One Christmas, snow fell in perfect, fat flakes outside of our home in the mountains, painting the world in white. My children played with their toys as the magical spirit of harmony descended on my boys. A fire crackled in our fireplace and would later warm us to the point of napping.

I set the table with my rarely used wedding china and laid the table with roast chicken, bowls brimming with vegetables, baskets of rolls, crystal glasses filled with sweet tea. My grandpa stood at the table, his hands holding the back of the dining room chair. He looked over the scene, the table, the food, and in his quiet way said that he had never seen a more beautiful table.

His words stayed with me when he died, too soon after that perfect day. I thought of my Grandpa, his body healed of cancer, sitting at a beautiful table in the presence of Christ.

My Grandpa, John Henry Kilby, was one of the greatest men I have ever known, but it is hard for me to describe his greatness. He grew up in a family of eight children, all the warmest, funniest characters you’ll ever meet. (For example, my Great Aunt Arlee is a former missionary to Cuba and has a cat who prays–I bear witness to this). They were all raised in a house that could fit into my house several times over.

He came from humble beginnings and built a humble life. He was a veteran. He met my Grandma at Sunday School. He married her in the living room of the Justice of the Peace at Christmastime. He was shockingly handsome. He reminded me of Johnny Cash, but better looking.

He was part of that generation of men who could do anything with their hands: fix things, build things, figure things out. He built a pink rocking chair for me when I was a preschooler that now needs some care, and coordinates with nothing in my house, but I cannot bear to throw it out because it was crafted with his hands. He had three sons who all think he hung the moon and four grandchildren who agree.

I spent a week each summer of my childhood with my Grandpa and Grandma Kilby in the little town of Millers Creek, just before you climb the mountain into Boone, NC. I splashed in the creek with my brother and cousins and swung on the tire swing. We rolled down the hill in front of the house, giggling with a dizzy-drunkenness.

Grandpa liked to tickle us awake and set us on his lap and laugh with us. He took us fishing, where we spent many magical hours catching absolutely nothing. He took us for ice cream in a building shaped like an igloo. We drank cool, delicious water from his spring.

He told me stories and I hung on every word. His mother once took him to an old man in the country who talked the fire out of a burn on Grandpa’s hand. His hand stopped burning immediately. Grandpa asked him what he said to it to make it stop hurting. The man refused to tell him, said it was a sacred secret. When Grandpa asked him again, the old man whispered, “Get out, damn fire!” It was the first time I ever heard my Grandpa say a bad word, and even that was magical.

My Grandpa taught me so much in my life that has made an impact on me as a mother, a minister, and a human being. When he learned I was cautious about allowing my children to have junk food, he made sure there were always Pop Tarts when my children came to visit. This earned him the name “Paw Paw Pop Tart,” a title he held proudly.

He taught me to lighten up and enjoy life.

I talked with him once about calling and how I was beginning to preach in the church I served as Children’s Minister. There are always going to be people who disagree with the idea of women preachers and I wasn’t really sure about where he stood.

He listened to me and stated in his humble, plain-spoken way that he couldn’t see what the big deal was. If I felt God was asking me to preach, I should probably do it. His attitude was so perfect on this issue, he made it a non-issue. He taught me to walk more humbly with God.

After he died and I met people who had known him in a variety of ways, a common theme began to emerge. Everyone seemed to think my Grandpa regarded them as special. It occurred to me that he made people feel important and heard when they were with them. It wasn’t just me. It was everyone he came in contact with. People liked him and liked being around him.It was an indefinable thing that I believe Jesus had too.

And all that fishing we did? He confessed later that he never really liked fishing, he just did it because he knew us grandkids liked it. I would’ve never known if he hadn’t told me, because he did everything with such easygoing contentment.

I guess most of us leave this world as ordinary saints. We don’t have newspaper articles published about our great faith or have the President ask us to the National Prayer Breakfast.

If we live our lives well, even we ordinary saints are extraordinary to someone. That is who my Grandpa Kilby was to me.

Rev. Melanie Kilby Storie lives in Shelby, NC with her pastor husband, Matt, and her two sons, Aidan and Owen. She is currently writing a novel set in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina about a girl who can talk the fire out of a burn.

This week, my family and I will travel from Mississippi to North Carolina, where we will meet my parents, brother, sister-in-law, and niece for our annual week at the beach. As always, I can hardly wait for my toes to hit the sands of North Topsail Beach and my ears to hear the waves crashing on its shores (there are no crashing waves on the Gulf Coast beaches where I live).

This year will have a different feel from all the others, because we will be short one family member. My maternal grandmother, Lizzie Whitten (Granny Mae), who accompanied us on every beach trip, passed away in March.

I will miss her this year. I will miss seeing the collection of shells she accumulated on the deck after each of her morning walks on the beach. I will miss seeing her in the rocking chair on the porch, rocking her great-grandbabies into their afternoon naps.

I will miss Granny Mae this year, but I will also celebrate her, and will make the most of this precious week. This is, after all, what she would want. My grandmother was a steward of every moment of life—one of the best stewards I have ever known.

Granny Mae was a good steward of creation. The daughter of a Mississippi sharecropper, she knew that land was important. She respected it and took care of it. She loved tending plants; she loved planting gardens of vegetables and flowers. She loved making her yard sparkle—and it always did.

She loved God’s creation, and she loved human creations as well: she appreciated fine art; she loved music; she loved books. Her home was full of pretty things, including crystal, china, glassware, and countless treasures from countless trips to antique shops.

Granny Mae was a good steward of creation and of its creatures. She took meticulous care of all of the little human creatures who were in her life over the years. Each of her five grandchildren have memories of being slathered with Johnson’s baby cream (a now-discontinued product that had to be a mixture of Crisco and baby powder) after each bath we took during week-long visits to her home. We never had dry skin—at least not on her watch.

She took care of our bodies, and she also took care of her own. In terms of health, the gene pool was not particularly kind to her and she knew she had to take good care of herself. She walked several miles a day at her local gym and watched her diet closely. She worked hard for every breath she took, and never had much patience with people who were not as eager to be healthy as she was.

Granny Mae was a good steward of community. Wherever she was, wherever she lived, she did her part to make her community stronger. She approached relationships with intentionality, tending to friendships as lovingly as she tended her gardens.

Granny Mae was a good steward of her faith. She read her Open Windows devotional and her Bible every evening before going to bed. Participation in a faith community was part of the rhythm of her life. She sang in the choir. She went to Sunday school. She went on trips with the senior adult group. She visited people in hospitals and nursing homes. Above all, she trusted and leaned on God always, even in the most difficult moments of her life—of which there were many.

My grandmother was a good and faithful steward of all aspects of life. She knew that every part of life, down to each and every breath, is a gift from God, loaned to us to be lived and used for God’s glory and the strengthening of God’s kingdom. Her life was an offering lived in gratitude and with gusto. I am stronger and better because of her life and witness, and am honored to be her granddaughter.

Maybe this year at the beach, I will pry myself out of bed at least once for an early-morning walk, just as my grandmother did for so many years. There’s nothing like another sunrise. My Granny Mae taught me that.

Rev. Dr. Anna Kate Shurley has been a youth minister, campus minister, and hospital chaplain. She currently serves a congregation of two (her children, Virginia and Oliver) in Gulfport, Mississippi, where she lives with them and her husband, Will.

Both our children enter their senior years in the fall. One will finish college. The other one will finish divinity school. Neither one has an idea about their next step. If you were to ask them what happens when they graduate they have many ideas, but no plan. 

All they know right now is their life has to matter, to count, to be lived offering love to all. The love in them cries out to be shared with others. We have extraordinary children.

I did not teach them this. Okay, I did try, but sometimes mommas are not the best teachers.

Don’t get me wrong. I taught them many things, like never settling, stepping out into the unknown, surviving character assassinations, finding your place when no one wants you to play.

But the things that really matter like loving without conditions, showering others with love and hope and being Christ’s hands and feet . . . those things my children learned from ordinary saints who comprised the churches we served.

David Coble modeled love for both of ours in the cradle ministry at FBC Whiteville, NC, as he welcomed them, met their physical needs, made them feel safe and empowered them to take risks. Then pastor Roger Gilbert and his wife Deidra held play dates for our children and encouraged dreaming. Rebecca and Christ Tanner talked–really talked–with them. Grady Waters showered them with hugs of blessing. Janet and Fuller Royal imagined with them and introduced them to new words.

When we moved to Bethel Baptist Church, Scottsburg, VA, in 1994, Janice and Thomas Burton became our children’s grandparents. There were sleepovers and biscuit making, garden harvesting and long conversations. Virginia Clark, a recent widow, poured her love into our children. The Moores, Womacks, Dunnagans and Drakes helped us parent during the time our children thought we weren’t cool. Kirsten and Barry McCormack challenged our children spiritually and intellectually. Lizzie Drake [a teenager] played dolls and princess with Tara. Chris Drake [a teenager] had a heart-to-heart talk with our son about scars after Joe was bitten by a dog at age six.

In 2003 we moved to Rome, GA. Without hesitation or apology the saints of North Broad Baptist Church entered the lives of our children. Judy and Grady Goodwin taught missional living by inviting our children to minister alongside of them. Adair and Beth Cox asked questions and celebrated their achievements and dreams. Phil and Patty Carter taught biblical excellence in Bible study and missional living by serving others. Roy and Nancy Echols modeled love that had hands and feet. Lottie and Jim Finney invited the children to use their gifts and try new ventures which called out gifts they did not know they had. Martha Ann Kuhlman embodied reverence–with just enough mischief to make life fun. Tia and Philip Hawkins became second, much younger parents. Debbie and Steve Heida challenged both of them to think critically, weave passion with professionalism and imagine more. Kristy and Lee Treadaway applauded their becoming and encouraged them to reach for the sky. Jerry Gatlin modeled preparation and love without bounds. Ellen and Weyman gave hugs which washed away tears and restored hope.

Our children are extraordinary because of the ordinary saints who loved as Christ loved. These saints mentored, coached, modeled, taught, engaged, held accountable, challenged and loved our children. They are the reason our children are extraordinary.

They are the reason our children live lives that matter, that count, that invest in others . . . that show love to all. Our children are a mosaic of these ordinary saints who lived out their discipleship intentionally for our children to see.

This momma is so very grateful.

Katrina Stipe Brooks is campus pastor at Lynchburg college, youth pastor at Madison Heights Baptist Church in Lynchburg, VA, half of a clergy couple and Momma to Tara and Joe.

Maybe it was the passing of Maya Angelou or Anne Thomas Neil, matron saint of Baptist women, that made me stop and re-evaluate my life. These women made a real impact on the world.

I’m over the halfway mark and I’ve barely made a dent.

These were the thoughts I took into my most recent session with my spiritual director. I was struggling to balance “to whom much is given, much is required” with “be still and know that I am God.” What is it we are here on earth for; what is my purpose in life?

I only need to look to my dear friend Clarice to find the answer to that question.

I met Clarice when she was in her mid-70’s. She and her husband retired to Chapel Hill and began attending our church. She was one of those people you couldn’t help but notice, like a bright light in a dark room. She was breathtakingly beautiful and radiated love.

It was the love that connected me to her, and not just me, but my husband and daughter. In a very short period of time, we had been “adopted” by her, really made a part of her family. Clarice had an endless capacity to love; she loved her parents and brother and sister, her husband, her in-laws, her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, nieces and nephews, and cousins. And then she loved her friends, all of her friends; and she loved them deeply and sincerely.

Clarice, too, questioned whether she had done enough in this life. I’m so glad that I had the opportunity to tell her that I thought her special gift was the way she loved people. That kind of love doesn’t come out of a void. It comes from being loved by God.

Clarice was loved by God and loved God back, and that love then overflowed onto to everyone she met.

What is it we are here on earth for? To be loved by God, to love God back, and to love our “neighbors.” We might not make the headlines for doing that, but we will make an impact. I know Clarice made a dent in my life that will always be with me.

Clarice died on Easter Sunday this year; but her love remains.

I’m going to quit wondering what people will say about me when I die and do what I was created to do—love God and love people, just like my dear “ordinary saint” friend, Clarice.

Rev. Virginia Taylor has served several churches in North Carolina, most recently as the pastor of Lystra Baptist Church in Chapel Hill. Currently, she is an itinerant pastor and the Community and University Relations Coordinator for the William and Ida Friday Center for Continuing Education at UNC Chapel Hill.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

For the past 3 years, I have spent two weeks in the month of June with 16 men.

I enrolled in Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary to pursue my Doctor of Ministry Degree. I was the only female in “The Preacher and the Message” cohort. The majority of my classmates were pastors who came from all across the United States, Canada, and Ethiopia.

Although my fellow classmates were always kind towards me, I learned “private conversations” occurred in my absence about women in ministry. As you might imagine, some of my fellow cohorts felt I shouldn’t be there.

On Saturday, May 10, 2013, I graduated from Gordon-Conwell with my Doctor of Ministry Degree. As we lined-up for the processional, I looked around and noticed that only 7 (out of 17) from my cohort had finished this race.

Guess who was missing? The ones who said that I shouldn’t be here.

My journey to completing my DMin was not easy, especially as a single parent. First of all, this journey required sacrifice.

Financially it was a burden. As the only female in the cohort, I had to cover two weeks of hotel expenses alone. The guys shared rooms, which cut their hotel costs.
I also had to work full time, take on a part-time job, and function as a single parent.

I felt I had failed terribly during my MDiv studies being a good parent to my daughter, Taylor. I was not going to make that mistake again. No matter how long my work day, or how late I needed to stay up to complete DMin work, Taylor’s extra-curricular activities at school came first.

This journey also required support. I know without a doubt I did not complete this journey alone.

My mother was instrumental in providing care for Taylor, so I could go away for school, study, and get the job done!
My colleagues at Campbell University Divinity School provided the academic support I needed to complete my thesis-project.
Baptist Women in Ministry, NC provided financial support through a DMin grant I received to conduct my research.
Most of all, I had a host of good friends, students, and family members who prayed for me and kept me encouraged.

Most importantly, completing this theological journey required the Savior.

Time and time again I had to tell myself, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” This theological journey was not easy.

There was always added pressure to prove myself and make others see God did call me, and I did belong here! I spent a lot of time praying for strength to complete the journey, praying for guidance on how to be a good mother, and praying for my brothers in the cohort.

I prayed God would touch their hearts and use me as a vessel to change their views towards women in ministry. Although some in my cohort continue to struggle with women in ministry, others have shared with me (privately, of course) that they are beginning to see things differently.

For this I say, to God be the Glory!

Reverend Doctor Lynn Brinkley is mother to Taylor and Director of Student Services at Campbell University Divinity School, where women’s gifts and calling are celebrated. An experienced preacher, Dr. Brinkley utilized her DMin studies to create a manual for preaching etiquette for guest preachers and host churches.

“So . . . what do you . . . do?”

I have been asked this question a lot lately, and with good reason. My family and I recently moved to south Mississippi, where my husband was called to be the pastor of a Presbyterian church. Only a few people know me, but thanks to an article about us that ran in our local paper during Easter weekend, many people know a bit about me.

They know that in addition to being the mother of two small children, I am an ordained Baptist minister and a recently-minted Ph.D. Most folks who mention my credentials find them interesting and want to know how I am putting them to use.

More often than not, though, when people ask me what I do, I want to say something like, “Well, today, I scraped scrambled egg off of a high chair, changed a bunch of diapers, did four loads of laundry, put supper in the crock pot, got the oil changed in our minivan, paid bills, arbitrated a couple of sibling disputes, and made my third trip of the week to Wal-Mart (and it’s only Tuesday).”

Thankfully, a still, small voice always compels me to offer a different answer: “I currently work at home, where I serve a congregation of two.”

I serve a congregation of two. I nurture two little lives, and try every day to do so in ways that reflect God’s love. It is quite a privilege, yet it is, by far, the most challenging ministry I have ever had. While much of this challenge comes from my tiny parishioners acting their ages in every possible way, the biggest part of it lies in what I often perceive as a great disparity between my credentials and the current shape of my life and work.

I don’t need a Ph.D. to read a book to my son. I don’t need to be ordained to help my daughter finger paint. Did Sallie Mae really need to give me all those loans for graduate school so that I could host play groups once I was finished? Am I living a life right now that is faithful to the God who, once upon a time, called me to ordained ministry?

The same still, small voice that enables me to answer other people’s questions about my work also answers my own: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord” (Isaiah 55:8, NRSV). Indeed.

Far too often, my thoughts tell me that I have a resume to build with the education and training that I have. My thoughts tell me I should be teaching, writing, publishing, and serving as a chaplain on the side. My thoughts tell me that I would be much better at those tasks of ministry than I am at caring for my children each day.

These are my thoughts.

Left alone with them, I forget that it wasn’t until I began my doctoral program that I met and married my husband and had our children. I forget the ministry that my infant daughter and I did together as I pushed her in her stroller down the halls of the facility where I served as chaplain. I forget that motherhood and ministry are beautifully intertwined throughout each and every day of my life.

And I forget that God has fashioned it this way. It is God who shapes my vocation as a disciple of Jesus Christ. It is God who has given me our precious children and who has included, as part of my vocation, the calling to nurture and love these little lives as only I can.

It is God who sustains me and brings me joy as I live out my current calling as the Rev. Dr. Mama. And it is because of God that it all makes sense. Thanks be to God—for all of it.
 

Anna Kate Shurley is an ordained Baptist minister. Prior to beginning her current ministry as a stay-at-home mom, Anna Kate worked in campus ministry, youth ministry, hospital chaplaincy, and, most recently, in ministry with people with developmental disabilities. A native of Radford, Virginia, she holds degrees from the College of William and Mary, Duke University Divinity School, and Princeton Theological Seminary. She lives in Gulfport, Mississippi, with her husband, Will (a Presbyterian pastor), and their children, Virginia