Merianna Harrelson: On Cooler Breezes and Bigger Bellies

As I let the dogs out this morning, my bare feet encountered cold kitchen tiles. I knew even before I opened the door that the weather outside was going to smell different and fell different. It was going to feel like fall. I smiled as I opened the door and was met with the cool breeze of a fall morning. My soul breathed a sigh of relief that the hot, sticky Columbia summer was coming to an end.

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Then, I remembered that with the change of this season, it meant the change from being a family of four to being a family of five in just 8 short weeks. This weekend, we celebrated Baby H with our Emmanuel Church family as well as friends in Columbia. What a fun time for our worlds to collide as we anticipate Baby H’s arrival and yet another reminder that life as we have known it is changing.

Fall has always been a time of transition for me. As a teacher, it meant a new challenge in a new grade level (I never taught the same grade two years in a row) or a new country. When I started seminary, it meant the change from teacher to student with a full load of classes that would ask me to challenge what I had always known and who I always believed I was. At the end of seminary, it meant the change from pulpit supply preacher to pastor and from girlfriend to wife and stepmom. Fall has always been a time of new beginnings for me.

It’s getting harder and harder to ignore my growing belly and to ignore the fact life is going to change. I am going to change. As I organize onesies and diapers of varying sizes, it’s easy for me to pretend that after walking this road with siblings and friends, I have a good idea how life will change and then, I wake up from a dream in panic because in my dream I have forgotten to feed the baby and realize there’s no way to know for certain what lies ahead.

Although I am tempted to panic over all the unknowns, I breathe the cool breeze and remember every change in the previous falls has brought me here to this place. This place of partnering with the man of my dreams. This place of being who I was created to be. This place of laughing and crying and loving two beautiful girls. This place of walking with two huge pups who can’t help but be excited about the new smells of fall.

This place of the beautiful now that if I’m not careful I’ll miss if I don’t stop and savor.

Sarah Bessey: When you feel a bit selfish for pursuing your calling

September 7, 2015

In our new house, I have a little room of my own. Well, technically it’s not “my own” – it doubles as a guest room. But since the guest bed is a hide-a-bed, I’ll just go ahead and call it my “office” so that I feel like a proper adult. I’ve always had a bit of a laugh when serious well-meaning folks ask me about my “writing space” as if it’s a magical area. Nope. I have done 99% of my writing at the kitchen table or a noisy coffee shop or the public library. But now I have my own little room at the bottom of the stairs in the basement: the carpet smells a bit musty, there’s a hearth for a wood stove that doesn’t work, and cedar paneling that has endured since 1983. I love it mostly because I’ve established a No Tinies Allowed Here rule.The other night, I had to do a few final checks on my book manuscript and it was urgent. It has been a busy month with our move in particular, so busy that I hadn’t really properly written or worked for the entire time except as snatches during 30 minutes of Phineas and Ferb for the tinies, so that night after we had cleaned up the supper dishes, I passed the baby to Brian, he set up the Monopoly board with the tinies, and I went downstairs to get my work done. I turned on a bit of music, made a cup of tea, lit a candle, and entered into my work with my full attention for the first time in far too long.

I came up to nurse Maggie an hour later and tuck her into bed. Brian put everyone else to bed. He came down to check on me at our usual bedtime four hours after I had begun, and I turned to him as one resurfacing after a spectacular deep sea dive, my grin wide and my whole being excited. He laughed at my euphoria. I said, I’m just so happy to be working! I love my job! I love having a quiet spot all to myself!

I finished the manuscript checks, got organized for the next week or two, made some plans, outlined some articles, that sort of thing. Hardly any great creative work but it was the kind of work that lays the groundwork for creativity. When I set up the scaffolding, it’s easier to build, I find. I sent the final docs off to my publisher, shut down the computer, blew out the candle, and floated off to bed. I slept like a champ, nursed in the middle of the night with joy, woke up in the morning singing, all of my energy restored by the simple act of doing the work I love to do. I felt more alive, more engaged with my life, in every way.

***To keep reading this fabulous and inspired post, please click here.

Elizabeth Hagan: Wisdom: Not Just for Grandmas

On  Psalm 111 A sermon preached in Chautauqua Institute Baptist House.

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We are new to one another this morning as preacher to congregation, but l wanted to let you in on a secret about me.

Though I’ve been ordained for almost 10 years, this is the only second time in my preaching life I’ve ever selected a Psalm for the focus text of a sermon.

The first and only other time I’ve preached on a Psalm, it was #51, the famed confession text from King David “For against you and you alone have I sinned” after his affair with Bathsheba.

And because Psalm 51 so closely aligns with a story from the historical books, I don’t think it really counts . . .

For the Psalm are lovely and beautiful prayers, make good texts for choral anthems, and are texts that we hold close to us when times get rough.

But as far as preaching, from my perspective, it’s a whole other story.

My fear of what to do with Psalm passages that go from “Great is the Lord, the whole earth is full of his glory” in one breath to the “O God go down and smite my enemies in the next” has kept me from them.

For some of the Psalter passages can feel a bit bipolar if we you sit with them long enough. And being an organized sort of person confusing texts are really not my thing.

This morning, though, just for you, I’m taking the plunge in response to sitting with the words of Psalm 111 this week.

It’s a Psalm that gives us language to speak about God. It’s a Psalm that gives us a description of how God both exists and dwells with us. And, it’s a Psalm that most commentators say could be summarized, as “God’s resume” if there’s ever was such a passage.

And most of all it’s a Psalm that leads us to the word: wisdom.

Have you ever been asked to give an introductory speech for someone who was going to win an award or give a presentation?

It can be quite a daunting task can’t it? Especially if it was someone whom you really like (or you don’t)

It’s difficult to know what direction to take the speech. Should you start with a joke? Should you tell an anecdotal story? Should you make something up if you don’t have anything nice to say?

For nothing is worse than a bad or most of TOO LONG introductory speech, right? Times when you just want to cue the “get off the stage” orchestra music in your head . . .

I can imagine similar pressure faced the original writer of Psalm 111. Though we do not know the identity of the one who penned this text, we do know its purpose: a litany for worship. This text like countless other Psalms like it existed as a corporate song/ prayer for worship.

And for the Psalmist, only just the right words would do.

The Lord needed to be praised rightly! Everyone needed to know of God’s splendor.

And as we begin reading what we hear is of some of his efforts to put thoughts into words:

“Great are the works of the Lord . . . full of honor and majesty . . . He has gained renowned by his wonderful deeds; the Lord is gracious and merciful.”

The Psalmist wants us to know that the Lord is a good God who shows love through actions.

There is no need too small of ours too small that does not concern the Lord. For example, we are told that according to verse 5, the Lord gives food.

In the same way that Jesus would later ask us to depend on God in prayer: “Give us this day our daily bread.” We learn that God cares about our daily nourishment.

Moreover, in verse 6 the Psalmist also wants us to know the vastness of who God is!

Proclaiming: “He has shown his people the power of his works.”

For, God is not someone who is like us, who is limited by the confines of time and space. No, God is full of glory. God can do whatever God wills.

And most of all, the Psalmist writes of how God longs to be close to us!

We are told in verse 9 that “He sent redemption to his people; he has commanded his covenant forever. Holy and awesome is his name.”

Our God is invested in relationships. God is not a deity that lives out there far away who is untouchable for us mere humans, but our God longs to know US individually.

God longs for peace among the nations. This is why “He sent us redemption.” God cares about our life together in community, both with God and with each other. We are not left alone on earth to simply fend for ourselves. God helps us love each other.

So with all of this true, the climax to the Psalter comes in verse 10 when we hear these words that probably are familiar to you, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”

Or, in other words, congregation: listen up, here’s the important thing you can do in life: know God. Why? Because your outlook on life depends on it!

Let me say it again, “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”

Wisdom, though it’s one of those words, at least in church circles I run in that is associated with God’s character. What about yours?

When I say wisdom, what first comes to mind?

For me it’s a picture of someone with grey hair.

As a Proverb goes, “Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness.”

But maybe we have the whole grey thing wrong . . .

Wisdom might be something more.

When I was a child, I looked forward to the weeks in the summer, I would travel from my home in Chattanooga, TN to Nashville, TN to spend time with my grandparents: Gran and Granddaddy, two of the kindest most generous people I’ve ever known in my life.

I’d come visit them without my sister in tow (such a treat) then I’d go to swimming lessons at their YMCA or attend basketball camp at Vanderbilt, hoping to be the next college star player one day (which of course didn’t happen but I still had fun).

394196_10150364681562465_1029390937_n-375x500I loved how special Gran and Granddaddy would make me feel.

They’d buy me all my favorite foods. My grandmother would even iron the sheets on my bed, making it feel heavenly to go to sleep at night. (Who does that?) I especially loved how she’s come tuck me in at night rubbing my back till I fell asleep and talking to me about whatever I most felt like saying.

I can remember one such chats when we got on the subject of grey hair. In my childish innocence, I asked Gran about her salt shaker, black and white hair and why it was so “two toned.”

No look of horror came over her face (God bless her soul) for my strange question.

But she went on to describe that the grey in people’s hair often came as they got older. Still, I was curious about how you “got it.” I’d heard from someone who grey hair equaled smarts.

And this is what she said: “Grey hair is not only about getting older, sweetheart. But when I look at my grey hair in the mirror, I think about how God has watched over me my whole life. God is good.”

I heard her that night: age does not necessarily equal wisdom, nor does a head of grey hair.

But wisdom had everything to do with whom God is and how we’ve come to know God in our lives.

Most of all wisdom gives us perspective.

Several years ago, I read a Huffington Post article by popular Christian blogger and author, Momastary otherwise known as Glennon Doyle Melton, a young mom in her 30s.

She wrote about a time in her life when everything was crumbling around her. Her marriage headed toward separation She’d not fully overcome her battle with bulimia and her faith felt just as unstable as she looked on the outside.

Yet, one day she found herself in church sitting with a group of women who were all at least 20 or 30 years older than her.

Being an extremely outgoing person, Glennon was first to speak up and spew out the details of her troubles when one of the church ladies looked at her and said, “Girl, what is going on with you?”

Glennon talked and talked. Every panic of her heart came out almost without a breath.

She writes of one of the women, Bette:

She was not listening to me with wide eyes and OMGs! And NO HE DIDN’TS! like friends my own age do. I was getting very little feedback from her and in fact — she looked sort of bored.

So I said, “Bette, are you listening to me?”

And she said “Oh, honey. Yes. I’m listening. And I’m sorry I’m not getting worked up with you. But the thing is that this stuff isn’t personal sweetheart- it’s just LIFE. You’ll make it through.”

She gestured toward a circle of her white-haired friends and added, “all of us have.” Then she squeezed my arm and went to pour us some coffee.

They knew life and life with God in a way in which Glennon did not. It was a shock back into reality the bigger picture of all her trouble.

Such was the experience of being with wisdom: perspective.

And so yes, she would find her way through this difficult time. All would be well. All matter of things would be well.

The wisdom of these older friends helped her to see.

psalm-111-101Such is exactly what the Psalmist is hoping that his congregation will realize.

That when we know who God is we become wise. And it is this wisdom that helps us take the experiences our lives offer us and move through them with a different kind of being.

Or as one very good friend of mine often says to me when I get stuck in life (which is a lot):

“Know God, Elizabeth. Start there. And then you’ll see what to do next. You really will!”

This week, we’re all gathered at this beautiful place called Chautauqua, a week that is so many us of a highlight—a week to learn, and a week to take in knowledge from some of the best teachers that this world has to offer.

And it’s a week when we get to walk these ground where scholars, teachers and world changers have walked before us and gone forth from this place doing amazing things for the good of others.

I have to think that we’re all ready on this Sunday morning to gather as much knowledge that we can in the days ahead.

But, as we begin might be good to stop and consider HOW we are beginning. What are we really here for? What is the real source of this wisdom that we all crave?

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

It’s easy to get caught up in this honor that distinguishes this person from that person.
It’s easy to think if we just read one more book or at one more degree to our name we’ll be at that place of enlightenment.
It’s easy for rest on our own intellect.

BUT, the is truth is such is all rubbish in comparison to the One who is Lord of all.

The one in whom we are asked to praise, we are asked to say thank you to, the one that we are to name as our Creator God.

Do we want to be wise?

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

And wisdom is not just for grandmas after all. It’s available to us all.

AMEN

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Rev. Elizabeth Evans Hagan is a blogger, writer, international traveler, and pastor. A graduate of Duke University’s Divinity School, she has served churches and non-profit ministries from Virginia to Oklahoma.

This post originally appeared on http://elizabethhagan.com/2015/08/16/wisdom-not-just-for-grandmas/.

The one in whom we are asked to pr

aise, we are asked to say thank you to, the one that we are to name as our Creator God.

Do we want to be wise?

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

And wisdom is not just for grandmas after all. It’s available to us all.

AMEN

LeAnn Gardner: Ordinary Miracles: A View from Charleston

Just about two months ago, the unthinkable happened in my city. A young man entered a church, sat in a Bible study and unleashed bullet after bullet, killing nine church members. There were also survivors, including a child, who witnessed the terror unfold. What happened a few days later might even be more incomprehensible: the families of those victims forgave that killer. If you want to go to church, watch the bond hearing here.

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In the moments, days, week and now months that have followed, I have tried to be open to all the experience is teaching me. Here are a few things I’ve learned:

  • Evil and hate exist. You may be thinking, “Of course it still exists.” But when evil comes to your doorstep, its face looks even more sinister. Until June 17, I watched from afar other mass shootings. This atrocity reminded me that we live in a world full of evil, but what came after the shooting, the way my beautiful city responded did not let that evil win out. More on that later.
  • Symbols aren’t everything, but they are something. The Confederate flag conversation began almost immediately after the shootings. I heard people remark that it was “tacky” and “disrespectful” to talk about the flag before the victims were even buried. My thoughts on this were very different. One of the victims, Reverend Senator Clementa Pinckney fought to have this flag removed before his death (and mandatory body cameras on police officers as a result of the Walter Scott tragedy which occurred about 2 months prior to the shooting; you can read more about that here). The thought of Sen. Pinckney’s viewing at the state house occurring while the flag was still up was sickeningly ironic. (officials did cover a window in the state house so it couldn’t be seen). The Confederate flag has become a symbol of hate. You can argue what its roots were, that its meaning has been co-opted by racists, that “the flag didn’t climb down off the flagpole and kill those people”, etc. The bottom line for me as a person of faith is if my brother and sister are offended by this flag, if they have a visceral response to it when they see it, if they remember their forefathers and foremothers being wrapped in it after being killed by the KKK, then it needs to come down. This is not only civil, or polite, but CHRISTLIKE. People before symbols. IMG_5048
  • Policies aren’t everything, but they are something. Gun control. Mental health services. Something needs to happen. We can no longer pretend that our love affair with guns is a healthy one.
  • Reconciliation and peacemaking is holy work. We are all called to this. What does this mean exactly? For my friends Bill Stanfield and Evelyn Oliveira, it means living among the people they are serving at Metanoia. But what about for me? For you? Will this tragedy be a passing atrocity that I allowed to change me for a short amount of time, or will it transform my worldview, and thus my actions? Tragedy, especially at your front door, fosters self-reflection, but my prayer for myself, my family and our community as a whole is that it will truly change the very fiber of who we are.
  • Forgiveness is a choice. When the families offered the gift of forgiveness just days after the massacre, I was talking to an African American colleague who grew up in the Civil Rights era. I asked her, “How can these families give forgiveness so quickly?” She said, “You say it with your mouth. You lean into it. You say it so that the action will follow so that not one seed of hate has room to grow.” It was then that I realized that even the act of forgiveness is different for my African American brothers and sisters. My white privilege allows me to fester, to be angry, to harbor resentment and grudge. For my colleague, for the families, their history of oppression has not afforded them that luxury.
  • Not talking to your children about race sends a message. Although my children are very young and cannot grasp what happened that fateful Wednesday night, fear overcame me. The thought that we are raising children in a world where churches and schools are no longer safe terrifies me. So what would I tell them if they were older? I hope that we could have open conversations about our own biases (we all have them) and that to voice and recognize them is the beginning of change. I hope that we will teach them that there are privileges that automatically come with having white skin and their job is to be aware of this and to listen to their friends of color to really hear others’ experiences. Whereas I will converse with my two boys about white privilege, their African American friends’ mothers will talk about the danger of wearing hoodies and the assumptions that police officers may make because of the color of their skin. Even if these conversations are awkward, they need to happen. Silence sends another message: it isn’t important, we are too uncomfortable to talk about these things, and worst of all, we don’t care.
  • Love wins….every single time. I cannot say enough about how my beloved hometown reacted to the tragedy that occurred. Dylann Roof allegedly said he killed those kind souls to “start a race riot.” That, most certainly, did not happen. The Sunday after the shootings, an expected crowd of 5,000 walked our city’s most visible icon, the Ravenel Bridge. Estimates are that upwards of 10-15,000 showed up, including some of the children of the victims. Love wins. IMG_4956 As the victims were being buried, there were rumors swirling that Westboro “Baptist” Church would be coming to picket: another attempt to smear our city with hate. Instead, a grassroots Facebook movement emerged of volunteers to be “human shields” so that families could grieve peacefully. One of those volunteers held up a “Love Wins” sign as Jennifer Pickney, Clementa Pickney’s widow, exited the church. Mrs. Pinckney hugged the volunteer and whispered into her ear “every single time.” IMG_5091

Dylann Roof told someone that he almost didn’t go through with the killings because the Bible study participants were “so nice” to him. What he experienced, before killing them, was the love of Christ. That love continued at his bond hearing when the victims’ families pled for his soul and offered words of forgiveness. This is the lavish grace of Christ, fleshed out in a courtroom. My prayer is that their hard decision of forgiving the person who killed their loved ones is not in vain; that their example will continue to inspire my city known for its beauty, and now for its soul. Love wins…..every single time.

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LeAnn Gardner is a right brained social worker and minister married to a left brained engineer. Together they (sometimes) compose a full brain. She is mother to two boys, ages 3 1/2 and 1 year.

Hannah Coe: Ordinary Miracles: The Miracle of Trust

Trust vs. Mistrust.

Perhaps you’ve heard the phrase? It’s Erik Erikson’s first stage of psychosocial development. In the early months and years of life, children learn to trust (or mistrust) people and their environment. When they are hungry, does someone feed them? When they need to be held, does someone hold them? When they have something to say, does someone listen?

I’m a minister who works with children. I’ve heard the facts, but there is nothing like experience to prove that the window of 0 to 3 years is a crucial time for children to develop a sense of trust. This is why the nursery is such an important place in the church. It’s why the childcare for infants and toddlers during worship is so important.

Please pardon the clunking noise. It’s me stepping on my soap box.

Caregivers teach children that they can trust God. Children form their foundational understanding of God through their experience with adults. Children learn love when we love them. Children learn grace when we offer them grace. Children learn trust when we build a trustworthy environment. Ministers can remind caregivers (over and over again) that they embody God’s love for children. They are teaching children to trust, enabling them to have faith.

I am forever learning to trust God. I am forever learning to act like I trust God. Trusting God occasionally comes naturally. Most of the time, it’s unnatural. I cross my arms and turn my back. In my best two year old voice, I pout, “I don’t want to!”

I don’t want to trust that God is working all things together for good. I want things to work out my way. I don’t want to trust God’s timing. I want to force my timeline on the projects and people around me. I don’t want to trust God to provide what my family and I most need. I want what I want when I want it.

Jesus wasn’t kidding when he said God’s kingdom belongs to children. My firstborn recently turned three. Her trusting soul is an (extra)ordinary miracle. She wakes up in the morning and trust-falls into my arms. She calls for help when she is hurt, sad, or nervous. When she asks a question, she presumes the answer to be honest and true. When I react inappropriately and apologize for my actions, her forgiveness overflows from a bottomless well of trust that can only come from God.

I am most often learning trust rather than teaching trust. Does that seem ironic to you too? Indeed, it is the mysterious, irresistible, beautiful, and challenging irony of ministry and motherhood.

Today we live in a world of mistrust. That is why I find trust to be miraculous—an unexpected occurrence for which there is no rational explanation. Against the backdrop of a difficult world, the trust exhibited by children is a miracle. Amid pain, grief, and suffering, people choosing to put their trust in God is a miracle. In the midst of seismic cultural shift, churches that trust God’s call to minister are a miracle.

The other day, as I walked out of a local hospital after doing pastoral visits, a chaplain came over the intercom to offer a morning prayer. I did not hear the whole prayer. But the first line of the prayer stuck with me:

In you, O Lord, do I place my trust. You are the strength of my life.

As we ride the unpredictable waves of ministry and motherhood, may our souls be anchored by trust in our Lord. May our ministry—in and outside our homes—proclaim the life-giving strength that comes from God.

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A Georgia native and graduate of Mercer University’s McAfee School of Theology, Hannah Coe serves as Associate Pastor of Children and Families at First Baptist Church in Jefferson City, Missouri.  Hannah and her husband, David, are parents to Katherine and Annalina. They enjoy playing, eating, and the occasional nap.

Katrina Brooks: Ordinary Miracles: “Awake and Alert”

Our son came into the world completely awake and not missing a thing. The nurse brought him to me his first night saying, “This one is watching everyone and wants to see everything.” I remembered thinking awake and alert are excellent qualities for a disciple, but this will be an adventure.

Doing life with Joseph has been just that. Even as a wee boy he saw everything and watched everyone. And when Joseph played, he played hard. With the back of his head drenched in sweat and a grin reflective of his utter fascination with life, Joseph touched, manipulated, repurposed and reimagined everything he encountered. Even with his huge, advanced vocabulary, Joseph had little time for words. There were worlds to discover, parking lots to design, things to pull apart and put back together, speed barriers to shatter and sports legends to become.

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Entering school was a challenge for our son. Not only did school insist on the use of words, school required Joseph to learn classroom boundaries and social etiquette. A man of action, Joseph entered the world of sports to balance his Monday through Friday world of words and rules.

Sports gave Joseph a place to pour his energy and later, his brilliance. Joseph was a powerhouse on the field and excelled in soccer, baseball and later, football. Over the years we found him asleep under his schoolbooks with at least one notebook holding his latest sketches of plays for not only his team, but for his beloved Auburn Tigers.

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Having become a disciple of Jesus at age ten, Joseph thrived in youth group. He thrived not only because he was comfortable in his own skin and could articulate the epiphanies that came to him, but because his steadfastness, patience and perseverance steadied the entire group. As his personality blossomed, so did his good hearted mischief and sense of adventure. Behind the scenes, acts of love became his signature.

Joseph entered college determined to turn his love for football into a career as a high school math teacher and coach. As easy as math came to him, the physical demands of college athletics drained him. His junior year, Joseph changed his major to accounting and finance and made math his minor. His love of problem solving, puzzles, statistics and all things having to do with numbers flourished in his new degree program and in May 2015, Joseph graduated from Maryville College.

Through camp, worship, ministry opportunities, youth group, mission trips and doing life with others, we watched God instill in our son a heart for ministry and missions. Our numbers guy became a passionate and gifted disciple. As God continued to call him, Joseph’s transformation into a minister became complete.

At 23 he is a fascinating minister to watch as he leads, loves and serves others with his whole being. Honestly, I don’t even think he considers himself to be a minister. When asked, he simply defers that journey to his sister who is a seminarian following a more traditional ministerial path.

Joseph as a Passport,  leader

Our son may never attend seminary like his sister, but I have no doubt that he will minister in his church. I imagine he will be the cool professional who gives his vacation time to chaperone. He will be the one at the table of the finance committee as it imagines an annual budget. Having lived off church salary packages, Joseph will be the one to explain practically how much of a salary package actually gets into the minister’s paycheck.

Joseph will be that one at the table that advocates for creative ministry and missions. Joseph will be that youth parent the ministerial staff can count on for support and love, ideas and presence. He will be the adult who understands faith formation and establishes his family’s schedule around church ministries. Joseph will be the one who invites colleagues to church and passionately shares what is happening at his church. Joseph will serve his coworkers and engage them in conversations about Jesus. He will be the one to seek out discipleship opportunities and position himself to continue to seek God’s will and desire for how he lives life.

Regardless of how it happens, Joseph will minister. It is who he is at his core. Under his fascination with numbers, his curious nature, his insane problem-solving skills and his ease with finance and accounting, lives a disciple of Jesus determined to love God and love neighbor with all he has.

“Awake and alert,” he is on the greatest adventure . . . life.

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Reverend Katrina Stipe Brooks has served as a pastor, campus minister and youth pastor. Part of a clergy couple, she is also a mother to a daughter in Divinity School and a son who just graduated college.

Melanie Storie: Ordinary Miracles: Letting Go

“The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.” –James Taylor

IMG_1932For a significant portion of my life, I carried my young sons on my hip. The warmth of my boys clinging to me like monkeys on a tree, their legs wrapped around my middle, their feet dangling, their hands playing with my necklace or in my hair – that warm imprint of them still lingers like a phantom limb.

Back then, people would say to me, “Enjoy it, because it goes so fast.” I heard these words as if from the platform by a rushing train. At the time I barely discerned their meaning. Those seasoned parents made sense, but someone was about to put a strange object in his mouth and I had to go stop him.

That’s the mindset I lived in for several years: Constantly monitoring small boys, keeping them safe, fed, entertained, potty trained, etc… Now, that time is gone.

I sent my teenage son to Guatemala on a mission trip this summer. My pastor husband has been leading trips to Guatemala since before we were married. I’ve been with him several times and when our children were young, we took them with us too.

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Aidan was five and we taught him the phrase, “Puedo jugar?” which means, “Can I play?” He said these two words all over Guatemala and no one turned him down. He played toy trucks with children in the market. He played soccer with children in the field. He was a little missionary.

The trip this summer would be different. Aidan is nearly fourteen. He would be on a roof in a foreign country doing construction. He would be with his father, but I wouldn’t be there. Communication back home would be sketchy. Could I let him go?

Could I let him go? The question echoed in my mind as we sat at the kitchen table and discussed the details back in the spring. I had many concerns, some so devastating I dared not speak them out loud.

But to see the excitement in Aidan when we talked about not only this trip, but a mission trip to Cleveland as well… how could I not let him go?

The thing I’m learning at this stage in parenting is that there are moments of letting go along with almost every day. This is the first fall I won’t have a son in elementary school. I have two middle school boys. How did that happen?

Owen went to church camp a few weeks ago and got on the van without saying goodbye or having that last hug with me. He’s too cool to hug me in front of his friends. I knew it would happen sometime. I just didn’t know that time would come in a flash of a moment.

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When Aidan went to Cleveland, it was the first time one of our kids visited a city that Matt and I had never visited. On their free day, Aidan went with the youth to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, saw a Great Lake, watched an Indians game… All things we’ve never experienced.

He’s growing into his own person, both of my boys are. Time seemed to go so slowly (The Righteous Brothers) when they were small, when I was knee-deep in diapers and toys were strewn all over my house.

But really, life moves pretty fast (Ferris Bueller).

This summer has been marked by life-changing events for my sons. Aidan gave up two weeks of video games to help others in Guatemala and Cleveland. When he tells me about what he’s seen and done, I know these experiences have shaped who he is and who he will become.

Owen was baptized this summer. He’s been reading his Bible on his own and asking me hard questions. On that church trip, his children’s minister texted me, “He’s a sponge.”

And isn’t it true? They are soaking it all up, our children. The life they are given, the time that’s passing, the experiences we open up for them. There’s a little letting go every day.

When James Taylor sings about enjoying the passage of time, he asks, “Isn’t it a lovely ride?” Yes, it is. I’m thankful for all of it.

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Rev. Melanie Kilby Storie lives in Shelby, NC with her pastor husband, Matt, and her two sons, Aidan and Owen. Currently a tutor at a local school, Melanie is finishing work on a novel, Wildwood Flower set in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina about a girl who can talk the fire out of a burn.

Joanne Costantino: Christmas in July: the Miracle of Music

“Why, Who makes much of a miracle?

As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles.” – Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

It was the middle of July and after a long day of work and errands. I was stationed in the kitchen preparing dinner.

My grandson, Mikey, was sitting in a saucer seat that bounced and had a sling seat that held him up, and let him spin in place, but he didn’t have that kind of mobility. With a traumatic brain injury from Shaken Baby abuse, Mikey was developmentally delayed.

With brain injuries there is no instruction manual to gauge potential or progress, especially in babies. Our everyday was filled with either anxious anticipation that he would make another benchmark of progress or ambivalent acceptance that there was no new development for this 18 month old baby who so fat and happy we called him BuddhaMan because when we propped him upright he sat just like a Happy Buddha.

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While preparing dinner, I thought I heard a melodic and repetitive sound coming from him as he rocked side to side in his seat. My daughter Chris, Mike’s mom, noticed when I stopped in the middle of dinner prep and I leaned down toward his seat. Chris asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I think he’s singing,” I said.

Chris poo-pooed me in disdain, saying, “He can’t sing. He can’t even talk. You’re imagining things.” It was one of those days where she wasn’t so much disappointed, just ambivalent. I tried to be sympathetic when she was in these moods. It had to be spirit crushing to give birth to this beautiful baby and then have him brutalized by the person she loved. My constant mantra to her was, “We’re in this together,” trying to be supportive. But she was jaded and felt cheated and not open to miraculous possibilities.

I squatted down next to him and listened while he continued to rock side to side and making not so much a humming sound but more like a “huhhuhuuuhh, huhhuhhuuuhh”, but the there was definite melody to the sounds. He giggled and continued.

“I think he’s singing Jingle Bells!”

“No. He’s. Not. Where would he even get that from?” she asked. “It’s JULY! You WISH he was singing.”

“I still think he’s singing,” I said dismissively and went back to my dinner preparation.

The next day, I got a phone call from a very excited Chris. “You were right, Mom. He WAS singing Jingle Bells! They’re celebrating Christmas in July in daycare! They’re playing Christmas songs and movies! He’s SINGING!”

Music and this little miracle of an everyday activity in his daycare made something ‘click’ and sparked his capacity for speech. We knew where to go from there by singing more than speaking and he began to speak from that point on. There were many other instances when we thought Mikey might have topped out at progressing developmentally, but they were always negated by yet another breakthrough, where we got the message that there was more work to do with him. That was seventeen years ago.

Mike has a very melodic speaking and singing voice, but with adolescence, he won’t sing with people around. But he does sing with me when we are driving around. His favorites are Carly Simon’s “Mocking Bird” with James Taylor and Sarah McLachan’s “Angel,” which we sang to him as we rocked him while he was recovering and every evening at bedtime.

Sometimes Mike will ask me to pop in the Sarah McLachlan CD while we’re driving and naturally I do. There is no sweeter sound than this beautiful young man singing along with me, “You’re in the arms of the angels, May you find some comfort here.”

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Joanne Costantino is a Philly girl and “cafeteria Catholic” laywoman living in the wild suburbs of South Jersey, where she still pines for city life. She graduated from college in 2008, two weeks shy of the birth of her 4th grandchild. The “accidental matriarch” of a life she didn’t sign up for, Joanne chronicles that life at www.weneedmoresundaydinners.blogspot.com.

Heather Mustain: Ordinary Miracles: First Pregnancy

“Being pregnant is not for sissies,” a phrase my husband Chad has heard me say more than once over the last six months. As our baby girl continues to grow, and I with her, I find myself wanting to grumble and complain. Complaining seems a lot easier than being filled with gratitude for the healthy baby growing within me.

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Instead of complaining I remind myself every day that growth, albeit painful, is a gift from God. Every ache, every pain, every tear, every jab, every stretch mark, every trip to the bathroom, every night spent tossing and turning trying to find the perfect sleeping position has been entrusted to me by a God that desires my participation in co-creating life.

Erin Robinson Hall introduced this holy idea during last month’s conference call hosted by Baptist Women in Ministry. As she discussed the privilege women enter into during the nine, but really ten, months of pregnancy, my eyes swelled with tears as I realized for the first time the opportunity set before me. Being pregnant is not just a means to an end; it’s a holy process that invites a messy and broken person, like myself, to participate in the creation of life.

Any woman who has endured the trying months of pregnancy, not to mention labor and delivery, knows that this privilege isn’t all roses. Each has her horror story and many willingly share these with starry-eyed first time mothers, bringing them back to the reality that pain will ultimately find you.

But if you listen long enough to the chorus of these brave and courageous women, the hearer will find each story concludes the same way: “but I would do it all over again, because [s]he is worth it.” Ultimately these stories remind me that I am not alone, that others have gone before me, and that it’s worth it.

So as I roll out of bed, literally, three times a night, I find myself thanking God. Participating in creating life requires growth and commitment and ultimately pain will accompany it. Some days are better than others, but on the really hard days I hear the chorus cheering me on, asking me to join them in remembering that although pain is inevitable, it’s worth it.

Although pregnancy has taught me this valuable lesson, each of our days are filled with “pregnant” opportunities to embark on the journey of co-creation. So as God invites you to participate in co-creating life here on earth, don’t forget that it’s not for sissies!

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Heather Mustain serves as minister of missions at Wilshire Baptist Church in Dallas, TX. An advocate for global missions, Heather graduated from George W. Truett Theological Seminary at Baylor University with a Master of Divinity and a Master of Social Work.  This post originally appeared as an article in Wilshire Baptist Church’s newsletter.

Meredith Stone: Ordinary Miracles: Kinsey Finds a Hero

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Whether we are at a theme park, Chuck-E-Cheese, a local play, or university football game, my seven-year-old daughter, Kinsey, loves to meet the “characters.” Although she can’t sit still for more than five minutes, she will happily wait in line for half an hour to take a picture with Bugs Bunny–even if she has never seen a Bugs cartoon. She always wants to hang around after an event and meet the actors who starred in the play or the costumed mascot at the end of a game. Kinsey just has an affinity for characters.

Last week my husband and I brought both our daughters to Cooperative Baptist Fellowship’s General Assembly in Dallas. We began our week at Baptist Women in Ministry’s annual worship service. Squirming Kinsey sat on my lap as the service began. After a few minutes, Pam Durso introduced a young woman who would be supported by the BWIM’s Carolyn Weatherford Crumpler missions fund. As the young woman got up to speak, I whispered in Kinsey’s ear, “Shh. Please be quiet right now. This is mom’s friend Lauren Brewer Bass and I want to hear what she says.” Kinsey quieted down and listened carefully . . .  and then proceeded to continue fidgeting once Lauren was done.

Later at BWIM’s luncheon Kinsey heard Pam say that Lauren had written a book and would be signing copies after the lunch. On her way out, Kinsey quietly made a note of how neat it looked for people to stand in line and have Lauren sign their books.

When we arrived at the headquarters hotel just hours later, Kinsey spotted a banner with Lauren’s picture on it and shouted, “Hey, look! It’s Lauren Brewer Bass!” Then, Kinsey heard my husband and I talk about how Lauren and her husband, David, would be commissioned as field personnel during the Wednesday evening worship service.

As we prepared to go to dinner Wednesday evening, out of the blue Kinsey proclaimed as if it had been churning in her little head all day, “I want to be like Lauren Brewer Bass when I grow up! I want to write books and sign books and have my picture on banners. Will you read Lauren’s book to me once we get home?”

Kinsey had found a hero, a character. For the next forty-eight hours I heard the name “Lauren Brewer Bass” over and over. Once Kinsey realized that Lauren was moving to Cambodia to be a missionary she was a little concerned that she wouldn’t be able to see Lauren much, but she still chanted her name, “Lau-ren, Lau-ren, Lau-ren,” as we waited in line to get a picture with Lauren at Smyth & Helwys’ book signing on Thursday night.

I am so grateful to be a part of a fellowship that has characters like Lauren Brewer Bass. Baptist Women in Ministry and the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship are places where a seven-year-old girl can find heroes who write books, sign books, have their pictures on banners, and even go to Cambodia to share God’s grace and hope.

You can buy Lauren’s book, Five Hundred Miles: Reflections on Calling and Pilgrimage from Smyth & Helwys, HERE, or learn more about Lauren and David’s work on their BLOG.  My family will be supporting Lauren and David in their ministry, and I will keep Kinsey updated on all things “Lauren” in the years ahead. You also can give to support Lauren and David as well as other CBF field personnel HERE so that little girls and boys around the world can find characters and heroes worth standing in line for and chanting about.

This post originally appeared on the BWIM blog at http://bwim.info/wednesday-words/kinsey-finds-a-hero-by-meredith-stone1/

Meredith at 2012 WIM conf

Meredith Stone is director of ministry guidance and instructor of Christian ministry and scripture, Hardin-Simmons University, Abilene, Texas.