A Not So Feminist Rant

There's healing happening for me in what's on at Highview this Sunday.

Dr. Bill Webb, author, conference speaker, professor and leading theologian in understanding redemptive Christianity, will be speaking about those troubling texts in our Bible regarding women and what they are and are not supposed to be doing in Christ's church. This is part of a broader series of three weeks, covering other weird and wacky parts of Scripture (slavery texts and war texts), and was first imagined and planned for way back last March.

I knew in advance this would be a good thing for Highview. First, to have Bill share his expertise and insights on these matters is no small deal, given his status in the academic community, and the scope of his influence in shaping contemporary Christian thought. We are truly humbled and honoured to have him teach us these three weeks.

And, of course there's the matter of helping us know better how to read our Bibles, and not to be afraid of the parts that seem troubling to us. Bill is truly adept at taking complex textual analysis and making it understandable to regular people who sincerely want to live for Jesus.

But I'm surprised at how I am personally responding on an emotional level as I anticipate the particular session this week. As much as I would like to believe I am relaxed and confident in my femaleness as a spiritual leader, I go deeper and find something trembling there....with anticipation.

Yes! This Sunday something very personal will be affirmed! It's okay to be me. It's okay to be a woman AND to lead a spiritual community!

The story of my journey to the position of pastor is one where the facts and events are fairly well known; at least within the scope of the church, and the friends who've walked this way with me. There was a church-merger, where an egalitarian position on the role of women in leadership was adopted. Then, a year on the sidelines, while the new church found its leadership stride, but without "forcing" a female Elder on anyone. Then a gradual stepping into increments of greater responsibility as we grew beyond the sum of our parts into a new entity.

In the years that followed, there was the departure of first one, then another male colleague, and the decision on the part of the church itself to invite me to step into the void and take the lead as senior pastor. All the while, there has been and continues to be the ongoing educational piece as I seek to "retrofit" by means of grad studies. In all, I am acutely aware of the risks others have been willing to take as I have been embraced to lead by a church bold enough to stand differently in the realm of fairly traditional evangelicals.

Yet, as affirming as the broader picture my story paints, it hasn't come without personal woundings.

Overt patronizing, malicious gossip, outright rejection, insulting job offers. Requests to perhaps avoid talking about what I do "at the church" and just talk about my husband and children, when being interviewed for a certain mission's video. Requests to not mention at all that I am a pastor when being introduced at certain functions. The accusation that a significant church crisis was God's judgment on the church for having a female pastor. When seeking to process these wounds with other male colleagues, being told that I was making it all up. And the worst of it, to be accused of dishonouring the Father and His Word, when in truth I would die for love of Him. I need to be honest, even as the sharpness of each lessens, these wounds kind of wear on me after a while. If I'm not careful, they tend to pile up in my soul.

I've never mounted the soap box. And to the best of my knowledge, I've never pressed my own agenda. I only wanted to let God make me into all He had in mind when He created me. All of it. Fully surrendered. Here I am God, let's go as far as You say. I'm Yours. Isn't that what fully devoted followers of Christ are supposed to do?

At the beginning of that journey of surrender, I would not have considered it could take me into the realm of serving Him as a pastor. But it did. So here I am.

And that's why this Sunday seems like a marking moment somehow. One of the Church's brightest and best theologians will be at the church I now pastor to show why the Bible redemptively supports who I am and what I do. And I rejoice on behalf of my sister theologians, pastors and leaders as well, both those serving right now and those in the wings waiting.

And it seems so right and fresh and good and energetic and....healing.

And I am grateful. I am grateful for the woundings and sacrifices of Bill Webb and others who have taken more heat than I ever will, and do so courageously and with great grace. For what they've lost to stay true to what they are convinced of, I am profoundly sad, but deeply grateful.

And to a patient God who somehow makes His plans and purposes prevail in spite of what should not be, I am eternally and truly devoted.

Embracing the Disruption

It's weird to be home on a Wednesday.

Wasn't expecting this, really. When I was booked for a day surgery procedure, on a Tuesday, to blast away a nuisance kidney stone that had found a cozy little spot in one of my "tubes", I called the doctor's office to see what the recovery time might be. Return to work on Wednesday? No problem. Just don't do any heavy lifting.

However. At the hospital I was reminded that there's this little thing about not driving or being by yourself for 24 hours after anesthesia. Oh. And then, my body is telling me it needs to recover from all that "action" inside. Okay then!

So, here I am, at home, with my faithful hero Ken, both of us having had to rearrange our Wednesdays at the last minute.

And I find I'm quite okay with that.

That may seem obvious to most. But for us Type A, highly structured, I-have-my-week-all-laid-out-so-don't-mess-with-it individuals, this kind of disruption can wreck havoc on the soul. Normally this kind of hiccup in my week would send me on a rant, complaining how every time I try to lay out a schedule of balance and sanity, something comes up to seriously disrupt the plan. The nerve!

But maybe, just maybe, I'm growing in spirit. Because today, and throughout this entire episode with one nasty little beastie of a kidney stone, I find I am able to embrace the disruption. In fact, I am very, very grateful that I have not experienced the kind of pain that is often described for kidney stones, or for the procedure I've just had. I'm so glad for flexible and understanding colleagues who are willing to change their own well-laid out week, to accommodate me, and who express care and concern over any kind of annoyance this certainly brings them. I am over the top loving it that my husband Ken has willingly and without complaint stayed home to be with me - and OFFERED a quick Tim's run this morning! And how this disruption has actually provided us with a rare space of hours in a row to be quiet together in our family room with a fire on.

I am encouraged and affirmed by the prayers of family and friends. My Mom prayed over me on Sunday when we visited - such a blessing to be prayed over by a parent. And there are used-to-be orphans praying for me from half way around the world, which I still find astonishing. And, of course, the wonder of all the others in between who've emailed or texted or called just simply to say that they cared.

Isn't all of that a gift? Why wouldn't I embrace the gifts of this disruption?

I'm glad I'm growing, but a little sad too, for all the gifts I've missed before. I regret my previous tirades, endured by those around me. Sure, I want to be remembered as a diligent and faithful worker. But hopefully, from now on, I'll be able to make some new memories of a more gentler, less self-centered person.

Someone who can embrace disruptions with grace.

Catching My Breath Between God-Sightings

It's been a breath-taking two days.
Back to back to back.
Conversations, meetings, visits, introductions, sessions, confrontations, Scripture.
Seems like it started first thing Wednesday morning and just wouldn't quit, right up to just before supper tonight (Thursday).

God-sightings.

Funny. I remain convinced for some reason, that I actually do have control over how any given day will go. It's an illusion, I know, utilizing the mirrors of Outlook Calendar, my Blackberry and a weekly list of what needs to be done. Yet, in the last two days so much of that list has NOT been checked off.

Today especially.

Thought it might be a great day to hunker down into my office and pull off some much needed paperwork, emails, manuscripts, and other assorted concentration-intensive aspects of what I do.

But when I first woke up this morning, following an already surprising Wednesday, I realized what was actually unfolding for the day. Seemed like it was going to involve very little office time after all. So I decided to spare myself the frustration and enjoy what God had in mind instead. Probably sounds rather obvious to you, but for me, the way I'm wired, this is a mini, in-my-head kind of miracle.

I can't really give you the play by play of these past 48 hours. The Divine would get lost in the details. But the fact is, as I moved through these two days, He breathed into all of it, every nook and cranny with a redemptive activity that was nothing short of stunning.

Not a little part of all this was a visit from Asia's Hope's incredible National Director for Thailand, Tutu Bee and her delightful husband Dan. Their stories, both as individuals and as a couple, are full of God, full of compassion, full of freedom, full of hope. It's impossible to calculate the number of lives that have been rescued from despair and degradation because of the life and legacy of Tutu. It's impossible to imagine how much more God will do through them now as a couple, seeking to serve God on behalf of children in South East Asia. The time we spent together as a church was rich, warm, gut-inspiring. Then, for me, our meals together, sharing each other with each other, was like taking a long drink on a hot dry day. My spirit is so refreshed.

On top of Tutu and Dan's visit, I've also seen

• the strength of a soul surrendered to God's sovereignty in the face of death,

• been loved in the translated words of more than a dozen hand written letters,

• been affirmed by the prayers of brother-Elders,

• been awed by the synergy of spirit-led leadership development planning,

• and watched God (was that Him grinning?) bring impossible but very welcome elephants into the room.

I drove home at the end of it full of joy and wondering at the undeserved blessings of the One who lets me do this pastoring gig - especially the part where I get to tag along to watch Him do His thing.

Tonight, I just need to be quiet, catch my breath, and wonder what's He's up to for tomorrow.

A Simple Gratitude

It's been a quiet Thanksgiving in some ways, and that's been great. Yesterday, it was "just us" [minus one and I'm letting those longings be God's deal], with all three grandchildren and a walk in the maple bush right near our house. Loved it. Gentle, together, outside with the Creator....and my family.

Shouldn't be, really. So much would have been our undoing were it not for that same Creator creating in us room for each other, and forgiveness, and acceptance. I am grateful this Thanksgiving that I have been forgiven by my children for the inadequacies of my mothering, and that by now they still love me enough to want to take a Thanksgiving walk together. So grateful for that.

I am grateful for how that love is also the connecting wire to three (so far) stellar little human beings that mystically carry some of my DNA and totally carry my heart. My gratitude for that is unspeakable.

I am grateful for a husband who has walked walks with me for 33 years plus and still serves me in his willingness to match his stride to mine, both actually and metaphorically, as we follow what has at times been a very winding life-road.

I am grateful for the harshness that's come to us in different ways, meant to break us up, but somehow having been used to bind us tight. And the missing one too. In time. I know it, because of how He's proven Himself faithful.

Simply walking in a bush together on Thanksgiving.

Redemption Song

Today I celebrate all that has been redeemed for my friend BJ. Last month marked the miracle of her first year of sobriety.

What a gift to have journied with her these past 22 years, to see how strong love is and to know such loyalty and truth from such a friend!

Blessings and strength to you, dear heart. May you press onward into all the abundance that God still longs to give you.

Best Of Both

Ken and I have been able to sneak back up to the cottage for a completely "exta bonus" three days, finishing off August in Georgian Bay style. What a gift!

It's not a holiday, per se; both of us brought work with us, and have kept in touch with faithful cohorts at home via the wonders of modern technology.

Still, writing sermons (my main objective for these days) is so inspiring in the so-quiet of a cottage morning, where my concentration is broken only by an eager visit from the chipmunk looking for breakfast, or the loud splash of that huge bass that repeatedly shows off his tricks for me.

So. Best of both worlds. It's such a happy thing to be here again, starting my morning with a cup of tea on the deck. AND it's such a happy thing to be engaged in meaningful work with sensational people and to be looking forward to all that's coming this fall.

I feel so full of blessings these days. This is not in the absence of challenge and heartbreak, both my own and the people I serve and love. The stories of our lives intertwined include difficult chapters all along the way. But there's a deeper understanding of the promised endings of things, and as I meditate on those promises, I am more and more convinced that good prevails.

I can rest in that conviction....and look out over the water or open the door to my office - either way, starting my day in confident expectation. Because God's holiness shines brilliantly into souls and out beyond time and space.

And I get to muse on these things on the dock. Quiet happiness. Gentle joy. Here and home, both feeling like home.

Best of both.
Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

I Like to Be Right

I didn't know this before, but apparently there's a boy's side and a girl's side to the blue plastic teeter totter in our backyard. I was informed of this little known fact by my 5 year old granddaughter, Abby, this afternoon.

She and her brother Zachary were up and downing quite successfully - part of our wonderful hours outside on this perfect long weekend - when suddenly Abby stopped the action, feet planted firmly on either side of her end.

"Wait!" she said, "We're on the wrong sides!" She said this rather decidedly, and with a clear tone of this being something that required immediate rectifying. I tried to explain that there really were no "sides" to teeter totters, but she bent her small head around to check what turned out to be a label on the one side of the toy. "There! There's the girl side and there's the boy side."

Sure enough, there was the label, showing two children, one smiling girl, and one smiling boy. And yes, Abby and Zachary were on the "wrong sides.". Well then.

Since Zachary is just two and it takes a bit more effort for him to climb on and off the teeter totter, and since we had, after all, just got started, I suggested that it really didn't matter who sat on what side, and let's just stay the way we are. But Abby was insistent. Helping Zachary do the switch, she looked at me, and said matter-of-factly, but without any cheekiness or attitude, "I like to be right."

So you do, my dear. And you come by it quite honestly, I'm afraid. First born female of a first born female of a first born female. If that's not a recipe for perfectionist tendencies, I don't know what is. Good thing both her mother and her grandmother are well aware of the dangers of our shared temperament, and have committed ourselves to the lifelong pursuit of balance, loosening the ropes, and, every once in a while and on purpose, colouring outside of the lines. And even though I am far from getting this down pat, hopefully, as Abby's personality continues to show itself, she and I can keep on learning together how to function and thrive, in health and wholeness, in a far from perfect world.

Still.....I admit to an appropriate degree of delight in her statement. Yes! Oh Honey, I like to be right too! Feels good to live in order and clarity. There's joy in truth and strength in obedience - to the right things of course. When it comes together, and there's a straightness to the path, and a goodness to the action, and a godliness to the choice, in those moments it's supposed to feel deeply and passionately right, even when it might also be so very hard to do. It's paths of righteousness that the psalmist is so glad his Gentle Shepherd guides him along.

And while the abuses of perfectionism can be brutal, please, my dearest child, do not ever stop liking being 'right'. Not, of course, in the way that has to win every argument or pridefully thinks you have all the answers. That's something entirely different. But this joy in doing it properly....delight in it. Don't think you have to "fix" this desire to be right. It's who God created you to be. And He wants to use it for Him.

In my recent ponderings about self awareness and self care, I am embracing my perfectionism these days. Reintroducing it as a means by which I can reduce some of the stresses that tend to make me a less gentle person than I want to be. I know this may sound somewhat contradictory, but the truth is, if I am allowed the time and space to do things "right", the world gets a better me. And when I strive to "chill" or "let it go" too much, if I give way to the mess and disorder for too long, try to live in it as if it were the norm, even if I think I'm doing that to accommodate others, I end up being a much paler version of myself.

So, I'm liking this about me again. But the trick is - and here Abby has it - in order to do this, I have to stop the teeter totter, take the time, help those around me who need help so I don't just dump them in the grass, and get myself situated properly. From time to time I will have to plant my feet firmly on the ground, bring the action to a halt, and make things right. Spend some time sitting quietly beside some water. Write slowly in my journal, so my penmanship is pretty again. Stop talking, and just listen. Like that.

Does it matter what side of the teeter totter you're on?

It might.