We have been called...

The days of transition are almost over for Keith, Lucas, Billy-dog, and me, praise the Lord. As of Sunday, Oct. 25th, we were extended a call to be the co-pastors of First Presbyterian Church, La Grande, Oregon, and we are unbelievably thrilled at this opportunity.

It has been a long couple of months of waiting, as this call process has worked itself out. Since we left Monroe, LA at the end of August, we have visited Dallas and Amarillo, TX; Parker, CO; Powell, WY; and now, Vancouver, WA/Portland, OR. A lot of traveling, but a good time of reflection, discernment, and quiet preparation for this new step in our lives, becoming pastors of a church. We will officially begin serving the church on Nov. 9th.

I hope to return to a more regular practice of blogging when we are settled in at La Grande and our internet access becomes more regular.

Thanks for everyone who has prayed us through our seminary studies, internship, and now transition into pastoral ministry. It has been an exciting journey, and a new era is about to begin!

Moving into Limbo

I've been neglecting this blog as Keith and I pack up our apartment, again. We are leaving Monroe for Limbo for a couple of months. I promise to let you know what happens with our call process, as soon as I can (Call process: the means by which would-be seminary students become ordained pastors at a particular church somewhere). We are in process with a church, and it looks like there will be an eventual cesation to our wanderings, but not yet.

We are processing, in lots of ways, as it were. Right now, we are processing a year of life in Monroe, Louisiana, trying to pack our stuff, write our final sermons, and tie up any loose ends.

Is it possible to "tie up loose ends" from a year of life? I wonder about this. A year of relationship building. A year of sharing life stories, which are ongoing, which don't stop whenever we happen to leave this place. A year of helping to shape the life of this church community. These are ends that will really remain "loose." We don't know the end of any of our stories.

The main way we tie up loose ends is to say "thank you," I think. We can never say this enough, to each other, or, more importantly, to God. We have lots of thanks to give for our year in this place.

Reading the End of the Novel First?

"He also said, ‘The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.’ " Mark 4: 26-29

I can't stand transitions. I like beginnings, and I'm so-so with endings, but I get real impatient in the middle, the getting from here to there. Seriously, I'm one of those sinful people who usually reads the end of the novel shortly after beginning it. It's a terrible habit, very frowned upon in society. I usually do read the whole novel, but it helps me be able to put the book down for a few seconds if I know where the thing is going.

Keith, Lucas, and I are sitting right in the center of a transition right now, as we finish out our year-long internship here in Monroe, and wait as whatever what God has for us next unfolds. And it has been driving me batty!

I am reading another young adult fantasy novel from the library, which I really like: Graceling, by Kristin Cashore. I must admit that I skipped to the ending on this one, because I couldn't put it down otherwise, and it's hard to read straight through anything in my life, with a 21-month-old like Lucas, a dog like Billy, and a husband like Keith! Heh heh. But it is a great book, a really good story, and now as I read it cover-to-cover the way I'm supposed to, I'm realizing that one of the beauties of this book is the way Cashore develops the relationship between the two main characters. And that in skipping ahead, I missed out on the tensions and flow of that development.

And then it dawned on me how much I try to do this in my life. I want so bad to know the "end" of the story, to rush through the middle so I won't be held in suspense. But here I am, thirty-three years old, with a toddler and just really getting started in a vocation that it will take me a lifetime to master in any real way. And so, I'm right in the middle of everything! My whole life is suspense!

So I guess I'd better learn to appreciate it somehow, for the wondrous mystery that it is. This morning, looking at the daily lectionary, the above parable from Mark's Gospel came up, and I heard it in a new way. The farmer doesn't know how the seed sprouts, and the earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain. The development of the plant is a mystery, but it is an important mystery, an unfolding which has to happen for the plant to grow to fruition. But the exciting thing is watching how it happens.

It's not just that it's worth waiting for the mystery to unfold, but the joy in life is watching and appreciating exactly how that will happen, bit by bit, turn by turn.

Labyrinthine Graduation Reflections

Well, it's official. After four years, Keith and I have finally graduated from Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. There's even a picture of us, walking out the door of University Presbyterian Church, where the commencement ceremony was held, on the seminary website to prove it (it's number 5 in the changing slideshow of images at the top of the page).

Now Keith and I have entered the "call process," seeking a call to ordained ministry in a Presbyterian Church, somewhere in the world. It's a bit of an overwhelming process. Somehow, through the Holy Spirit, we will encounter our match and begin a life-changing relationship with a group of people who have come together in this amazing thing called "church." The best comparison to this process in my experience is that of seeking, meeting, dating, and choosing a mate. So far it's been both exciting and frightening. We've taken the first step, entering a new labyrinth.

During this past momentous and busy month of May, I've had the chance to walk two different labyrinths. Just before we left for graduation, we went to a church in Ruston, Louisiana and walked their labyrinth. It was a beautiful labyrinth, a replica of the famous one in Chartres, France. A couple of days after our graduation, Keith, Lucas, and I walked another labyrinth, at John Knox Ranch, a Presbyterian camp and conference center south of Austin. It was in the classic style (check out Wikipedia's page on labyrinths, which displays various styles).

Both times, as I walked, I took the suggestion of Daniel Wolpert, in Creating a Life with God, who says that, while walking toward the center of the labyrinth, listen for and let go of the things which have become barriers to your relationship with God. In the center, rest in communion with God. As you leave the center to walk the outward path, listen for and accept where God is sending you on your continued journey of faith.

Keith and I took turns, alternately walking the labyrinth and attending to Lucas. Lucas enjoyed running crazily in and out of the labyrinth, seeming to delight in the rhythm of its lines and flow. I went first, and I walked somewhat quickly, wanting to make sure Keith would have ample time to walk. But even with this concern in mind, I settled into a comfortable pace, and I was aware of God's presence with us in that place.

I could not help but love Lucas' wild running exuberance, though at first it seemed an interruption. But then, those interruptions simply became part of the journey. As I walked the outward cycles, I came to new gratitude, receiving and accepting the life God has given me as a gift, which is now replete with such "interruptions." Instead of wishing that I could be off by myself, silently, as I might have been able before Lucas came into our lives, I gave thanks that I could practice both the spiritual discipline of the labyrinth and the practice of mothering Lucas . I gave thanks for the vocations of ministry, of marriage, and of motherhood, to which God has called me.

These experiences resonate with something I read in Gernot Candolini's book, Labyrinths: Walking Toward the Center. He writes, "For me the labyrinth is an invitation to turst that my life has both followed and is continuing on a good path. We can take the prevailing directives--'this is the way to do it right'--and lay them aside. I don't believe that my life is locked into a bewildering maze, with someone sitting in judgment behind every wrong turn mocking my stupidity. I believe in a path that I take in just the way I'm taking it. I ultimately believe in the great contradiction, the great paradox, the great mystery of life: that on one hand I am as a person utterly free, that I may be entirely myself, unique and irreplaceable; and that at the same time I am perfectly secure and led, completely embedded in a sure path" (p. 97).

I am grateful for the chance to walk these labyrinths at this time in my life, as I take leave of seminary and listen for God's call.