at Christmas

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December.

Female reindeer retain their antlers till after they give birth in the spring. Therefore, according to EVERY historical rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, EVERY single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen, had to be a girl.

We should have known... ONLY women would be able to drag a fat man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost.

Friday Funnies

I'm just beginning to get into the Christmas spirit (unlike some friends of mine who put up wreaths and break out the Christmas tunes the day after Halloween) so I thought I'd share some funny Christmas quotes, misquotes, bloopers and jokes to get you "laughing all the way......"

* * * * *

"Who was Mary's husband?" a Sunday School teacher asked her young students.

An eager little boy raised his hand. "Virg" he replied.

The teacher answered, "No, Mary's husband's name was Joseph."

Puzzled, the little boy asked, "Then why do they always talk about "Virg -n- Mary?"

* * * * *

While the rest of the family sang "Good King Wenceslas Looked out on the Feast of Stephen," my friend's young son had clearly misunderstood the lyrics and was instead singing "Good King Wence's Car Backed Out on the Feet of Stephen."

* * * * *

Good King Wenceslas phoned for a pizza. The salesgirl asked him, "Do you want your usual? Deep pan, crisp and even?"

* * * * *

In a small southern U.S. town there was a Nativity scene that showed great skill and talent had gone into creating it. One small feature bothered me.

The three wise men were wearing firemen's helmets.

Totally unable to come up with a reason or explanation, I left. At a 7-11 on the edge of town, I asked the lady behind the counter about the helmets. She exploded into a rage, yelling at me, "You stupid Yankees never do read the Bible!" I assured her that I did, but simply couldn't recall anything about firemen in the Bible.

She jerked her Bible from behind the counter and ruffled through some pages, and finally jabbed her finger at a passage. Sticking it in my face she said "See, it says right here, the three wise man came from afar."

* * * * *

A woman went to the Post Office to buy stamps for her Christmas Cards. "What denomination?" asked the clerk.

"Oh, good heavens! Have we come to this?" said the woman. "Well, give me 30 Catholic, 10 Baptist ones, 20 Lutheran, and 40 Presbyterian.

* * * * *

Terri asked her Sunday School class to draw pictures of their favorite Bible stories. She was puzzled by Kyle's picture, which showed four people on an airplane, so she asked him which story it was meant to represent. "The flight to Egypt," said Kyle. "I see. And that must be Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus," Ms. Terri said. "But who's the fourth person?"

"Oh, that's Pontius - the Pilot.

* * * * *

Perfect for the atheist's Christmas??????

Friday Funnies

Here's one that was told to me years ago. It was one of those "true stories" that "I heard from a friend who had a cousin who married a girl whose Dad went to this church..." or something like that. So of course it must be a true story. Or not.

Two missionary ladies were home on furlough and visiting a supporting church one Sunday morning. They were scheduled to speak briefly during the morning service about their missionary endeavors.

When they arrived at the church the chairman of the missions committee, a Mr. Harry Buttz greeted them, showed them to a seat, and told them that the pastor would call them up on stage when it was time for them to speak. The chairman then spoke briefly with the pastor and sat down in the audience.

When the time came for the women to speak, the pastor fumbled through his notes, realizing that he could not remember the names of the missionary ladies. He floundered for a moment, and then, at a loss for any other words, simply announced from the pulpit: "Would the two ladies with Harry Buttz please come to the front?"

(If you don't get it, try saying that last line aloud to yourself.)

Here are a couple more I enjoy:

A man was walking in the mountains just enjoying the scenery when he stepped too close to the edge of the mountain and started to fall. In desperation he reached out and grabbed a limb of a gnarly old tree hanging onto the side of the cliff.

Full of fear he assessed his situation. He was about 100 feet down a shear cliff and about 900 feet from the floor of the canyon below. If he should slip again he'd plummet to his death. Full of fear, he cries out, "Help me!" But there was no answer. Again and again he cried out but to no avail. Finally he yelled, "Is anybody up there? "

A deep voice replied, "Yes, I'm up here."

"Who is it?"

"It's the Lord"

"Can you help me?"

"Yes, I can help."

"Help me!"

"Let go."

Looking around the man became full of panic. "What?!?!"

"Let go. I will catch you."

"Uh... Is there anybody else up there?"

* * * * * * * * *

BULLETIN BLOOPER (or Freudian slip???????): "Ushers will eat latecomers."

Have You Had Your Iron Today?

I've been reading a book* entitled You Matter More than You Think by Dr. Leslie Parrott. It's an introspective journey by the author to find meaning in her life. It's less about trying to pursue something bigger and better than what you already have.... a more lucrative job, a bigger house, more refined and cultured children... than it is about realizing that whatever we happen to be doing already is the most important, and indeed, the ONLY thing that matters right now. And it matters a great deal more than most of us believe or realize.

As part of one's own journey of discovery, Dr. Parrott encourages her readers to pursue a meaningful mentoring relationship. The idea is that, hopefully, by developing such a relationship, one that is based on mutual love for God and respect for one another, that individuals will better be able to discover just how much their own lives really matter.

"As iron sharpens iron, so one man [or woman] sharpens another." That's from Proverbs 27:17. It's one of my favorite verses, because it evokes such a powerful mental picture of what a godly friendship/mentoring relationship should look like, and what can result from it.

I have a very close friend who is my "iron." We were initially drawn to each other because our husbands were both pastors. As I got to know her better, I discovered we had a lot more than professional ministry, or should I say, being "ministry widows," (a little tongue in cheek here) in common.

Dr. Parrott strongly emphasizes the deliberate pursuit of mentoring relationships, even if it means figuratively throwing yourself at the feet of someone that you may not even know, but simply admire from afar and respect as someone mature in the Christian faith, someone who could challenge you to be all that you can be in Christ. It might even require going out of one's comfort zone and mustering up courage to literally "cold call" on someone, perhaps in the lobby after church, in the lunch room at work, even on the phone.

This is how I got to know my "iron." Though I was fairly certain we had a lot in common, she's twenty years older than I am. I wasn't sure she'd even give me the time of day. "What in the world could I offer in such a relationship?" I couldn't help but wonder. But my admiration for her eventually outweighed my misgivings and made it worth a try. (The worst that could happen was that I could fall flat on my face, right? Been there, done that. At least I'd be no worse off than I already was!)

The analogy of "iron" to describe a mentoring friendship is about the most vivid, picturesque one I know. Back in the Old Testament years when iron was the latest in tool and weaponry technology, civilizations that had stumbled upon it hoarded it and guarded it as closely as Bill Gates does with his newest software developments, lest the entity loses its competitive advantage.

Iron was harder and stronger than any other tools or weaponry at the time, and the people that possessed the technology to fashion it, in this case the Philistines, were at the top of the food chain. Even the Israelites, historical rivals and sometimes enemies of the Philistines, took their own tools to the Philistines for sharpening because they had the corner on the iron market (1 Samuel 13: 19-21.) No one but the Philistines could give the old axe or hoe such a flawless edge. Their iron tools could sharpen even the dullest plowshare. And so the Israelites swallowed their pride and put aside petty rivalry for the sake of efficiently producing better crops.

Of course like all smart technological advances, the secret gets out eventually, either through thievery, bribery or experimentation. When the iron secret leaked out, the Philistines had to find a new competitive advantage. (Later they would unveil another of their latest weapons: Goliath, only to have him felled by a mere slip of a shepherd boy too small to even carry a shield.)

The iron metaphor is very true of my own relationship with my mentor. After praying it over and mustering up the courage to begin a friendship with her, I found myself wondering why I hadn't tried it sooner. The relationship has been the source of blessings so incredible that there are few words to describe it. My "iron" sharpens me by listening without judgment or criticism, even as I confess things that others might find shocking. She accepts and embraces me for who I am, mistakes, shortcomings and all. She offers practical advice without being pushy or expecting me to do things exactly as she would. She looks past the outside and sees who I really am inside. She loves me, I think, not in spite of my idiosyncrasies, but because of them.

We get together fairly regularly. Sometimes we pour out our angst to one another. Sometimes we just talk about life, work, kids, recipes, hair or shopping. We go for walks or out for coffee. We often end our times together by praying with and for one another. We aren't moving mountains, not literally anyway, but I know that she is making a difference in my life nonetheless, keeping me sharp, being my iron.

So, have you had your iron lately? I'm inclined to agree with Dr. Parrott: we all need a little bit of "iron" in our "diets." Without "iron" with which to be sharpened by, we are in danger of losing that cutting edge. Literally.

*Parrott, Dr. Leslie. You Matter More Than You Think. Zondervan Publishing. Grand Rapids. 2006. Ironically, this book was given to me by my "iron" mentor.

The Friday Funnies

I had such a positive response to my "Sign Wars" entry earlier this week, I've decided to add a weekly humor column to my blog. Here is my first ever "Friday Funnies" column, church style!



HOW MANY BAPTISTS does it take to change a light bulb?
Change? Who said anything about change?

HOW MANY CALVINISTS does it take to change a light bulb?
None: God has predestined when the light will be on. Calvinists
do not change light bulbs. They simply read the instructions and
pray that their light bulb will be the one that has been chosen
to be changed.

HOW MANY CATHOLICS does it take to change a light bulb?
None. They use candles.

HOW MANY CHARISMATICS does it take to change a light bulb?
Ten: One to change the bulb and nine to pray against the spirit
of darkness.

HOW MANY INDEPENDENT FUNDAMENTALISTS does it take to change a
light bulb?
Only one, because more might result in too much cooperation.

HOW MANY LIBERALS does it take to change a light bulb?
At least ten, as they need to hold a debate on whether or not the
light bulb exists. Even if they can agree upon the existence of
the light bulb, they still might not change it, to keep from
alienating those who might use other forms of light.

HOW MANY MEMBERS OF AN ESTABLISHED BIBLE-TEACHING CHURCH THAT IS OVER 20 YEARS OLD does it take to change a light bulb?
One to actually change the bulb, and nine to say how much they
liked the old one.

HOW MANY METHODISTS does it take to change a light bulb?
This statement was issued: "We chose not to make a statement
either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However,
if in your own journey, you have found that a light bulb works
for you, that's fine. You are invited to write a poem or compose
a modern dance about your personal relationship with your light
bulb (or light source, or non-dark resource), and present it next
month at our annual light-bulb Sunday service, in which we
explore a number of light-bulb traditions, including
incandescent, fluorescent, three-way, long-life, and tinted-all
of which are equally valid paths to luminescence."

HOW MANY NEO-ORTHODOX does it take to change a light bulb?
No one knows. They can't tell the difference between light and
darkness.

HOW MANY SOUTHERN BAPTISTS does it take to change a light bulb?
At least 109: 7 on the Light Bulb Task Force Sub-committee who
report to the 12 on the Light Bulb Task Force, appointed by the
15 on the Trustee Board. Their recommendation is reviewed by the
Finance Committee Executive of 5, who place it on the agenda of
the 18-member Finance committee. If they approve, they bring a
motion to the 27 member Church Board, who appoint another
12-member review committee. If they recommend that the Church
Board proceed, a resolution is brought to the Congregational
Business Meeting. They appoint another 8-member review committee.
If their report to the next Congregational Business Meeting
supports the changing of the light bulb, and the congregation
votes in favor, the responsibility to carry out the light bulb
change is passed on to the Trustee Board, who in turn appoint a
7-member committee to find the best price on new light bulbs.
Their recommendation of which hardware store has the best buy
must then be reviewed by the 23-member Ethics Committee to make
certain that this hardware store has no connections to
Disneyland. They report back to the Trustee Board who then
commissions the Trustee in charge of the janitor to ask him to
make the change. By then the janitor discovers that one more
light bulb has burned out.

HOW MANY TELEVANGELISTS does it take to change a light bulb?
One. But for the message of light to continue, send your donation
today or call our toll free line and place your donation on your
credit card.

HOW MANY YOUTH PASTORS does it take to change a light bulb?
Youth pastors aren't around long enough for a light bulb to burn
out.

HOW MANY NEW-AGERS does it take to change a light bulb?
Exactly 100 all meditating at the exact same time for the exact
duration of time with the exact same meditative spiritual thought
until there is illumination. If it doesn't work this year, there
is always next year.


* * * * * * *

Plus, a few more funny church signs.....




















Finally...... "We will all be changed..." I Corinthians 15:51. BIG CHANGE is coming to Church Coffee in the coming weeks. Stay tuned for more details!

Ten Signs that You May Be Suffering From Complainia Chronicosis

Some church people will complain about anything: the toilet paper in the bathroom is too scratchy; the courtesy pencils are never sharp enough; the carpet in the sanctuary doesn't match the upholstery on the pews; the communion bread is too dry; someone in the balcony was throwing paper airplanes onto the floor during the service again (probably the youth group,) the flower arrangements on the stage smell like a funeral home.

Complainia Chronicosis is a common problem within the church at large. The cause may have something to do with Eve sharing that wretched piece of fruit with Adam. Fortunately, a cure is possible, as the Apostle Paul had discovered (Philippians 4:11.)

You may be suffering from Complainia Chronicosis if:

1) You've been banned from the church prayer chain for sharing too many "concerns."

2) Women pull their hemlines down and their necklines up whenever you walk by.

3) People's eyes glaze over when you talk to them in the lobby on Sunday mornings.

4) There's a permanent Monday morning slot in the Pastor's appointment book with your name in it.

5) The pastoral staff has renamed the strongest brew of office coffee after you.

6) The phrase "That's an interesting point you've made" sounds like a compliment to you.

7) Strangely, the microphone "shorts out" every time you get up to "share" at church business meetings.

8) You've ever been referred to by church staff members as a "Frequent Flyer."

9) You have the Pastor's phone number programmed into your speed dial.

10) The Pastor has your number programmed into his speed dial.

If you answered "Yes" to one or more of these questions, you may indeed suffer from Complainia Chronicosis. If you answered "Yes" to more than half of these questions, you may be in imminent danger of excommunication.

Need a second opinion? If you think you might be suffering from Complainia Chronicosis, talk to your Pastor or a trusted comrade. Remember Proverbs 27 verse 6 : "Wounds from a friend can be trusted."


* * * * * *

I received this tidbit of church humor in the form of a forwarded email last week. It was too funny not to share with all of my readers. It's a good example of what can happen when churches disagree and the gloves come off.....

This inter-church feud began when the Our Lady of Martyrs Catholic Church posted this on its sign:

To which the Beulah Cumberland Presbyterian Church across the street responded:

The Catholics apparently found this disagreeable:

The Presbyterians countered with characteristic "dog"matism:

But the Catholics were unshaken:

The Presbyterians could not leave such heresy unchallenged:

This apparently gave the Catholics a good idea for a sales gimmick:

In case the Catholics didn't hear them the first time, the Presbyterians reminded them:

But in this sign war, the Catholics got the last word:

What I Need to "Remember"

TO RESPECT OR TO DEFER?



Today there are a lot of things I would like to forget. For example, I would like to forget that the dreaded Swine has visited our home. Unfortunately the afflicted one who lies upstairs in bed moaning won't let me. And so between filling my poor hubby's Tamiflu prescription, cancelling his appointments for the week, and periodically checking him for a pulse, I have been laboriously sterilizing every common surface in my home with the strongest decontaminant available for purchase without a chemical permit. I would also like to forget about how I recently hurt a friend's feelings, my Master Card bill, the fact that it's only three days after Halloween and I'm already being assaulted with Christmas decorations that are way too merry for early November, a rude remark that someone made about one of my kids, and several other things.

However, this post is about "Remembering." And I am trying to "Remember" with a purpose. I have decided to get on the Christian blogging bandwagon and jump in on the Rediscovering the Church blog carnival. (Okay Pastor Kevin, I'm really just copycatting YOU.) This week I'm exploring, along with a number of other Christian bloggers, the word "Remember" (sort of a Rorshach exercise, except with words.)

Although most of the time I am acutely aware of how little I actually know, sometimes I'll be hit with revelations that are so profoundly obvious I can't believe that it's taken me till nearly age 40 to "get it." I had one of those this week.

My pastor husband and I like to debate points of Scripture, particularly those that are not so cut-and-dried obvious. We agree about 90 percent of the time. The ten percent that we don't lends to some fiery discussion, and even, occasionally, (gasp) tears and fighting. Since he has half a Master's Degree (in comparison to my Religious Studies diploma)he almost always wins, although I occasionally manage to make a compelling point or two. This past week's hot topic was about deference.

What happens when some behavior that is committed inadvertently and without any malicious intent is perceived by someone else in the Christian community as offensive? What if this behavior is something that, although not inherently sinful in nature, causes another Christian angst in his own Christian walk? What if NOT engaging in such behavior would not negatively affect your own life, but would at the same time result in greater and deeper Christian community? In other words, would I be willing to give up my own rights in order to contribute to stronger Christian community? That's what I mean by "deference."

Allow me to illustrate with a ridiculous but hopefully persuasive word picture. Let's say that Suzy J. (any resemblance to any person real or otherwise is purely coincidental) thinks that the eating of potatoes is wrong. Mashed, baked, boiled or fried.... potatoes should never be consumed. After all, they are full of starch (which is just a fancy word for unrefined sugar) and empty calories and contain almost no nutrients whatsoever. Why would anyone WANT to eat such a thing?

When Suzy J's friends decide to eat potatoes in or near her presence, this causes no small measure anxiety for her. It proceeds to distract her from enjoying her own potato-free meal to the point that she feels ill at the sight of her plate.

Suzy J's friends know how much the eating of potatoes bothers her. Yet when they eat out together, they simply chalk up her ill feelings toward potatoes as little more than over-reaction and opposition to the freedom that each person has to choose to eat whatever he or she wants. After all, no one really has the right to tell someone else what they can or cannot eat, right? Sure, they respected Suzy's beliefs. They would never question her commitment to healthy eating or criticize her choice (at least, not in front of her.) They respected her beliefs. They just didn't share them.

So Suzy J's friends continue to eat potatoes in front of her in spite of the knowledge that they are hurting their friend. Eventually, Suzy is driven to the point that she no longer invites her friends over for dinner or joins them for lunch in restaurants because the potato rift between her and them has simply become unbearable for her. Though her friends tell her that they respect her, Suzy J. questions that respect because of their lack of deference to her feelings.

The Free Dictionary defines the phrase "to defer to" as: "to yield to someone... on some question or point." Of course, the word "yield" always refers to some form of giving up something, even if it means giving up something you are legally or morally entitled to. In other words, it sometimes means giving up your own right(s).

This concept, of course, is scattered liberally throughout God's word. Numerous instances of giving up one's rights in deference to another exist in Scripture. The apostle Paul speaks of giving up his own rights for the sake of spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ in I Corinthians 9:19-23

19Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. 20To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. 21To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law), so as to win those not having the law. 22To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. 23I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.

It seems as though Paul had mastered the concept of deference, the idea that respect isn't just about trying to understand another person's point or position. It's not even about simply allowing a person to act upon his or her beliefs and/or opinions (ridiculous or not) without interference or defending someone for standing up for something even if it's largely disagreeable or unpopular. Instead, it's about acquiescing (another fabulously colorful word, which means to "accept, comply or submit")or giving up one's own rights, beliefs or opinion in favor of another's.

Make no mistake: this is not to say that Suzy J's friends ought to give up the eating of potatoes. If in their hearts they have determined that there is nothing immoral about the consuming of potatoes, they ought to eat them freely... most of the time. But when out for lunch with Suzy, in the interest of preserving the friendship, Suzy J's friends would be wise to stay way from sides of french fries and roasted garlic mashed potatoes. After all, isn't friendship more important than food?

When I look at the issue of deference that way, it's a little bit humbling. I'm the worst person I know when it comes to deference, even in the church. Give up my rights? And so went the discussion between me and my husband. As usual, he was right (though I was reluctant to admit that out loud.) Preserving Christian community ought to be far more important to me than many of my petty little so-called "rights." In the end, I suppose that true respect can only occur as long as the element of deference is present. Otherwise, I'm really only paying lip service to the feelings of the fellow believers whom I am called to serve, uplift and uphold.

This is what I am trying to remember this week.

Skeletons

What's in YOUR closet? I'm not talking about shoes, clothes, ugly ties or dust bunnies. I'm not even referring to a real, physical closet. I'm talking about that proverbial one, the one that everyone has. The one that is sometimes home to skeletons.



It's true, I do have a bit of Halloween on my brain. No matter what your views happen to be on this contentious "holiday," I figure the week of October 31 is an appropriate time to mention skeletons.

And just like those proverbial closets, I am also talking about proverbial skeletons. Everyone who has a physical one (I daresay that covers all of my readers,) has at least one proverbial one in the closet. Some of us have more than one. (Some of us have had to upgrade from closets to self-storage units to house all of the skeletons.)

There are a handful of early references in literature to skeletons hidden in various parts of homes (cupboards and inside walls in addition to closets) going back as far as the beginning of the 1800's. However, nobody can definitively say where the phrase "skeletons in the closet" originated.

It's clear, though that the idiom had been widely accepted in pop culture and understood to refer to the keeping of some sort of dark, hideous secret. After all, no one would ever put a skeleton on display in, say, the living room. Doing so would lead to many uncomfortable questions and give rise to much suspicion. It would surely lead visitors to question how such a thing would have even come into one's possession in the first place. While I suppose one can order just about anything off the Internet these days, I think it would be more likely that the possessing of a skeleton would almost always have more dubious origins.

I often think that we Christians are the most skilled of all people at keeping our skeletons hidden away. There may be numerous reasons for this, but I think the most obvious one is that we fear what our fellow Christians would think if they could see our skeletons.

Whether our fear of being judged is based on experience or nothing more than lies planted in our brains by the Father of Lies himself, the fear is very real. Unfortunately, when we all keep our skeletons hidden away, we collectively create a false reality that is not necessarily conducive to true Christian community. The more perfect and put-together everyone else seems, the more reluctant we are to share our deepest struggles with one another. The less we share our deep struggles with one another, the harder we work to keep up a false front of perfection. Eventually, this vicious circle can lead to spiritual bondage to those "skeletons."

Whenever I think about this concept of skeletons, I think of King David. If anyone had a reason to feel like hiding his skeletons it was him. Once a mere country shepherd boy, he was plucked out of virtual obscurity and was nurtured and prepared to become one of the greatest kings of all time. He was respected as a leader and feared as a warrior. He had felled a Philistine giant and gotten closer than anyone had ever gotten to two hundred other Philistine warriors and had 200 "trophies" to prove it (I Samuel 18:27), enough to impress the King whom he would later succeed and whose daughter he proved himself worthy to marry.

I often wonder about David's skeletons.... what if his subjects learned of David's humble past and his former occupation? He hadn't even been the oldest in his family. In fact, he was the youngest. What would happen when David's army discovered that their mighty leader had perpetrated a cowardly act and sent one of his loyal soldiers to his death in order to cover up the fact that he'd stolen that soldier's wife? Yet despite his shortcomings (some that would eventually become extremely public), God managed to use David anyway (even after at least one skeleton literally came tumbling out of the closet by way of a scandalous pregnancy.)

The Bible is full of colorful characters with "skeletons" aplenty. Like the apostle Paul, the great missionary to the Gentiles whose integrity lead to his release from an unjust imprisonment and the salvation of a jailer, but whose past was colored by the commission of multiple murders. Like Jesus' disciple Peter, who traveled the country preaching the resurrected Christ to his fellow Jews. After all, he had once, at one of his low points, publicly denied the same Lord about whom he now preached not once, not twice, but three times. And like even Jesus himself, whose own mother had borne him out of wedlock, and whose family origins were of the humblest blue collar despite his claim of royalty.

These wonderful characters remind me over and over again that skeletons need not hold me back. If God can use an adulterer, a murderer and a lying traitor, he can probably use me too, even in spite of, or maybe even BECAUSE of, my skeletons.

I must remind myself constantly that however "put together" everyone else looks compared to me, I know that they all have proverbial skeletons too. Praise God that He sees our skeletons that we sometimes try so adeptly to keep hidden away. Not only does He see them, he sometimes asks us to open the closet door and let others see what's inside too. He has done so for me, and while it hasn't been without some trepidation and pain (I have found myself at times fighting against myself to wrench that door open) it has never been without reward.

If I Were a Rich Girl (or For the Love of Money...)

I often tell people that I am a Saks Fifth Avenue girl who was born into a Wal-Mart family. I'm not really sure how that happened exactly. I can only assume that I must have been switched at birth and some other little girl got to live the life of luxury that I had such a longing for.

I can be in the middle of a crowd.... at the mall, the airport, church, wherever.... and spot the two feet out of 1000 that are adorned with Prada shoes. Why would God give me such a gift, only to saddle me with an income that renders me unqualified to even approach a store that sells Prada shoes?

This fascination with everything designer began very early on. I was a mere ten year old girl when Brooke Shields did her first Calvin Klein jeans commercial. Because Brooke Shields said so, I, like so many other young girls in 1980, simply HAD to have Calvin Klein jeans.

That resolution faded quickly with the sound of my Mother's laughter. "Sure. I just won't buy groceries for the next month. You don't mind if we don't eat for awhile, right?" (Actually, it may not have happened exactly like that. Let's just say that it became very clear, very quickly, that I would NOT get Calvin Klein jeans.)

At the time, my Dad was pursuing a Bible college degree, after deciding in his early 30's to enter full time ministry. And so he packed up my Mom, me and my two little sisters and moved us from our hometown of Elkhart, Indiana to Chicago, Illinois. It was here he attended Moody Bible Institute while working two and sometimes even three jobs on the side in order to make ends meet.

My Mom worked part time too, and took care of us girls. She basically became a single mother for four years, since Dad was home so little during that time.

Even so, they somehow managed to conceive a fourth child during those years. When my youngest sister was born, the budget was stretched almost to the breaking point.

Fortunately we were part of a generous church. As I recall, we never went without. We got hand-me down clothes from older girls at the church, meals, and even the odd box or bag of free groceries. It wasn't unusual for anonymous money to come our way, usually during those times when the month outlasted the paychecks and we were crying out to God in sheer desperation. We even lived in our church's parsonage rent free for a short period of time as my Dad finished up his education and got ready for full-time ministry.

I'd always been something of clothes-horse. So when I began to develop an awareness of designer labels at age ten, needless to say, I was less than appreciative of the great lengths my parents went to just to keep me and my sisters from going naked. Why couldn't I have Calvin Klein jeans like some of my other friends?

Our economic situation didn't improve much after Dad entered full-time ministry. We were missionaries, and somehow managed to survive on a pittance, thanks largely to the generosity of our supporters and some of the churches in the area where my parents ministered. By high school graduation I still hadn't gotten those Calvin Kleins.

Any fleeting hope of raising my financial profile through marriage vanished when, in my first year of college, the guy I'd been dating since my last year of high school announced that he had felt the call of God on his life to pursue full-time Christian ministry. Love conquers all, right? We'd get married and live happily ever after, serving the Lord side by side. He'd work and I'd stay home with the kids we'd eventually have and life would be full of spiritual and emotional bliss.

As it turned out, those years at home with the babies were not quite as blissful as I'd anticipated. Though the churches my husband worked for while our kids were little (three in total) were generous churches, much as my childhood church had been, a pastor's salary is a pastor's salary, and a single-income household with three small kids left no place in the budget for Prada or Calvin Klein (or Baby Gap & OshKosh b'Gosh for that matter.) I had married into a Wal-Mart budget.

I would, and I must confess, still do find myself looking on with envy every time I see a Louis Vuitton handbag on someone else's arm or a funky pair of Versace glasses gracing another woman's face. Though I've developed a knack for picking out cheap knock-offs that sometimes get mistaken for the real deal, I still long to wear authentic Prada.

It's taken me a lifetime to come to terms with the idea that I will never be a rich girl. While I wouldn't trade my place in life for anything, I find myself constantly being tempted to break the Tenth Commandment. Sometimes, in the very lowest of moments, I even find myself questioning why someone such as myself, who has literally grown up in professional ministry, can't catch one small windfall of cash somewhere with which to buy a little Calvin Klein? Don't I deserve that much?

No, I don't. In reality, God owes me nothing. In fact, He gave me everything. I've been reminded of this anew the last few weeks, as our current sermon series at church has been on the topic of stewardship. It's been a powerful reminder to me that everything I have belongs to God. He measures out to each man and woman exactly what He will, and expects us to be good stewards of it, whether it's Time, Talent or Treasure (The Three T's.... thanks Pastor Jim.)

I think I have a decent handle on the "time" and "talent" thing. It's the "treasure" I still struggle with. Yes, even clergy wives have trouble giving sometimes. Sometimes I'd rather spend my money on those cute shoes than tithe. If only we made more money, then it would be easier to give, or so I sometimes like to think.

In reality, I know this to be a lie. Studies have shown clearly that when people start to make more, they simply start to spend more, and find that their attitudes towards money are the same no matter what income bracket they manage to achieve. The real mark of a steward is what's in the heart, not what's in the bank account.

I have yet to wear Prada, or Calvin Klein jeans, and I suspect that the Lord may not have bestowed upon me the state of "rich girl" because He knows I'd be consumed by my own greed. So I've learned to adjust to perpetually living in a Wal-Mart family, and practice daily being grateful for the things that are really important in life, including the amazing opportunity to serve Him alongside my husband, even without designer jeans.

Albinos in Tanzania Hunted for Body Parts

I watched a recent episode of the television documentary 20/20 which chronicled the condition known as albinism. This condition, which affects both human and animal populations, makes it impossible for the body to produce any color pigmentation. A human or animal with albinism looks normal in every respect, except they are completely white: this includes hair, skin and eyes.

The episode followed a number of people with albinism in the United States, documenting their lives and how the condition affects their day-to-day living. Humans born with albinism are almost always legally blind, and are extremely sensitive to sunlight due to the body's inability to fight off the effects of ultra-violet light. Skin cancer is a serious issue with albinos.

Sometimes, though, the emotional issues are even heavier than the physical ones. Albinos don't fit into the "normal" minority categories. Albino children are often teased by classmates. One teenage girl interviewed by 20/20 was teased and bullied so mercilessly that she had to leave school and study at home due to the emotional toll.

However, some of these issues seem to pale in comparison to the plight of albinos in the African country of Tanzania. It has the highest concentration of albinos of any other population in the world. Albinism occurs once in every 20,000 births worldwide. In Tanzania, however, the rate of albinism is an astounding one in four thousand, five times the world's albinism rate.

Superstition in Tanzania holds that albinos posses a type of luck or "magical" quality. Because of this, practicing witch doctors are fueling a market for albino body parts. They use these human body parts, mainly legs, arms and hair, in potions. These potions are sold to believers who hope to attain wealth through them.

The lure of wealth in a country that has a gross domestic product of less than $1500 per capita is enough to keep these potions in demand. Unfortunately, the lure of money also makes it all too easy for witch doctors to find people willing to hunt, mutilate and murder albinos in Tanzania. In some cases, even parents of children with albinism are willing to exchange the lives of their children for money, usually about $2000 US.

These depraved hunters usually burst into a home in the middle of the night, heavily armed, and simply snatch the albino. They use brute force and the threat of violence to subdue family members. In most cases, they simply take the albino out into the yard to perform their dastardly deed, and then leave the person in a pool of blood to die as frightened and distraught family members look on helplessly.

Because good medical care isn't available in most of the remote villages, albinos who are attacked almost always die. A few, however, survive, and face a lifetime of disability in a country where there are no resources to support these severely disabled individuals.

Fortunately, a Canadian charity called Under the Same Sun is working tirelessly to focus attention on the plight of albinos in Tanzania. The non-profit organization was founded in 2008 by Peter Ash, a Christian businessman who himself was born with albinism. Ash, along with his brother Paul, donate money and raise global awareness of the problems that albinos worldwide are faced with, particularly in third world countries like Tanzania.

Thanks to the Ash brothers' charity, a school has been built in Africa to offer refuge to oppressed albinos. The school offers shelter, food, education and safety to albino children who otherwise would be hunted, or perhaps even fall victim to the conditions that many other African children face, like starvation, disease and abject poverty.

The school accepts many children besides albinos, and the building is bursting at the seams on any given day. Classrooms are wall-to-wall children, and kids often work two or three to a desk. The rest simply find a tiny spot on the floor. Dormitories are crowded, with two or three children sleeping in one bed or hammock.
While these conditions might seem deplorable to North Americans, the children and their families are unspeakably grateful for the opportunity for an education, daily meals, and above all, safety.

Under the Same Sun's mission is based on the belief that every person, albinos included, are made in the image of God. The Ash brothers hope to dramatically increase the quality of life for albinos in Tanzania by providing them with opportunities for education and quality free or affordable/attainable health care.

This story touched me like few others have. As a fan of television documentaries, I often hear stories about charities involved in various projects around the world. I am almost always moved by their stories, but none so much as this one.

It made me think about what my own response should be. In a time of economic crisis, almost every one has been affected in some way. Financial resources are tight, and not everyone can afford to give money. Couple that with the vast number of charities doing worthwhile work around the world, and the need seems overwhelming.

I think it's God's will that we, as Christians, give freely and gladly of the resources that He has given us. While He has not blessed all of us with extra finances, we all have the ability to pray. I very frequently forget that prayer is more powerful than the dollar, and admit that I often neglect to do my part by praying for those around the world who are oppressed and suffering. Even if I can't give my money, I can offer my prayers, specifically for protection for albinos in Tanzania, and that God would raise up those whom he has blessed with financial resources to fill those gaps that others cannot.

I am also blessed with the ability to write, and so I have also chosen to do that, in the hope that I might be able to bring just a little bit more attention to the plight of albinos in Tanzania. For that gift, and the ability to pray, I am grateful to God.

Learn more about Peter Ash's work at the Under the Same Sun website.

Watch Peter Ash's YouTube "Voice of America" interview.

Mental Health and the Church: What Would Jesus Do?

I was talking with an acquaintance from church recently. He's a bit of a health nut: he exercises almost as religiously as he reads his Bible, carefully watches what he eats, and even drinks dreadful veggie-based smoothies every day in an effort to stave off illness and prolong his earthly life.

We chatted a bit about ailments that seem to be so prevalent today, like cancer. He hoped that his strict regimen would help him avoid some of these things. He even mentioned mental illness, remarking that it seemed that depression, anxiety, and other mental disorders were almost pandemic.

His remarks made me start thinking about mental illness. Personally, I wonder if mental illnesses such as depression are really that much more prevalent now than they were 100 years ago. I'm certainly not a medical professional by any stretch of the imagination. But I would conjecture that perhaps mental illness is NOT more common in 2009, but rather, much more talked about.

It also got me thinking about my own experience with mental illness. I was diagnosed with clinical depression in 2002, shortly after the birth of my third child. It turned out that what I had thought was simple post-partum depression had much deeper roots.

As my doctor and I explored this new revelation in my life, I began to realize that I'd actually suffered from clinical depression most of my life. I also came to understand why it took me twenty years to identify the problem in my own life.
If you're like most people, you probably think of clinical depression the way I once did: it means that the victim lies around in bed all day, cries for hours on end, and generally has trouble going about daily living.

I, on the other hand, was really nothing like this. While I have learned over the years that I require more nightly sleep than the average person (8 1/2 to nine hours minimum), I've never suffered from lack of motivation to get out of bed in the morning. Quite the opposite in fact: I have always been quick to jump out of bed and pack my day from start to finish with non-stop activity.

This, I came to learn, was my coping method. But instead of making me feel better, it produced such severe anxiety that I began to be unable to sleep at night, even after my new baby finally began sleeping through the night himself. I would lie awake feeling nervous about whether or not I would be able to keep up with my hectic pace. I would suffer frequent panic attacks. I would yell at my kids and make unreasonable demands of my husband, blaming everyone around me for making me feel so lousy.

It was a simple ten question quiz in a parenting magazine that finally made me realize that I was suffering from clinical depression, which manifested itself in my life as severe anxiety. I was shocked and relieved at the same time. There was hope! There really was more to life than constant panic attacks and dissatisfaction with my circumstances! Medication and therapy has done an amazing job of getting my depression/anxiety under control.

Statistics suggest that some ten percent of North Americans are currently receiving some type of treatment (medication, therapy or a combination of both) for clinical depression. They also estimate that 10-25% of all women and 5-12% of all men will experience a bout of clinical depression at some point in their lives.

Think about those statistics in relation to your church. There are roughly 600 people in my own church. That means there are probably about 59 other people sitting in church with me every Sunday morning who are dealing with the same thing that I am. 59 people! This is more than a mere handful. And yet, I can think of less than five people who have ever admitted aloud to me that they do indeed suffer from clinical depression.

So why is it that mental health issues are still so hard to talk about in the church? I consider myself fortunate to live during a period in history where mental illness doesn't quite have the same negative social stigma attached. Had I lived one hundred years ago, I would most likely have been labelled as "delicate" or perhaps as being "not right." I most certainly would not have had access to the same kind of treatment that has helped me so greatly today.

And yet, even as I write this, I realize I have now "put myself out there." While I've never been one to shy away from talking about my experience with mental illness, I haven't been quick to take out a billboard ad either. What will my church think? Horror of horrors.... pastor's wives can be clinically depressed????

I guess my hope is that by opening up about my own experiences, I might inspire others in the church to realize that it's okay to talk about mental illness. Not only is it okay to talk about it, it's okay to BE mentally ill. Mental illness is as real a medical problem as the flu or a broken leg. And like broken legs, mental illness can be treated. What it SHOULD NOT be is hidden or ignored. You'd never walk around on a broken leg. It would be painful, foolish, and would lead to much more serious problems in the long run. No one in his or her right mind would ever consider simply ignoring or "shaking off" a broken leg. And yet, this happens time and time again with people who suffer mental illness.

Admittedly, there isn't a lot said in the Bible about mental illness, or what the church's response to it should be. However, in my own studies I have become convinced of a couple of things. First, I've come to believe that David, he of kingly heritage, sheep and harp-playing, was clinically depressed, perhaps even bi-polar. If you don't believe it, consider some of his writings:

"I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and my body with grief. My life is consumed by anguish and my years by groaning, my strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak. Because of all my enemies I am the utter contempt of my neighbors, I am a dread to my friends, those who see me on the street flee from me." (Psalm 31: 9-11)

I have thought and felt similar things during some of my own dark moments. I identify very closely with David in many regards, and have come to take great comfort in the Psalms, knowing that I am not the only person in history to have felt such overwhelming heaviness, and also knowing that I, like David, understand that on the flip side of the coin there is hope:

"The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them, He delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit. A righteous man may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all." (Psalm 34: 17-19)

The other thing that I have become convinced of is that the church needs to respond to mental illness with compassion. Again, there's not a lot about mental illness in the Bible. However, there is a great deal in the Bible about responding compassionately to people in other awkward and socially-stigmatized life situations. Take Jesus' encounter with the "sinful" woman, whom we assume to have been a prostitute or of similar ilk, who wished to express her deep love for Jesus. Those around him were disgusted when she began weeping uncontrollably at his feet, washing them with her tears and drying them with her unbound hair.

Jesus fellow dinner guests were appalled, questioning his very divinity ("If this man were a prophet, he would know who was touching him and what kind of woman she is." Luke 7:39) They chided her wastefulness when she anointed Jesus' feet with expensive perfume: "It could have been sold for more than a year's wages and the money given to the poor." (Mark 14:5)

But Jesus rebuked them, responding with compassion to this woman who understood more than anyone else at that table that she had been rescued from so much.

In other instances we see Jesus extending compassion to social outcasts like lepers, offering healing and forgiveness of sin and even skin to skin contact, something that was so socially repulsive that it was actually forbidden. We see him reacting in love to those who were possessed with evil spirits, drawing physically and emotionally near to them when no one else would.

I can't help but believe that this is what Jesus wants us to do with those who suffer mental illness. Instead of ignoring it, pretending it doesn't exist, or relegating those who suffer it to the very fringes of our congregations (much as the demoniac who was forced to live in a graveyard), I believe Jesus calls us to embrace those who might otherwise be deigned social outcasts, to acknowledge their sufferings, and to show love and compassion.

Mental illnesses like clinical depression are difficult to understand for those who haven't suffered them. I think it's okay not to understand. (I don't understand what it's like to have a broken leg, having never broken a bone in my lifetime.) But the church is still responsible to reach out in love to the mentally ill, like I think Jesus would do, with love and compassion and a great deal of grace.

Facebook: The New Prayer Chain

Remember the church prayer chain? Many churches around North America still have active prayer chain ministries. For those who think a prayer chain is a piece of jewelry, let me enlighten you.

A prayer chain consists of a group of volunteers who agree to pray for prayer requests as they are submitted by church members. Prayer requests are directed to the person at the top of the "chain" (usually the leader of the prayer chain ministry.) He or she then delivers that prayer request to a small group of individual volunteers (in the "olden days" this occurred by telephone.) Each of those individuals then delivers that same request to a group of individual volunteers underneath him/her, and so on until everyone in the prayer chain ministry has received the request. It's a fast way to get multiple people (dozens or even hundreds) interceding in prayer on behalf of one person. (Think "Pyramid Scheme," except in this version you get prayed for instead of ripped off.)

My church has a very active prayer ministry, though it's a little less formal than an organized "prayer chain," and probably a lot faster than the old-fashioned telephone variety. Prayer requests can be submitted to a staff, board or prayer team member. These three groups of people work closely together to ensure that each of the other groups knows that a prayer request has been made, and most of the communication is done by email, which tends to be faster, less invasive, and more reliable than the phone prayer chain.

My husband and I recently experienced a whole new twist on the good old-fashioned prayer chain. A couple of weeks ago my middle child came down with what appeared to be a pesky but tenacious virus. It turned out to be parvo-virus, a garden variety flu-type bug that strikes just about everyone on the planet during childhood.

Parvo-virus is normally little more than a nuisance. What differentiates it from other flu-like viruses is that it attacks the bone marrow and temporarily halts the production of red blood cells.

Human beings normally make a surplus of red blood cells for just such times as these. However, my two sons happen to have hereditary spherocytosis, an inherited blood disorder which inhibits the proper production of red blood cells. The cells that are produced are the wrong shape (spherical instead of round) and subject to attack by the spleen, which thinks they are foreign substances and therefore wipes out many of them. So parvo-virus can be deadly for my two boys.
My son got very ill very quickly, and ended up needing an emergency blood transfusion and hospital stay.

As I threw together an overnight bag so that I could accompany my son to the hospital, I quickly posted a request for prayer on Facebook. To my surprise, hundreds of people knew within hours of my son's admittance to the hospital and had already prayed for Joshua's recovery. And not just locals either.... people from all over Canada and the United States were praying for my son before he'd even drained the first of two bags of blood that he needed.

I couldn't help but marvel at this modern twist on the prayer chain. This is not intended to be an endorsement for Facebook (though I admit that I am slightly addicted to it.) I am also aware that Facebook has been misused, abused and employed as a tool to promote all sorts of insidious ideas and causes and has even served to destroy the careers and reputations of people (even Christians.) But Facebook, when used wisely, can also be a tremendous tool for the church in general, and for individual Christians, particularly in times of need as I so recently came to discover.

As it turned out, Joshua graciously shared his virus with his little brother Josiah (now why can't I get them to share toys?) and a week later we found ourselves in a re-run except with a different child. Once again we turned to Facebook for prayer, and were deeply rewarded to find so many friends praying for us and encouraging us, even people that we haven't seen in years. I am exceedingly grateful for this contemporary twist on the prayer chain.

Building Bridges

For the last two years or so, my children and I have watched with fascination as a massive suspension bridge has been built just up river from where we live. Its impressive spans and vaulting cables can be seen towering above centuries-old groves of trees that line either side of the river over which it crosses, linking two major communities together that were once joined only by a quaint but slow and inconvenient ferry system.

Every time we would drive by this work in progress, we would observe the latest additions to the structure and comment on how the bridge was taking shape. Sometimes it seemed as though nothing visible was being accomplished for days at a time, even though dozens and dozens of workers were always present. Other times it was as though whole sections of bridge would appear seemingly overnight, as if bridge fairies had visited in the wee hours of the morning.

We also marveled at the various aspects of bridge building that were surprising to us. One day we drove by and noticed piles and piles of giant bricks with nubs on the sides. This excited my boys greatly: "They look just like giant Legos, Mom!" Turns out, they were made from styrofoam. Who knew bridges can be built with styrofoam?

The last several months have been the most exciting to watch, as more and more spans were added from each end, until they finally met near the middle and the last piece was dropped in. After years of building, the bridge is complete and will open to the public in less than a month.

Every time I drive by that bridge, I can't help but think of all that goes into building bridges. Over two years of work, and that doesn't even include the years and years of planning that go into such an effort. It's a remarkable thing to begin with an idea, and years later finally see all those plans and all of the work culminate into a suspension bridge that will stand for decades (maybe even centuries) and see the passage of billions and billions of vehicles over its length.

In fact, it reminds me an awful lot of ministry in general, and church ministry in particular. After all, isn't this what we're all doing in all of our churches all over the world? Ministry is all about building bridges. Whether professional or lay ministers, we work at building bridges between parents and children, children and adults, teens and adults, teens and their peers, old and young, husbands and wives, couples, ethnic groups, Christians and non-Christians, mature Christians and new, "baby" Christians.... and the list goes on and on.

Building bridges in our churches doesn't happen overnight either. Much as our Golden Ears bridge has been years in the making, it takes time to build bridges in our churches. It's easy as leaders (professional or otherwise) to get discouraged because, let's face it: sometimes it seems that little or no progress is being made. We often bump up against hurdles that seem to set progress back. It's easy to feel like "throwing in the towel" and walking away from a half-built bridge in frustration.

Watching this bridge go from a concept to a grand suspension bridge that will link two communities together and vastly change the way we travel, recreate and do business has been a powerful visual object lesson and reminder to me that bridges are not built overnight. Instead, when they are discussed, planned, designed with purpose, and built with proper care and due attention (including working through the inevitable glitches) they become a thing of awe and a beacon for and symbol of change, progress and brand new relationships.

"[I am confident] that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day that Jesus Christ returns." Philippians 1:6

Three Easy Ways that the Church Can Help Strengthen the Pastor's Marriage

Pastor Kevin Martineau of Port Hardy Baptist Church (my husband and I go back to Bible college days with him and his wife) recently returned from the Emotionally Healthy Spirituality Conference in New York City. He shares some of his thoughts about his and his wife's experiences there in his blog, Shooting the Breeze. I found his thoughts not only intriguing, but also realized that many of his experiences trying to balance marriage with ministry were eerily similar to mine and my husband's own experiences.

Ministry can be very hard on a marriage, which doesn't seem logical considering Christian ministry and Christian marriage both supposedly center around the same thing (Jesus Christ.) And yet my husband and I can attest to this fact, having been in both marriage and ministry for almost 17 years now.

Shepherding a flock (whether big or small or somewhere in between) can take a toll on the Pastor and his wife. It can be exhausting both physically and emotionally to spend ten or twelve hours a day (let's face it... I don't know many pastors who work eight hour days. Do you?) ministering to the needs of others, and then somehow find the emotional energy to come home and connect with your spouse. Throw in kids on top of that, and you have the perfect recipe for marriage burnout.

If it's true, as Pastor Kevin suggests, that a church is only as healthy as the marriage(s) of its pastor(s), I think it stands to reason that the church is in a prime position to benefit a great deal from helping to nurture those marriages. So what, exactly, can the church do to help ensure that its pastor's marriage thrives?

Seventeen years in ministry has by no means made us marriage experts (and believe me, we've had our share of marital struggles,) but it has given us some very good insight into how a church can encourage its pastor(s) to have good marriage(s.) Here are just a few of those insights:

1) Don't phone the pastor on his day off. Nothing short of death or near-death is so critical that it can't wait until tomorrow. Most pastors take only one full day off per week. This has been the case for us ever since my husband entered full-time ministry, and has been the case for every single other pastor we have ever worked with. Even pastors who are fortunate enough to get two days off in a week need to really be able to escape the workplace. Many pastors devote those days off to spending time with their spouses, since it's often the only one they have together in a week. Parishioners should recognize this and save their business for the next workday so that the pastor can feel as though he can put work aside and focus fully on his spouse.

2) Respect his desire to maintain balance. In many churches the pastor is expected to be a part of most or even all of the goings-on at the church. There's a good chance he's already out several nights per week on church affairs. Don't add another night onto his plate if it means he'll be sacrificing time with his wife and family. Running at a breakneck pace without any chance to connect during the week can leave a pastor exhausted and his wife frustrated, neither of which is conducive to marital bliss.

3) Be intentional about seeing that your pastor and spouse get away together. Pastors don't make a lot of money. (Shocking, isn't it?) Sometimes it's difficult for the pastor and his wife to budget for a dinner out, let alone a weekend away together. Trust me when I tell you that the best gifts my husband and I have been given by our congregations over the years are those that came in the form of dinner gift certificates and paid-for weekend getaways. (When our kids were little these often came with offers of free babysitting.) Just a couple of these kinds of gifts each year can make a gigantic difference in the relationship of the pastor and his wife. (Try sending them to a marriage enrichment conference for double the bang for your buck.)

These really are easy and relatively painless ways to show your pastor and his wife that you care about their marriage. The dividends that the church will receive in return far outweigh any cost (financial or otherwise) incurred.

Read Pastor Kevin's thoughts on maintainting an emotionally healthy marriage: "As Goes the Pastor's Marriage, So Goes the Church."