Windrows

Windrows.  A new word!  Having been raised on “Wordly Wise” at the Lovett School in Atlanta, where we had weekly quizzes on almost every arcane word known to the English-speaking world, I find it oddly exciting to find a new word. The word of the week is “windrow.”  Around here, it means the pile of snow that is left at the foot of your driveway after the plows have come by.  In case you haven’t experienced windrows after 14 inches of snow, those suckers can be 4-5 feet high. Literally.  And that’s after you’ve already worked to get your driveway pristinely clear.

Some folks around here have complained to the city about the windrows, as if the plow drivers leave them there intentionally.  “Hey, I’ve been driving this snowplow for 12 hours, I think I’ll have a little fun and leave a mountain range of snow in this person’s driveway.” I see it as just the opposite. I had a lovely, clean, windrow-free driveway for most of the day yesterday, because my street remained unplowed. I was thrilled when I looked out late last night and saw my very own windrow- the plows had come!  Andy and I cleared it as new snow kept falling, and we cleared another one this morning.  Keep the plows coming, we’ll clean all the windrows you can give us.

I’ve been thinking about spiritual growth a lot lately.  Right now is one of those seasons in my life where circumstances are forcing me to grow a little faster than I’d prefer. Sometimes it’s kind of messy, and often it irritates me.  “I thought I’d gotten this thing cleaned up in my head a long time ago, and now I’m dealing with it again? Ugh!” What I’m really seeing, I think, are windrows.  The plow has come by, big things are getting cleared up, and the things that irritate me most are simply the remnants of something bigger that is happening. So I’ll shovel myself out one more time and be thankful that the plows have found their way to me.

Weeds become flowers

Sometimes, even when life is full of blessings, the difficult parts threaten to overwhelm.  Worries and

fears crowd in, obscuring almost everything else.  It happens to us all, Scripture reminds us, and it

happened recently to a dear friend of mine. Plowing through the tough times is hard work. It is often in those most difficult times that God is most visibly at work.  Sometimes the work of God involves removing the source of fear and anxiety, and sometimes God’s work is inside us, helping us walk through one more day in the valley.

These things were on my mind the other day when I came across the following poem by Joyce Rupp. She manages to speak so much truth and hope in these few sentences.

How I love it

when what I’ve known

as a weed

in me

suddenly becomes

a beautiful flower.

How I delight

when the rejected part

of me

becomes my friend.

How I cherish

the struggles

that change

my inner enemies

into my beloved friends.

Sally for Pope?

When I arrived at church this morning, I announced to all who were within earshot my official intention to run for Pope. Well, actually, my announcement may have involved the term “Pope-ette.”  For some reason, no one felt a need to offer to help me pack up my office in anticipation of my move to the Vatican.  

Ignoring my audience’s lack of enthusiasm, I went into my office to start typing my resume. I saw the message light on my phone, a call from someone I haven’t seen in a long, long time. My curiousity was piqued, and I returned the call.  This person was calling to apologize for a very minor slight that was over a decade old.  Frankly, at the time I had understood the person’s actions and had taken no offense. I was touched deeply by this person’s willingness to find me and call me after all of these years.  The rest of the phone call was getting caught back up on the many events in our families’ lives in the intervening years.  What a delightful gift to begin the week!

On further reflection, I hereby renounce my candidacy for the papacy.  This life that I have the privilege of living is too full of unexpected blessings to trade it in on some other life.  Someone else can wear the nifty hats and run the Vatican, I am thankful today to be exactly where God has put me.

The Person Driving Your Log

My mom was sharing a great memory with me the other day at lunch. It actually was a near-death experience. She and my father, who was then Country Director for the Peace Corps in Belize, were visiting some PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in a remote location that required boat travel across the lake. The boat that they found themselves in was a hollowed-out log with a motor. In their boat were a driver and a US military person, apparently to provide security for the Country Director of the Peace Corps (aka my father).

As my pareants prepared to leave the remote village to return to their home in Belmopan, a local warned them about setting out in the weather. (Lesson #1: Always pay attention to locals when they offer weather advice.) They saw only clear skies and had somewhere else they needed to be, so they left.  Shortly after leaving, the weather did indeed kick up, and my parents found themselves in the middle of the lake in a serious storm. The armed soldier didn’t really come in handy while my parents clung to the bottom of the boat and prayed to get safely to the other side. 

Much about this narrative will likely lend itself to a future sermon, probably about when Jesus walked on water and calmed the waves. Right now, though, I’m most taken with how my mother described their harrowing escape from this storm.  “The person who was driving our log decided to go full force through the storm to get to the other side.”   

Yes, there is plenty of sermon fodder in the imagery of moving forward through a storm until you have made it through. But, “the person who was driving our log???” It’s just not a phrase you hear all that often, especially sitting around the dining table in Kansas City.  It just made me smile.

So- should you find yourself in a log in the middle of a stormy lake- or anywhere else you never really thought you’d find yourself- may you always have a good log driver.

Good enough

Today was make-up day for Mandatory Boundaries Training, an every-four-year event for clergy in Missouri. I’m a big fan of the event, knowing how important it is for us clergy to be reminded to take very, very good care of the tender souls entrusted to us.  

I had missed the original date due to the death of my father, so I spent much of the two-hour drive to Columbia on Friday remembering some favorite things about him. I re-told myself stories that he had told me, and I remembered his gentle pride in each of his children.  I cried some on the drive, but never enough to be hazardous to my driving or my make-up.  When I arrived at the Conference Office at the right time, I knew something was wrong. The parking lot was mostly empty.  Mildly embarrassed, I walked into the office and asked the receptionist if she knew where the Boundary Training was.  She responded by getting up, walking into the central area of all of the Conference Staff offices, and yelling, “Hey, there’s a woman here who is looking for Boundary Training.”  My embarrassment was completed when someone yelled back that the event was Saturday, not Friday.  (Did I mention that I drove over there on Friday morning?)

My mistake in recording the date on my calendar turned into a gift.  I went Mother of the Groom dress shopping in Columbia with a friend and found The Perfect Dress. So did she, for a different wedding. I got to see my daughter perform admirably in her Mock Trial competition at Mizzou, and I had a great evening staying with my friend in her parsonage.  

I arrived at the Mandatory Boundary Training today refreshed, having only had to drive across town this morning.  Other than being stuck inside on a rare mild winter day, it was a good day.  I got to know some pretty cool colleagues a little better.  The speaker reminded us of the grace that helps us to handle the many burdens of ministry, even while she called us to strong accountability for the people in our care.  When we’re dealing with difficult situations or people, we still seek the places of grace. Or, as she imagines saying in her head to a troublesome person, “Even though you’re being a jerk, you’re still a child of God.”  I’ve spent a lot longer in trainings and learned a lot less, so it was a good enough day.

I’ll do my best to remember that it really is all about grace, and about how we’re all children of God in spite of how we might act sometimes. And that none of us is perfect, even us pastors.  And when someone points out my imperfections, calendar-wise or otherwise, I’ll remember that we’re all of us just children of God, and that’s enough.