For all that has been - thanks. For all that will be - yes.

We on eastern standard time are six hours from putting a close to the year 2013 and opening 2014.  I have mixed feelings about this as I anticipate changes in the new year which are likely to include multiple ups and downs in my life.  Am I ready?  Probably not, but since freezing or delaying time is not an option, all I can say, is Let it Be and Lord, Have Mercy.

The year has been quite full and I have much for which I give thanks.  I offer a gratitude, year-end summary list:

• attending President Obama's second inauguration with close friends, including my college roommate.  The experience was cold, exhilarating, peaceful, and joy-filled -- at least up until the point at which my friend Monica fell ill with the flu, just a few hours after POTUS took the oath 
  
• leading a women's retreat on prayer (inspired by Anne Lamott's book: Help. Thanks.Wow) at Camp Calumet in April with the faithful, caring, and fun women from my church; this was the last time that one of us would step into the waters of Lake Ossippee as our friend Rindi died from ovarian cancer four months after this retreat. Some of her ashes have been scattered at camp.
  
  
• going on a brief retreat myself with UC Div School colleagues in the middle of Pennsylvania -- catching up with a friend I hadn't seen in nine years, playing and praying together with the whole group, hiking along a beautiful waterfall, driving for many, many hours back to eastern Connecticut with one of the cutest kids ever, little Johnny Mills
  
• being accepted into the D.Min. program at Hartford Seminary and beginning the program this fall; I am pictured with MT's (Miriam Therese Winter's) prayer class below
  
  
• welcoming two little Boston cousins into the world: Andrew Pender and Eliana Acadia Harper
• spending a couple HOT days on the Cape with my mom and nephew, which included an adventure in canoeing through the National Seashore
  
• celebrating my dad's 70th birthday by racing a llama during the annual Burro Races in Fairplay, CO; our teams were the aviators and pilots, named after two of his many passions; our shirts read "Go Bananas for Happy" in honor of another passion and the name he is called by his grandkids
  
  
• attending Bishop Elizabeth Eaton's installation in Rockefeller Chapel at the University in Chicago in October; Bishop Eaton is the first female presiding bishop of the ELCA. WOOT! 
• traveling across country with my sister on a not terribly fun road-trip due to fatigue and hunger; the purpose was to bring my nephew's stuff (mainly computer) to him as he was in the process of beginning his freshman year at MIT (super proud aunt right here, another WOOT!)
• going to Disneyworld with John and friends; attending candle-lit processional of Christmas lessons and carols with the Christmas story read by Dennis Haysbert and staying at the Animal Kingdom Lodge from which we could view giraffes, wilderbeasts, and zebras grazing outside our balcony; best part of this December/Advent vacation, by far, was the bright sunshine and  70 degree weather 
  
• attending Katie Yahns' and Jeff Kane's joyous and thoughtful wedding (I remember well the terrific homily on their shared middle initial: L!)
• connecting with my college mentor (Ellie Heginbotham) and campus pastor (Gerry Coleman) in DC and saying goodbye to Katie Osweiler before she and Vic headed out to Niger for his Air Force assignment in the embassy
• hiking Mt. Washington with Jack, treacherous though it was 
• reading "Oh the Places You'll Go" at young friend Amy's memorial service at Zion in Ferndale, WA
• another Christmas in Maine with our friends who live in the deep woods where it is always a winter wonderland this time of year
  
  

Indeed,
in the words of Dag Hammarskjold,
for all that has been - thanks!
and, ready or not,
for all that will be - yes!

Why I love my job

Forbes recently produced an article listing the ten happiest jobs with clergy rating #1. 
You should be able to find Forbes' list at this address: www.forbes.com


I don't know what factored into creating this list and since being a pastor is the only full-time "grown-up" job I've had, I have little to which I can compare it.  However, I can easily see why it would rate high on the happiness scale.

I have often thought, especially in the rural congregation I served: If I didn't have those pesky student & car loans, I wouldn't need to be paid to do what I do; I could just live in the parsonage (a house belonging to the church), eat the delicious fruits, vegetables, and sometimes meat that my parishioners delight in growing and sharing - in addition, of course, to the potlucks we frequently share.  But there is the whole issue of retirement savings and health-care and the desire to buy cute shoes and Starbucks coffee.  First-world issues, of course, but that is the world in which I live.

Though I'm unsure why Forbes thinks it's so happy, the following is what I love about my job.  I want to put this in writing when I'm feeling positive and grateful so I can look back on my list when I'm feeling down and grumpy (could be tomorrow).

 1.  God is gracious, merciful, healing, creative, surprising, playful, and just -- and through Jesus (as well as a whole bunch of other ways) God makes this known to the world.  It is my job to tell stories about this loving and very much alive God in weekly preaching and worship and in small groups, retreats, Bible-studies, forums, meetings, one-on-ones, summer camp, etc.  Doing that is an instant upper.  I mean: I don't always feel super-happy when preparing sermons or leading Bible-studies or sitting in meetings.  I'm often tired or distracted and I get annoyed by strange passages and narrow interpretations of the Bible; I also get disappointed by cranky and controlling people.  But if I even get to utter it once a day in one form or another (God loves you or, more simply, you are loved), I am the one who is blessed.  Every sermon I preach is first preached to myself. 

2.  People invite me to share in their lives in remarkable and intimate ways.  I am honored to share in the joy, blessing and celebration of a birth, baptism, graduation, and wedding; often, because of my role, I'm not only invited to attend such an occasion, but also to help form the ritual and ceremony in a way that reflects the values of the people involved and connects their story to God's story.  Perhaps the even greater honor is to be invited into people's lives during hard times - the break-up of a relationship (though, honestly, I don't receive as many invitations on this one), the loss of a job or death of a loved one, illness, grief, uncertainty about the future, and depression.  Those are enormous and profound experiences, and to walk through them with someone or a family is meaningful and holy work.

While those may be the two best things about my call, I will mention a couple other great things that contribute to my work-place happiness.

3. I have great colleagues! I have wondered at times if I chose to become a pastor at a subconscious level just so I could hang out with pastors.  When I mentioned this out loud to colleagues, they suggested I see a mental health professional.  I have always loved and looked up to my pastors from childhood, adolescence, college, young-adulthood, and then soon enough (actually,it  took a very long time) I became a pastor and I still look up to those pastors from my past as well as the many new ones in my life, all of whom I am blessed to call colleagues.

4. I get to study, have a flexible schedule, and work in a coffee shop.  Reading, writing, and meeting with people in a cafe or pub is a legitimate part of this job.  Frequently, I have multiple meetings in one day at Panera Bread, or I end up at three different coffee shops for different meetings.  While I was waiting for my first call, I worked as a barista at a Starbucks in Seattle and I was excited about it just because I loved coffee shops (plus I was grateful for health-insurance for part-time employees).  What a blessing that I now can pursue what I love most and still work in a coffee shop (and yet not hurt my ear-drums by making eggnog lattes for 8 hours in a row).

There are many other reasons why this is a great gig, but I'll leave it at this short list for now.  I doubt the future-church can sustain many more full-time clergy as congregations continue to get smaller and re-invent themselves.  Seminaries are now encouraging students to consider ways of being bi-vocational.  I'm sure that whatever the body of Christ comes up with as new forms for ministry will be creative and exciting, but I also am glad that I have enjoyed this extreme privilege of being a community's pastor - and I am especially grateful for the congregations that made it possible by extending a call to me: Zion Lutheran in Ferndale, WA, and St. Mark Lutheran in Glastonbury, CT.  Thank you!

 "Stand up, take your mat & walk" is one summary of the God-story which I seek to both convey and embody through my life and daily profession.  Just over ten years ago, I had set out to Berkeley, CA to pursue studies at PLTS (Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary) for the purpose of preparation for ordained ministry.  That move was the next step (after completing an M.Div. at the University of Chicago) in the adventure which led me to Washington state for internship and my first call, followed by a cross-country move to Connecticut two years ago for my second call. I have now been a pastor for almost seven years.  Every day since then, I have been grateful for the privilege - indeed, an adventure! - of sharing God's love-story with people who are eager to enter it and reflect it outward, and to be invited into the lives and stories of my parishioners.  And most days, I can honestly say I love what I do.

Lemons or lemonade? Learning from mis-adventure

The last month has been full of adventure which is usually what brings me greatest joy in the season of summer.  What became clear to me over the course of these adventures, however, is that trying new things often means making mistakes which ideally can lead to a greater understanding of one's self and world.  But more commonly, it leads to regret and cursing yourself for making the stupid decision(s) that led to the predicament in the first place.  An opportunity may present itself as something sweet and wonderful - like lemonade! -but when you actually take it on, you discover the opportunity tastes more like lemons.  And the mis-adventure ensues.  I offer a couple examples, both dealing with summer hiking companions:

In July, on a whim, I hiked the second tallest mountain in the continental U.S.  I was in Colorado for my dad's 70th birthday, and my sister Monica invited us all on a hike.  Since it is one of her life's goals to summit all the 14-ers in CO, she suggested one she had not yet done: Mt. Elbert.  She said it was known for being easy.  Sounded great!  I encouraged my nieces to join us.  My 17 year-old nephew was already on board, as well as my dad, brother-in-law, and both sisters.  Two nieces were not interested, but the 10 year-old thought about it long and hard, and by the end of the day decided she wanted to join us.  Our crew headed out early the next morning to meet at the trail-head.  We anticipated it would take us 4 hours up and 2 hours down.  In reality, it took us 6 hours to get up, and 5 hours to get down.  It was a HUGE mountain (you don't get to be the tallest peak in CO by being puny!).

The thin air presented a major challenge for breathing, especially for the part above the tree line, but overall I was well-suited for the trail's level of difficulty.  This was not the same story for my 10 year-old niece who fought back tears for much of the way up.  The rest of our crew forged ahead at their own pace; I stayed back with her, feeling responsible for her predicament as I had encouraged her to do this, never having climbed a 14-er myself.  I told her we could turn back at anytime, but she wanted to press on.  When it became especially difficult to breathe as the oxygen got thinner and the mountain got steeper, I told her to take 30 steps, then sit and take a break for 30 seconds.  She did this and the breaks became longer and longer.  Finally - after what seemed like eternity - we made it!  The view from the top of the world (aka Mt. Elbert) was glorious and we took some fabulous pictures.  We also saw a rainbow made of the most vivid colors immediately in front of us on the way down.

It was a joy to hike with my family, and perhaps the joy was felt by no one more than my dad who beamed with pride at the top when surrounded by his family. And it was a huge achievement for us all.  But was it worth the tears of a child?  I'm not sure. If my niece is willing to go hiking again someday, perhaps.  But since Colorado has a lot of other mountains, in the future I will suggest a hike that is more family-friendly.

Mis-adventure #2:  Having just experienced the Rocky Mountain high, I returned to the east coast intent on taking more hikes.  I booked a couple nights' stay at a campsite at Camp Calumet in New Hampshire.  I packed up my dog, backpack, and a change of clothes and headed north with the hope of climbing Mt. Washington - the northeast's highest peak.  I had read a few articles and was happy to learn dogs are welcome so in preparation, I had taken Jack, my 5 year-old chocolate lab, on several extra-long hikes in the Glastonbury/Manchester area. Once in New Hampshire, we set out early from our campsite on a Monday morning in early August.  I stopped in at the main visitor's center for food, water, and a map.  A staff-member recommended a couple specific trails for us to take - advice which we followed, at least for the way up.

All was wonderful for the first mile: there were friendly people, running streams, and a shady path for us to enjoy.  Then we hit the beginning of "Lion Head" (name of our trail) which amounted to a pile of rocks stacked directly on top of each other; this rock-pile continued for the remainder of the hike (3 more miles and  3,000+ feet in elevation). The rocks were so big and cliff-like we had to climb a ladder at the beginning of the super steep part.  Yes, my fearless dog climbed a ladder. That is what I considered the point of no return as there was no way he was going to climb down it.  We now had to get to the top.

The only problem, at least the primary one, was that Lion Head turned out to be an incredibly hostile trail for dogs. It required scaling rock-walls as if you were spider-man, sprawling yourself across the mountain on all fours. And the rocks, being more ancient that granite, were very rough; I later learned they are notorious for ripping paws up. What was Jack supposed to do?  He did his best, and then some.  At one point, after bounding up the mountain behind a group of teenagers, he found a resting place in the shade of a large rock - one of the only resting places in those entire 3 miles - and he slept for a half hour.  When he lay down, he was heaving intensely and for so long, I thought he was going to die.  I cursed myself for being foolish enough to bring him up there.  I apologized profusely to him and cried. I also prayed and read my Bible.  He didn't understand my apologies, but he certainly appreciated the love, water and snacks I provided (carrots, blueberries, and PB&J sandwiches).  Several hikers passed by us and some went out of their way to encourage us.  We learned we were 2.8 miles into the 4 mile trail (one-way).

Somehow, after his power-nap, we managed to keep going up (though there was no other way to go).  Several times, I helped hoist Jack up by supporting his haunches.  Other times, I had to look away due to fear and anxiety as he climbed up a steep and dangerous cliff. We ran into three dogs in the last half-mile which helped spur him on and, eventually, we both made it to the top.

A hike that should have taken me 4 hours took us 6 1/2 to get up.  Mercifully, a shuttle was available to take us back down.  After thanking God that we reached the summit with my dog still in one piece, I booked the next available shuttle.  We had two hours to spare until our departure which Jack spent doling out affection to every visitor who crossed his path.  He was a big hit!  One guy sat with him while I went inside the visitor's center to get food and water.  When I returned, the guy said those few minutes sitting with Jack was the highlight of his day.

Lemons or lemonade?  Jack's presence made life notably sweeter for all who crossed our path (and there were probably at least a hundred people with whom we interacted during the hike or on top of the mountain), but I don't think the sweetness outweighs the bitter regret I faced during the climb. Lesson learned: next time I go to Mt. Washington, I will bring a human friend, and I'll save my hikes with Jack for a gentler terrain.  We both deserve that. 

Getting to the starting line

My sister Natalie expresses deep wisdom through one-liners.  Even though she is averse to social media, she pretty much tweeted before twitter was a thing by her innate ability to share profound and helpful teaching in 140 characters or less.  One of my favorite Natalie-isms has to do with her encouragement for marathon runners.  Her sage advice goes: "It's harder to get to the starting line than to to the finish line."  After running several marathons (actually, after the first one which I ran with both my sisters), I totally get it.  Running 26.2 miles is tough, no doubt, but those 4-5 hours spent on a traffic-free road with people running in front, behind, and next to you -- while others are cheering you on from the side-lines and handing you Gatorade and food -- are not nearly as grueling as the 100+ hours you spent training alone in the heat, cold, and rain - when there was no one to replenish you along the way and cars didn't so much as slow down as they squeezed you off the road.

So that's what this blog is about: getting to the starting line and embracing (or bracing for) the adventure that follows.  It's about being intentional to try new things and reflect on what happens after the intention and decision have been made.  As the Indigo Girls croon in their oldie but goodie A Hammer and a Nail, "The sweetest part [of life] is acting after making a decision."

Sometimes that means showing up at the starting line of a major race or, in the case of my new practice, it means getting to the yoga studio.  I have begun practicing yoga on a more-than-occasional, but less-than-regular basis in the last year.  A friend who trains yoga instructors recently gifted me with my first mat.  This morning as I was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the computer screen for several minutes without actually reading or writing anything, an internal voice broke through my haze of de-motivated sleepiness and said, "stand up, take your mat, and walk."  

And I did.  I picked up my new-to-me mat and walked out the door in the sunshine to the yoga studio that is located conveniently around the corner.  The next hour and 15 minutes were spent developing my new practice and being thankful for an opportunity to stretch and grow stronger.

The hardest part, as with most things, was listening and responding to the voice that invited me to get up.  But once I did, goodness - perhaps even healing and growth! - followed; at least that's what happened for the invalid man to whom Jesus said those same words in John Chapter 5 ("Stand up, take your mat, and walk").  But I will save that story for another post.  For now, it is enough to have reached the starting line.