They say a picture is worth one thousand words.So here are two recent pictures of Scout. The first taken during her recuperation from her infection:
and the second last Sunday at the dog park.
Can you say "fully recovered?"
Woof!
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Where We Were
On Friday evening and Saturday, we briefly escaped to historic Red Wing, Minnesota. 
We love Red Wing and have stayed in the town before. Most recently, we were fortunate enough to get away for two nights in early March. We stayed at the historic St. James Hotel right in the middle of a blizzard, and spent a couple of days feeling lazy and pampered. If you have to visit somewhere while a blizzard is raging outside, please make sure you stay in a place like the St. James Hotel.
However, the St. James Hotel does not take pets.
We spent a quie
t evening reading and writing in a somewhat less luxurious hotel where Scout was welcome. We spent the next beautiful day hiking along the Mississippi River and climbing around Barn Bluff. It was warmer than we expected, and the hike wore both of us humans out. But Scout loved every minute of it. She even made a few new friends. We stopped at Pottery Place Antiques for lemonade and iced coffee before heading home that evening.
t evening reading and writing in a somewhat less luxurious hotel where Scout was welcome. We spent the next beautiful day hiking along the Mississippi River and climbing around Barn Bluff. It was warmer than we expected, and the hike wore both of us humans out. But Scout loved every minute of it. She even made a few new friends. We stopped at Pottery Place Antiques for lemonade and iced coffee before heading home that evening. We made an impulse stop in Hastings, where classic cars were gathering for a car show. It was Scout's least favorite stop, although she did make one or two friends. She didn't like standing so close to cars revving their engines.
Once home, I finished up the evening by doing the dishes and cleaning out the ice cube keeper. For some reason, I felt a small sense of calm after getting this task done.
So, a brief getaway to a beautiful place -- and finally cleaning out the ice cube keeper -- these two things made me feel ready to face the new week.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
My Last Day In South Dakota
I had really left two weeks before, on a Sunday afternoon. It was the middle of May. I preached my last sermon, a story sermon without notes, I remember. I stopped at an anniversary celebration for the retired pastor who lived in my community. And I drove, my car full of boxes (and one cat), to my new call in suburban Minneapolis. My parents had taken a car-full as well, and my mom had tried to help me organize and pack the possessions that had bred like mice in the parsonage during the last four years.
But I wasn't done yet. The moving truck was coming at the end of May. I had left some half-packed boxes throughout the two-story, five-bedroom house I had managed to fill up all by myself. So, on Sunday night two weeks later, I drove back to the prairie and walked back into my home.
My church secretary and my past church secretary both came over that night, to help me finish packing the rest of my boxes. I had started out with such aspirations to organize: books, music, dishes, clothes. It all made sense at first. Somewhere along the way, though, I had discovered items that didn't quite fit into my neat categories: "miscellaneous". Miscellaneous, it turned out, was my biggest category. Gifts, stationery, a cloth angel wall-hanging, candles, bric-a-brac, scripture verses, hand lotion, bath soaps -- after awhile many things became "miscellaneous."
Monday morning I was still working when the movers arrived, two earnest young men from the big city. They seemed bewildered to be here, as if they had taken a wrong turn and fallen off the edge of the world. One of them talked more than the other. He saw my grandmother's old piano in the corner and said, "That's staying here, isn't it?" "No, that's going," I answered. He saw my small television in another corner, and asked some question or another about a show I never watched. "I don't get that station," I replied. "What? You don't get cable?" He looked around and said, "I could never live in a place like this."
He didn't know the half of it. I didn't get cable; I also didn't get NBC; never got addicted to E.R., because it was not available on my television. And during blizzards, ABC went out too, so I was pretty much left with CBS and Public Television. And we did have blizzards. During blizzards I did jigsaw puzzles, caught up on paperwork (like parochial reports, conveniently due in January or early February), called people on the telephone, cross-stitched and watched the same movie over and over until I knew it by heart (no video store either). One year it was Strictly Ballroom; another it was Gigi. I think I watched Roman Holiday over and over one winter too. And of course, if the snow wasn't too bad, I could always walk over to the council president's house. They did have cable.
I had never seen professional movers at work before. They were experts at building boxes around furniture. Everything was going very quickly, as they emptied my bedroom (couldn't understand my love of antiques), the kitchen and the living room. I was furiously packing the last of the kitchen items while they worked. At one point the talkative mover asked me, "Are there ticks here? I think I got a tick!" I said that yes, there were ticks out here at this time of the year, and he shook his head again and said, "I could never live in a place like this."
I remembered the two summers my niece and nephew came out to stay with me for a week. One year they came at the same time; the next year they came separately. They had a great time at Vacation Bible School. The older children down the block came over and played with them and baby-sat while I did hospital and nursing home calls. I invited them all over for dinner one night and my neice cried and cried when they left. My nephew learned to ride a bike; a family loaned him their smallest one for the week he stayed with me. And my neice chased a cat under the porch and -- you guessed it -- got a tick.
Lunchtime drew near, and my movers asked where they could get a hamburger. In the next town, ten miles away, I told them. "No restaurants here?" they asked. No. No restaurant, no grocery store, no gas station. I told them I would drive down and pick up a couple burgers for them. "I could never live in a place like this," the young mover said, yet again.
Almost four years before, on a hot day in the middle of July, I had driven into town, following the pick up trucks (and a U-Haul) driven by the council presidents of two of my congregations. Between us, we carried all of my possessions. Shortly after we left Watertown, they seemed to speed up and I had a hard time keeping up with them. They ran a stop sign just east of a small town called Hazel. Following them, I ran the stop sign too, fearing I would not find my way if I lost sight of them. (Later on, I found out that they were laughing, and one of them said, "Our pastor broke the law." to which the other replied, "at least she slowed down.")
Perhaps I was thinking, "I could never live in a place like this," as we turned on to the street which would eventually turn in to this small town, home to (as the sign said) 90 people (although others thought the correct number was 63). As our small caravan of cars approached the parsonage, it seemed as if everyone in the whole parish was there, waiting for me.
That's why they ran the stop sign. They were late.
They were making barbeques (South Dakota for "sloppy joes") and serving chips and lemonade, and of course bars. And they made moving into a party. They had my furniture and my possessions unloaded and in the house in an hour. And then they wisely left me to get acquainted with my new home. I did hear later, that one man had commented to his wife as they were leaving, that he felt sorry for me living all alone in this great big house with hardly any furniture.
Perhaps he was thinking, "How can she live in a place like this?"
And now, almost four years later, I was leaving. I was ready to go to a place where I could be anonymous, at least sometimes. I was ready to go to a place where I could have Chinese food for lunch, and hop right over to the nearest bookstore. I was ready to go to a place where the grocery store was five minutes away, where I didn't have to do jigsaw puzzles and cross-stitch during blizzards, and watch endless marathons of Gigi. Really, I was ready to go.
How could I have lived in a place like this?
But then there was my first Easter there. It was my birthday, and as I walked down the steps to the Easter breakfast, I saw that they had gotten a cake, and that there were cards and presents. There were the Christmas programs every year, and the gifts they left for each other under the tree. There was the surprise party they threw for my 40th birthday, and there were all the pickles and jams and sweet corn and green beans and even a couple of pheasants, once (but that's another story).
It was a lonely day, just me and the movers. I didn't run into anyone from the church. After all, I had already officially left. But every once in awhile I had to go upstairs, to the second floor, and have a good cry.
I was ready to go -- really I was. I was a big-city girl, returning to her roots. I had never lived in a place like this. Sure, my mother was from rural Minnesota, but that was different: trust me. A small town of 4,000 is much different than a small town of 63. And I had only visited there. I had a been a fish-out-of-water for four years, and now I was going home. That's what one of the council presidents had said. "You're going home."
"I could never live in a place like this," I heard the young mover say, again.
In my mind, I replied, "you never know."
P.S. this is a draft of something I'd like to continue working on. I'd appreciate feedback.
Friday, September 21, 2007
"Stuff"
I wrote this a number of years ago when I was in seminary. When I saw the RevGals Friday 5 on "Clutter", I remembered it.
What was that noise? I heard a loud thud and went to the window. There it was, in the middle of our driveway. A two-ton crate with my name on it. I was both surprised and embarrassed to see it there. It seemed at the same time too large and too small, considering what it was. It was the accumulation of three years of my life overseas. It was all of my "stuff" from Japan.
I had packed it all myself, some months before. I labelled boxes, counted socks, wrapped bubble paper around breakable. Then I sent it off, forgetting what most of it was, except every once in awhile, when I would think of a particular item and wonder where it was. "Oh yeah," I would think, "that's in my stuff from Japan," and begin anticipating impatiently the day when it all would arrive.
There were a few problems getting my "stuff." It got to the U.S. all right, but it got stuck somewhere in customs, where they refused to release it to me. It seems that I had been overly meticulous and honest in itemizing it, so that they thought I ought to pay them about $500 for it. Not only did I doubt that it was worth that much, but so did my national church headquarters. They were unwilling to reimburse me that much money. The thought occurred to me that I would never see my "stuff" again. I pleaded, I cried and I prayed. I finally talked the customs people down to $32.50, came in and gave them a check, and verified my shipping lists. It was indeed, all my "stuff."
"Well," I asked eagerly, "when can I get it?" I had been kind of hoping that I could take it with me that day. "We'll make arrangements for it to be delivered soon," they promised. So I went home and waited. Then one day came the thud, and the two-ton crate, much larger than I had remembered, much too large to "take with me" anywhere.
I spent many hours and days then taking out of the crate boxes I had packed myself, as if I had never seen them before. As I retrieved old tennis shoes and ornate vases, unopened goodbye gifts and patched sweaters, miraculously unbroken dishes and cardboard boxes of Christmas card and letters, I remembered things both precious and mundane. I touched things again I had forgotten all about, searched for those things I knew I had, and tried to find a place for some of it in my parents' house. It was quite a mess for a long time after that. In some ways, it still is.
In some ways, I have spent my life since then unpacking and then packing up "stuff." I can't quite seem to stop accumulating it. I don't know what to do with it all. It seems that there is always something at the bottom of a box at my parents' house that I suddenly can't live without. A Japanese cup that becomes a symbol of gracious hospitality. A book with one sentence in it that I suddenly remember and understand. A handmade gift that calls to mind a child I loved and promised to write, but did not.
What is all this "stuff" anyway? "Stuff" is a word that has crept into our vocabulary that shows how crowded and puzzling our lives have become. "Stuff" is indefinite and indistinct. There is always too much of it. It crowds out tiny dorms rooms, fills our dark attics, lines our narrow hallways. Our lives are crowded with memories, obligations and information. What is all this "stuff"? And what do we do with it all?
Boxes line my closets, filled with trinkets and gifts, silverware and old toys, things I cannot use right now, but that are too valuable to throw away. Books almost tumble off my shelves, all filled with information promising to be useful in my years of ministry. Memories tumble through my mind, some pleasant, some painful, overflowing the boxes I have stuffed them in, promising me insight into myself as a person and a pastor. Traditions line and mark my years, both giving meaning and constraining me. They are all a part of my "stuff." They are all a part of me.
I wonder if I will ever again have all my "stuff" out of boxes, and know what it's for. I wonder if I will ever have room in my life for all of my "stuff", of the courage to throw some of it away. Some stuff might be useful, and some might be excess baggage, but how do I learn the difference? What do I grasp, and what do I let go of? What should I hold on to, and what is holding me back?
What do I do with all this stuff?
What was that noise? I heard a loud thud and went to the window. There it was, in the middle of our driveway. A two-ton crate with my name on it. I was both surprised and embarrassed to see it there. It seemed at the same time too large and too small, considering what it was. It was the accumulation of three years of my life overseas. It was all of my "stuff" from Japan.
I had packed it all myself, some months before. I labelled boxes, counted socks, wrapped bubble paper around breakable. Then I sent it off, forgetting what most of it was, except every once in awhile, when I would think of a particular item and wonder where it was. "Oh yeah," I would think, "that's in my stuff from Japan," and begin anticipating impatiently the day when it all would arrive.
There were a few problems getting my "stuff." It got to the U.S. all right, but it got stuck somewhere in customs, where they refused to release it to me. It seems that I had been overly meticulous and honest in itemizing it, so that they thought I ought to pay them about $500 for it. Not only did I doubt that it was worth that much, but so did my national church headquarters. They were unwilling to reimburse me that much money. The thought occurred to me that I would never see my "stuff" again. I pleaded, I cried and I prayed. I finally talked the customs people down to $32.50, came in and gave them a check, and verified my shipping lists. It was indeed, all my "stuff."
"Well," I asked eagerly, "when can I get it?" I had been kind of hoping that I could take it with me that day. "We'll make arrangements for it to be delivered soon," they promised. So I went home and waited. Then one day came the thud, and the two-ton crate, much larger than I had remembered, much too large to "take with me" anywhere.
I spent many hours and days then taking out of the crate boxes I had packed myself, as if I had never seen them before. As I retrieved old tennis shoes and ornate vases, unopened goodbye gifts and patched sweaters, miraculously unbroken dishes and cardboard boxes of Christmas card and letters, I remembered things both precious and mundane. I touched things again I had forgotten all about, searched for those things I knew I had, and tried to find a place for some of it in my parents' house. It was quite a mess for a long time after that. In some ways, it still is.
In some ways, I have spent my life since then unpacking and then packing up "stuff." I can't quite seem to stop accumulating it. I don't know what to do with it all. It seems that there is always something at the bottom of a box at my parents' house that I suddenly can't live without. A Japanese cup that becomes a symbol of gracious hospitality. A book with one sentence in it that I suddenly remember and understand. A handmade gift that calls to mind a child I loved and promised to write, but did not.
What is all this "stuff" anyway? "Stuff" is a word that has crept into our vocabulary that shows how crowded and puzzling our lives have become. "Stuff" is indefinite and indistinct. There is always too much of it. It crowds out tiny dorms rooms, fills our dark attics, lines our narrow hallways. Our lives are crowded with memories, obligations and information. What is all this "stuff"? And what do we do with it all?
Boxes line my closets, filled with trinkets and gifts, silverware and old toys, things I cannot use right now, but that are too valuable to throw away. Books almost tumble off my shelves, all filled with information promising to be useful in my years of ministry. Memories tumble through my mind, some pleasant, some painful, overflowing the boxes I have stuffed them in, promising me insight into myself as a person and a pastor. Traditions line and mark my years, both giving meaning and constraining me. They are all a part of my "stuff." They are all a part of me.
I wonder if I will ever again have all my "stuff" out of boxes, and know what it's for. I wonder if I will ever have room in my life for all of my "stuff", of the courage to throw some of it away. Some stuff might be useful, and some might be excess baggage, but how do I learn the difference? What do I grasp, and what do I let go of? What should I hold on to, and what is holding me back?
What do I do with all this stuff?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Shhhh! It's a Secret...
It's been a very busy week. In a few minutes I'm leaving for Inreach Training at Central City church. I'm doing the opening reflection. The training will last until 9:00 tonight.
Next week doesn't look better. In fact, a little worse: Tuesday, another inreach training at my own church; Wednesday, confirmation, Thursday, my book club (I have, alas, not finished the book, Abide with Me, by Elizabeth Strout, yet), Friday, wedding rehearsal (at an outdoor location I still don't have a map for), Saturday, Health Care meeting, Wedding (at an outdoor location I still don't have a map for), Sunday (deep breath) Young Couples' Dinner. Oh, and did I mention I'm preaching next week? No?
But I'm not preaching this week. So tomorrow night and Saturday Husband and I are going to take a little get away to a secret location. I don't know for sure where it is, but I think it looks like this:
My dream: relaxing time reading and writing (maybe even some bad poetry! I haven't done that in years), and active time hiking with Scout, if the weather turns nice. And time to get away from the pressure and desire to succeed at all of the things I am doing, and remember that I am a person and a child of God.
My hope: that I will return renewed.
I believe in this: do you?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Rite of Passage
Well, it has finally happened! On Monday, actually, although I waited until today to post about it. YES. I had my first ever RevGal Meet-Up, with RevDrKate of Prairie Light. (The obligatory picture should be posted on her site if not now, soon.)
She came up to my big city for some work and play over the weekend and into this week. (Hope it was fun!) We got in touch on Saturday and Sunday nights by phone, to work out our plans for how we would cross paths.
On Monday I drove to Suburb That Is Almost In Wisconsin to pick her up, and we had a fine brunch together at Edina's Original Pancake House. We both had Swedish Pancakes with lingonberries and talked "shop" and "blogging" (maybe a little too much for Husband).
While waiting for tall Husband to enter the restaurant, I looked up and saw a face that looked somewhat familiar. When Husband sat down with us, he informed us that yes, it was true: Twins center fielder Torii Hunter had just entered the restaurant.
After the picture, when Husband and I were both back at home, he said, "You know, if I had known there was a camera involved, I would have gotten your picture with Torii."
Oh, well. Just missed true greatness by such a little bit.
And for those who don't like baseball, Torii is well known for his community work (especially in the schools) as well.
But as for me, it was enough to meet the famous RevDrKate.
P.S. Please let me know how this rates on the "coincidence scale": at her workshop, RevDrKate met (and had lunch with) a member of my congregation who is a diaconal minister.
She came up to my big city for some work and play over the weekend and into this week. (Hope it was fun!) We got in touch on Saturday and Sunday nights by phone, to work out our plans for how we would cross paths.
On Monday I drove to Suburb That Is Almost In Wisconsin to pick her up, and we had a fine brunch together at Edina's Original Pancake House. We both had Swedish Pancakes with lingonberries and talked "shop" and "blogging" (maybe a little too much for Husband).
While waiting for tall Husband to enter the restaurant, I looked up and saw a face that looked somewhat familiar. When Husband sat down with us, he informed us that yes, it was true: Twins center fielder Torii Hunter had just entered the restaurant.
After the picture, when Husband and I were both back at home, he said, "You know, if I had known there was a camera involved, I would have gotten your picture with Torii."
Oh, well. Just missed true greatness by such a little bit.
And for those who don't like baseball, Torii is well known for his community work (especially in the schools) as well.
But as for me, it was enough to meet the famous RevDrKate.
P.S. Please let me know how this rates on the "coincidence scale": at her workshop, RevDrKate met (and had lunch with) a member of my congregation who is a diaconal minister.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The List
Right now I am working on a lot of ministry items, maybe too many (I think, secretly, sometimes). There is one that I think is most important to our future as a congregation, but all of them have some place in my heart.
1. The Outreach Coordinator and I are planning a Young Couples' Dinner on September 30. We're an older congregation, but could find 9 young couples to invite ... and 4 of them have already RSVP'd! This is close to my heart because it all started with two of the couples. I know them pretty well, and I have been thinking for awhile, "I wish I could invite them both over for dinner. They have so much in common." We just broadened the vision.
2. First annual (I hope) Blessing of the Animals on Sunday, October 7. Pray for good weather.
3. I am leading an Adult Forum on "How to Study the Bible" on October 14th. (Boy, I almost forgot that)
4. Weddings on September 29, October 12, and November 3 (two off-site).
5. We are planning a Congregational Inreach for the month of October and into November. We have done congregational inreaches on a few other occasions. I believe they are great opportunities to deepen our relationships with one another in our congregations. A few years ago we had an inreach and trained 50 congregation members to be "visitors." They take an evening training where they learn to do a "one to one" visit, which is not an interview with a set of standard questions, but a natural conversation where the visitor really tries to listen for the most important stories the person has to share, their interests, passions and concerns. Sometimes we find out about particular struggles people are going through, but it's not a pastoral care visit. We often find out interesting things about a person's passions, interests, and history. We also find out what has drawn the person to our congregation, what they are proud of, what they wish for. I believe they are holy conversations. It is so rare that we allow ourselves to "go deep" with one another.
In preparing for the Inreach, I re-read Paul's 1st Letter to the Corinthians, chapter 12. He talks about the church as a body, with individual gifts and abilities (eyes, ears, feet, hands), but also a need for interdependence. They exist, as a body does, to be in relationship with each other. They function not for their own good, but for the good of the whole body. They have each been given gifts, but they are for the "common good", Paul says. I think we have lost this notion, both in the church, and in our wider communities. Instead, we think of ourselves as a collection of individuals. It's not that I think that (especially church) people are selfish. I know a lot of people who are going the extra mile for family, or friends. But I'm not sure that most of us have the sense that we are bound to each other, as the image of the body of Christ would suggest.
These one to one conversations, I pray, will strengthen our ties to each other, and also help us to envision what the future of our congregation will be.
1. The Outreach Coordinator and I are planning a Young Couples' Dinner on September 30. We're an older congregation, but could find 9 young couples to invite ... and 4 of them have already RSVP'd! This is close to my heart because it all started with two of the couples. I know them pretty well, and I have been thinking for awhile, "I wish I could invite them both over for dinner. They have so much in common." We just broadened the vision.
2. First annual (I hope) Blessing of the Animals on Sunday, October 7. Pray for good weather.
3. I am leading an Adult Forum on "How to Study the Bible" on October 14th. (Boy, I almost forgot that)
4. Weddings on September 29, October 12, and November 3 (two off-site).
5. We are planning a Congregational Inreach for the month of October and into November. We have done congregational inreaches on a few other occasions. I believe they are great opportunities to deepen our relationships with one another in our congregations. A few years ago we had an inreach and trained 50 congregation members to be "visitors." They take an evening training where they learn to do a "one to one" visit, which is not an interview with a set of standard questions, but a natural conversation where the visitor really tries to listen for the most important stories the person has to share, their interests, passions and concerns. Sometimes we find out about particular struggles people are going through, but it's not a pastoral care visit. We often find out interesting things about a person's passions, interests, and history. We also find out what has drawn the person to our congregation, what they are proud of, what they wish for. I believe they are holy conversations. It is so rare that we allow ourselves to "go deep" with one another.
In preparing for the Inreach, I re-read Paul's 1st Letter to the Corinthians, chapter 12. He talks about the church as a body, with individual gifts and abilities (eyes, ears, feet, hands), but also a need for interdependence. They exist, as a body does, to be in relationship with each other. They function not for their own good, but for the good of the whole body. They have each been given gifts, but they are for the "common good", Paul says. I think we have lost this notion, both in the church, and in our wider communities. Instead, we think of ourselves as a collection of individuals. It's not that I think that (especially church) people are selfish. I know a lot of people who are going the extra mile for family, or friends. But I'm not sure that most of us have the sense that we are bound to each other, as the image of the body of Christ would suggest.
These one to one conversations, I pray, will strengthen our ties to each other, and also help us to envision what the future of our congregation will be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)