Our Church — the place where we have ministered for more than a decade.
Changes . . .
…are hard.
…are good.
…are necessary.
…are here.
Twelve and a half years ago, we packed our family and all of our belongings then we moved to Colorado to begin ministry at a small church in a beautiful town near the bottom of the World’s Largest Flattop Mountain, The Grand Mesa.
When we arrived, our boys were in third, seventh, and eighth grades. We were young…sort of. Our church was small, but loving. We moved in on a snowy December Friday and began our ministry two days later. In January, John started a job and in April, he found a better one — one that he worked for nearly twelve years. Marylouise took over a multi-grade classroom at a private school and later, found a job with the local school district.
We settled into routines and the boys made friends. My Dad and second mom live 40 miles away and my sister is about 18 miles from our home and we enjoyed being near family. We created a home and we built a life.
The church we came to pastor had five retired pastors as a part of the congregation. Let’s just say that our church was filled with several “experienced” Christians. We loved them and they learned to love us. The ministry in the church was not easy, but it was blessed and the people were precious children of God.
Time passed.
The boys grew, our vocations changed — but still they allowed us to minister, people moved, our congregation changed.
During the twelve and a half years we’ve spent here in Colorado, we’ve raised our children, loved people, worked hard, and served the Lord. We pray that we’ve touched lives as others have touched ours. We’ve built a life in this place and leaving this life we’ve come to love is hard. But it is time.
It is difficult to help others understand that when God says it is time to move on that that is what you must do. We live our lives based on one premise… obedience to God’s call is nonnegotiable. Walking in faith is part of that choice, even when it doesn’t seem to make sense.
You see, we have a good “life” here. John was just promoted. I teach in a good school. Logically, this is the place where we should remain, yet we cannot stay.
Leaving means we are both walking away from jobs we enjoy. It means that our small church will be without a pastor for a time and we are sad for that reality. We will be leaving a church family with whom we have ministered, prayed, cried, celebrated, mourned, and who we love. Leaving will cause us to be without our children near us for the first time in twenty-seven years. Not being in this community means that we will not get to see our dear friends. While moving will bring us closer in proximity to John’s family, it will move us away from my parents and sister. Even so, I am assured that as we leave this place, He has a plan for those who remain and He will reveal it to them just as He revealed His plan for our lives to us.
Were we to make a list of the “pros and cons” for moving away, it would be close, but one factor has more weight than any of the others. Very simply, God is leading and we must go.
Will we have regrets? Perhaps. But we will never regret going where God is calling. Early in our marriage we learned that the best place to be is always in the middle of God’s will. For that reason alone, we are moving to Wisconsin.
Our new church family has been hurt and it needs pastors who will love each of them. We will love them — we already do.
So, we will be saying good-bye to family, friends, and even to one of our dogs, Zoey, who will remain in Colorado. We will buy parkas, snow boots, and snow tires; we will build a new life in the northern mid-west.
Changes are hard and scary, but they can be good. This will not be easy, but God has promised that His calling is His enabling. We believe Him and we trust Him.
I was in fourth grade when my long-awaited glasses finally arrived. During the summer between third and fourth grade, my dad and I went to Denver. He had a doctor’s appointment and I had an eye doctor’s appointment. I picked out my glasses, we went to the Denver Zoo, Dad went to the doctor, and we headed home to Montrose. Months — it felt like years — later, my glasses came in the mail. They were tortoise shell ovals — very hip. I was immensely thankful for them, I could finally see the chalk board where Mrs. Stokes would write tests. I had failed a few timed tests already that year because I couldn’t see the questions or problems. Of course, the usual nicknames came with the glasses — they called me 4-Eyes. Since I could finally see, I was fine with that.
My sister, Gayla, got her first pair of glasses when she was around the same age. They say that when she first put them on, she was amazed by what she could see. The fact that trees had leaves that could actually be seen as individual items amazed her — and made our parents cry. Imagine going through life not seeing, but believing that you were.
How many times do I go through life believing that I can see, but not truly doing so?
First of all, I am oblivious to much that is around me. I am aware of what should be there and because of that, I will often miss the “little” changes. In 8th grade English, my teacher asked us to write down what we saw as we looked out our window or walked out of our house that morning. Every morning, I did the dishes and could see the adobe hills and Buck Horn — a mountain across the valley from our home. He read it, then looked at me and told me I hadn’t been very observant. Apparently that morning the valley and mountains were covered by clouds. I had missed it. Since then I’ve tried to be more observant, but I am not always very successful. If I am oblivious to the little “things” am I also oblivious to the “big” things?
Then of course there are the wonders that surround me — I tend to take them for granted. Just as I was oblivious to that morning so many years ago, I often take the beauty in people and in this amazing area where I live for granted. We’ve learned to love going on cruises. Because we are in the tropical areas for such a short time, we soak it in. We savor our time, take hundreds of pictures (I think it was 1300 on the last cuise), we memorize smells and flavors, we create memories. Later, on those cold Colorado winter days, I pull out a memory of a tropical beach and I enjoy it. In doing so, do I forget to treasure the cool, clear, crisp moments, the mountains, the snow fall, the puppy, the house, and all of the wonders that surround me?
When I’m thinking like this, I have to ask myself if I truly see the people who are in my life. Do I see their hurts and fears? Am I able to notice when they are overwhelmed and in need of an encouraging word? An amazing lady from our church saw Mr. Gorgeous at the lumber yard earlier this week. While she was there, she gave him some encouraging words that were an incredible blessing to both of us. When I am around people, do I truly understand their needs? Naturally I have to wonder if, when I see their concerns, I am willing to help? And, have I allowed enough time in my schedule to be available to them when they have a need? God did not intend us to fill our days so full with doing things that we are unable to set aside our “schedule” to be available to one of His children. My mom use to say that we shouldn’t be so heavenly minded that we are no earthly good. This starts, I believe, with seeing those around us — and then, being available to them to meet their needs . . . and to allow them to reach into my life and perhaps, to encourage and bless me as well.
One last thought, with my “4-eyes,” do I see God? Do I see Him in this world to which I am often oblivious? Do I see Him in the amazing wonders that I take for granted? Am I able to recognize Him in the smile, the words, the actions, and the lives of the people around me? Do I see Him — truly see Him? He is working in this world and in our lives. I need to make sure that my eyes are open and that I notice what He does and how He is at work.
I’ve discovered that when I’m frustrated or confused or sad, I have a tendency to be oblivious about God’s work and I take what He does for me, in me, and through me for granted. I need to put on my spiritual glasses and truly SEE God. He blesses, provides, encourages, and loves me. How can I not see that?
The gang’s all here! Charlotte, Gayla, Frank, and Marylouise
I have two sisters — had a brother. I am exceptionally proud of all of them. In many ways they are as different as night and day…in some ways, they are carbon copies of each other.
Charlotte is 7 years older than I am; Gayla is 6 years older, and Frank was 4 years older. I remember watching them and being jealous because they always seemed so close when we were growing up. They were close, in part, because they had the same mother, a different mother than I have. Their mother died when my brother was a baby. My mom was their stepmother. Also, considering that the girls were eleven months apart, it makes sense that the two of them would be close. It also makes sense that those two would fight…and they did.
Charlotte as the oldest naturally took charge. I think that Gayla thought they were close enough in age that she should be in charge too. I’m not sure, but I think that may have been an issue of contention in their teen years. Charlotte was the one who drove the tractor for Daddy, “babysat” the younger kids, was in drill team and journalism. She is a gifted artist. Her natural ability was developed through art training that she took as a correspondence program, and later in school. When she would babysit, she protected me from my brother. Out of high school, she went to Oklahoma to college for a year and after that, she joined the Army. She raised an amazing daughter and worked hard to complete her schooling. My impression of her when I was little kid was that she was tough as nails — and she was. She was also the artist who created many Halloween costumes for her baby sister.
Gayla was not the take charge type. She has done more “taking charge” in the last ten years than I really remember her doing before — circumstances change us. I remember several times as a kid hearing her say, “I’m second from the top and third from the bottom.” She was quieter than the rest of us. Her dimples are one of my favorite things about her. She is a peacemaker — many things that bothered me seemed to run off her like water off a duck’s back. I know now that even though she didn’t act bothered, she was. Gayla is the sweet one of us, and we all know it. If you grew up in my era, you know who the Champagne Lady on the Lawrence Welk Show was; I always thougth that Gayla sang better than she did. I was right. When she graduated, she too joined the Army. I love to travel with her, even though I MUST give her a hard time about stopping all the time to take pictures.
Frank was the only boy — surrounded by sisters. He did the outdoor chores, competed in athletics and was a member the Navy Junior ROTC in high school. He was artistic and he could sing well — but didn’t want ANYONE to know it. Even as a teen, he was a problem solver who took a cheap, broken calculator, disassembled it, located the problem, and fixed it. Then, he gave it to me; I used it several years. He served in the Army and worked as a mechanic. His delight was found in his son and daughter. Life took him to Alaska twenty years before he died and we only saw him a few times. Phone calls helped, but not enough.
Had I written this blog 12 1/2 years ago, I would have had less to say about family ties. After living in a community near Gayla for all these years, I’ve realized more than ever how deeply our family ties run — and how incredibly important they are. She and I have been blessed with time together to create new memories and share our hearts. The other ties in the family are strong and important as well — even though they are different. In fact, after our brother died, I realized even more how very different our relationships with each other are — they are separated and differentiated by time and experience and location.
As for my sisters, I love them both and admire each of them for very different reasons beyond the fact that we are family.
Charlotte has overcome immense hurts and obstacles. She has allowed God to have control of her heart and life, to lead her, to heal her, and to give her a point of ministry. She exhibits the spiritual gifts of helping and giving; in fact, at two different points in the life of our family we “took refuge” in her home.
On the other hand, Gayla is the mom. She cans, cooks incredibly delicious and nutritious meals, bakes bread, gardens, landscapes, sews, pans for gold, collects rocks, cares for her grandchildren and husband. She has always been available to any family member who lives close — and as much as possible, to those who live at a distance. When our preemie son was born, she came to Albuquerque from Colorado to help.
So this walk down memory lane is to remind us that although relationships take investment and time, the investment in loving, caring, and sharing with family is never lost. Byrlene left home when I was 11, Gayla when I was 12, and Frank when I was 14. My parents were divorced when I was 12. As a result, I was in and out of “our” home and in and out of their lives — just as they were in and out of mine. By the way, don’t get me started on the idea of “1/2 brothers and sisters” — it’s rubbish. We are family because we are family — by blood yes, but more than that, by love and commitment. I didn’t understand that we had different mothers until I was 11. Even then, we were family and that was all that mattered. Had it not been for years of proximity, we would not have had time to build the family ties — to develop our relationships.
The reality of life is that it takes us in many directions. Everyone knows that things change, but when things change and others aren’t near to go through the changes with us, it may be difficult to see and understand where the other is coming from. Communication is the key to understanding. Respectful communication that welcomes input from all parties. Conversations that involve listening as well as speaking. These take time and honestly, they can be scheduled, but I am not certain that forced discussions are truly beneficial unless all parties “buy in” to that time.
Telephones, Facebook, emails, and texting will tell only what we want others to know. Vulnerability is limited — emotions can be hidden, hurts can be buried. While this kind of communication is better than nothing, it has limitations that must be acknowledged.
Honestly, I love Facebook. It gives me the opportunity to stay connected with people who I would not otherwise. I have “friends” in Europe and Africa, the US and Mexico — and I love it. I “talk” with former students, people from churches we have pastored, high school classmates — even though I only attended school with them one year, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and friends who are important to me. We all know though, that most of these “conversations” are surface and do not truly delve deeply into the heart, the emotions, or the true relationship. They are better than no contact — but they should not be our only source for relationship development.
Relationships are a gift from God. Through them we see another side of Him. Families are where we learn to care for people, to invest in them, to know them. It is in the safe, welcoming relationships of family that we come to understand how to accept others. In addition, these kinds of relationships create the climate in which we discover that are able to forgive hurts — intentional or otherwise — and to minimize the impact that pain from these hurts can have in our lives.
I come from a “huggy” family. We see each other — we hug each other; we leave — we hug again. Yes, even if we are in Walmart. When I married Mr. Gorgeous, I took that “hugginess” with me into my new family where I got more than one strange look. A few years later, my Father-in-law thanked me for bringing hugs to the family. After one particular visit, he hugged me, thanked me for being a “huggy” person, and told me he wished they had done more hugging before I came along. A hug is that touch that says, “You are family and I love you,” it makes most situations bearable. And, it reminds us that we are home.
Whether our “ties” come through our family or through other relationships, the time invested is worthwhile and necessary. Family ties — relationships — precious, irreplaceable, valuable. Worth the effort and worth the time.
A Colorado rainbow seen from our front deck following a spring storm. Rainbows remind me of God’s goodness, His grace, and His promises.
A Time for Everything
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. -Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (NIV)
Thank you for being patient with me.
You see, I do not like being a person who is not “in control” of my emotions. Yet that is exactly what I am experiencing — a lack of control. People think I’m upset or angry. I’m not — I’m sad; I’m grieving. I’ve observed others grieve and have often wondered at the way they do so. Some people are strong — they are a rock solid. It turns out that I am nothing more than marshmallow cream when I grieve. Hugs make me cry. Funny stories make me cry. Sad stories make me cry. Pictures and memories — even good ones — make me cry. It doesn’t take much to make me cry these days.
Quite frankly, that annoys me! I am extremely independent and I’ve always been a “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” kind of person and I am helpless to be able to do that now. I so desperately want to go back to being able to function without this overwhelming sense of grief and loss. I know it will take time, but I’m impatient.
A dear friend taught me somethings about grief — thankfully. It was after our nephew died; she knew I was struggling and because of her experience working as a Hospice Chaplain, she was able to help me through that time. She taught me that it takes about two years to work through the grief of one loss. Each new loss is tacked on to the end of that two years — concurrent grieving is apparently not possible. I learned about grief bursts — a time of overwhelming, unexplainable, and uncontrollable grief. Grief bursts can happen without any perceived provocation and they must simply be endured. As pastors, my husband and I have often told those who grieve in our church that while the first year of grief is hard, the second year is often more difficult. It is in the second year that we realize the permanence of our loss — the second Christmas is when you realize that your loved one will never sit at the table with the family again.
In my brain, I know these things. In my heart, I want to fast forward through this time of loss and pain. I don’t like being treated like I’m breakable, but in some ways, I am very fragile. Kindness seems to be one of the worst responses I receive because it makes me feel weak — but I am weak. You see, no matter how much I hate feeling this way, right now I need kindness, gentleness and support. I am so grateful that God is in control, that family is loving, and that friends and coworkers are kind.
I will cope better…probably not tomorrow and maybe not even the next day, but soon. In the meantime I will try to remember that there is a time to mourn and this is that time. Thank you for walking this journey with me. For loving and caring, for praying. Soon, it will be time to dance. I can hardly wait.
Every morning for 53 years, 2 months, and 6 days I’ve awakened secure in the knowledge that my big brother was never farther away than a phone call. Tomorrow — if I manage to sleep — my world will be drastically different.
I’m one of four children. My two sisters and my only brother preceded me into the family in that order. That means that I was the youngest. While some folks think that being the youngest makes your life a piece of cake, others know the cold, hard facts. Having a big brother is both a blessing and a curse.
The curse of being the little sister…
Muscles — his not mine.
Catching him smoking behind the garage and me being stupid enough to try to use it as blackmail material.
Him telling me (and then Dad) that the crush I had on one of his friends WASN’T a good idea.
Doing dishes while he practiced his boxing…. on my right shoulder.
But honestly, the blessings far outnumbered the curse…
Building snowmen together.
Being mad at our older sisters together.
Being the most popular Indian Maid in the all school Thanksgiving Pageant in 1st grade. (Frank threatened all of his 4th grade friends that when the Indian Maids were drug to the front of the stage, I had better not be the only girl left at the back of the stage.)
Watching him wrestle; watching him box.
Calling him when I got on the bad side of a pretty tough bunch of kids at school — coming out of the junior high to see him standing by my bus that first day and then, finding him under the tree near the bus stop everyday after school for the rest of the year.
Learning early on that he could hit me but no one else had that same privilege.
Phone calls on birthdays.
The most amazing card in the whole wide world about me being his sister.
My big brother shaking my newly acquired husband’s hand after the wedding, tightening the grip just a fraction, and telling Mr. Gorgeous that he was to take care of me. Frank passed the reigns in that simple move…er, threat?
An amazing niece and two incredible nephews — yes, Michael was incredible even though I never got to meet him. After all, he was my brother’s son.
God designed families. He knows that in loving our family members our lives are richer. He knows that in losing our family members we are drawn closer to the source of love…Jesus Christ.
I have amazing memories of my big brother who always seemed somehow bigger than life. I know and understand that he was not perfect, but who on earth is? I know that the loss of a child and later a divorce nearly destroyed him. I know that God uses broken things — after He has mended them, and that He used my brother.
I prayed for my brother for years, asking God to bring Frank to a relationship with his Heavenly Father. While teaching in a private, Christian school in California, I asked my class of 5th graders to pray for Frank. I remember a young boy asked if he could pray for him right then. I thanked him and told him to go ahead. The boy prayed. In the arrogant way of adults, I just shook me head at what the boy prayed. He asked God to send someone from his hometown in Northern California to Alaska to tell my brother about Jesus. A year and a half to two years later my brother accepted Jesus as His Savior. I was thrilled. Later, my brother and I talked on the phone and he asked the name of the town I had taught in while living in California. I told him. He said something about how weird that was and I, of course, asked why. He told me about the church he was attending. It was fairly new and had been planted by a Baptist Minister from the very town where I had taught. I learned to stop being skeptical of the power in a child’s prayer.
I am thankful for my brother, for the bruises and the quarrels. I am thankful for the hugs and the protection and the rides here and there. I am grateful for my memories — I wish I had time to make more of them.
When he first left for Alaska, I bought a package of Forget Me Not seeds and I planted them in my yard so that I could feel close to him. I think it’s time to buy another package. One day, I will see him again, but until then I will Forget HIM not.
“May my spoken words and unspoken thoughts be pleasing even to You, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.”
Psalm 19:14
Raising our sons in a parsonage, we realized early that they just might hear things we would rather they didn’t. We always worked to assure that they didn’t know the “bad” or the “ugly” parts of being a pastor. However, our houses were small, our sons were intuitive, they had big ears, and they often knew things we had no desire for them to know. Our challenge then became teaching them DISCRETION.
Discretion says that everything that enters my brain through my ears does not need to exit through my mouth. Discretion teaches that every thought that comes to mind isn’t necessarily worthy of being shared with those around me. It reminds us that some news isn’t really ours to share.
I grew up in what I call the microwave generation. We became accustomed to “quick” things. Instead of waiting for the kettle to boil, I could have a hot cup of tea in 90 seconds. Fast food was a part of the lifestyle I lived as a teenager after my parents divorced. Then along came My Space and Facebook where messages were available at anytime of the day or night. Although they weren’t “instant” we were pretty amazed at how quickly news could spread through them. And then we got a cell phone and became available twenty-four hours a day. I learned to text. That was about as close to “instant” as I’d ever experienced. But this generation, the children and teens who are living today now have instant messaging, Twitter, and snap chat. I fear, however, that with the advent of this world of instant communication, something has been lost — discretion.
Maybe I’m just getting old, but I firmly believe that some information does not belong to me. And frankly, some information doesn’t belong to you either. What I mean by these harsh-sounding statements is that everyone should have the right to share their own “news” in their own time and in their own way.
Texting, Twitter, Facebook, and instant messaging are things that dispense information like a street vendor hands out hotdogs. Often times they do so without regard to the feelings of the people who may be involved in the message they transmit. Life events are shared without considering that it really isn’t our place to share them. Rumors abound and are often repeated again and again, even though they may have been proven to be incorrect. Misunderstandings are frequent, relationships can be damaged if not destroyed. And to be honest, reputations can easily be ruined. On the other hand, these means of communication can be tools that benefit us — WHEN they are used in a way that is considerate, thoughtful, and encouraging.
I would like to suggest an old — new — idea. Let’s practice discretion. Let’s teach consideration. Maybe, just maybe, we could return to the golden rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do untoyou.” Not just in our actions, but in our words, our thoughts, our statuses, our texts, and our Tweets.
(Who knows, if we return to this kind and polite means of communication, maybe a politician or two would think it was novel and would try it out themselves. We can only hope.)
Laughing - Loving - Praying 