Tag Archives: Ministry and motherhood

Mary Elizabeth Hanchey: From dust you have come, and to dust you will return

Ash Wednesday 2016, Uncategorized, , ,

From dust you have come, and to dust you will return.

This proclamation names our mortality. But the rhythmic painting of ashes that it accompanies – down and then across, down and then across, down and then across – marks us with the sign of our risen Lord. We are at once named death and life. Marked with an ashen cross we enter the wilderness with Jesus and begin plodding along towards Holy Week. We face death and darkness and our own brokenness as a people who also know that Easter will burst forth.

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From dust you have come, and to dust you will return.

Willingly stepping into the wilderness – on purpose – as a part of spiritual practice – could seem counter-intuitive. Those who know the language of Godly Play have heard that no one goes into the wilderness unless she has to. But going into the wilderness, and then living into Easter, is rhythm that is important to practice.

As mothers, and as ministers, and as mothers who minister, we find ourselves in the wilderness more often than we would like. And more often than not we arrive suddenly. We don’t feel led there by the Holy Spirit, as Jesus was. We feel abandoned.

We start our day planning for a bit of mothering and a bit of ministering. Mothering and ministering both require tending to administrivia as well as to profound relationship building and we lay groundwork and balance and stretch and listen and perceive and take action so that we can do all of this tending effectively. And then someone who is angry or afraid or insecure or simply misinformed dumps her mess on our heads and we find ourselves standing in the wilderness soaked and sticky and outraged and alone.

And we are tempted. We are tempted by all sorts of responses that tease at gratification.

Jesus has shown us what to do about temptation in the wilderness. In Luke’s telling, Satan tempts Jesus with three tantalizing suggestions: fill yourself up with your own works; claim authority that is absolute, though Godless; and behave cavalierly. Jesus declines.

In the wilderness, empty and lonely and exhausted, Jesus remains focused on what he knows to be true about God. And he is strengthened for the ministry he is about to undertake.

From dust you have come, and to dust you will return.

Having been named both life and death we step into the wilderness of Lent and practice surviving until Easter. We practice declining the seemingly gratifying temptations we face there. We practice so that when we find ourselves suddenly abandoned in the wilderness on a day that we thought mothering and ministering would be life-giving, we will remember that Jesus is there with us. We practice so that we will remember that we are an Easter people who will not let wilderness overtake us.

We practice so that we can accompany others in the wilderness. Who do you know that is in wilderness? As you lift your eyes to gaze upon the others who are plodding in wilderness, speak to them with a breath tinged with Easter. Tell them what they need to remember in order to survive the fear and loneliness. Make a Lenten practice of naming the spiritual gifts of those who walk beside you. Remind the bearers of burdened hearts and heavy shoulders that they are God’s own.

This week as we step into Lent marked by ashen crosses, let this prayer guide our plodding:

God of the wilderness, fill me with your Spirit. Show me Jesus in this place. Help me to focus on what I know to be true about you. Protect me from despair. Protect my children from my temptations. Strengthen me for the ministry that lies ahead. Put words of encouragement on my tongue. Amen.

 

 

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Mary Elizabeth Hanchey is a Coordinator for Project Pomegranate, which provides spiritual resources for those impacted by fertility grief. A member at Watts Street Baptist Church, she lives in Durham, NC with her husband and three children. She is a student at Duke Divinity School where she is pursuing an MDiv as a Cooperative Baptist Fellowship Scholar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elizabeth Grasham: The Truth About Love

February 2016, Uncategorized, , , ,

The truth about love was hidden in the faux grains of laminate flooring as I, wracked with fever, crawled towards the bed my toddler son had just vomited in.

The truth about love lay deep within the folded skin of my mother’s hands as she helped me pack up my ex-husband’s belongings in tan Home Depot boxes.

The truth about love hung heavy in the air of the fellowship hall kitchen, where kind church members prepared a meal for the vast family that had descended onto Abilene for my grandmother’s funeral.

The truth about love glimmered in the setting sun’s last rays of light as I stood on the beach with my new husband.

The truth about love is that it demands context to take real shape.  The poets and bards of every age have stretched language and birthed metaphor after metaphor in attempt to give love flesh.  But abstractions only serve us temporarily; words just won’t get to the heart of love.
Love, in the end, must indeed have flesh to be love. Or to say it another way, love is only revealed in the midst of other emotion, of other circumstance.
 I tell my son every day that I love him, but I LOVE him when I crawl up onto his top bunk to hold him while he throws up into the sick bucket.
I tell my husband that I love him, but I LOVE him when provide a safe place for him to share his hopes and frustrations.
I tell my congregation that I love them, but I LOVE them when I stand with them by gravesides and hospital beds and wedding receptions.
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There is no such thing as love out of real-world context.  Which is why, I imagine, God eventually showed up in the form of an infant in Bethlehem. God, the first poet, the Singer of the Song of Creation, stretched the bounds of language and metaphor and then crossed the threshold of transcendence.
This is the foundation of our faith, is it not? That love was made flesh?  That was why the writer of the Epistles of John could say, with conviction, “God is love.”
I, like many of you, will most likely buy a valentine’s card for my beloved ones in the coming weeks.  I may even pen a poem for the handsome man I share my life and bed with.
But the truth about love is that it demands an existence beyond the notes and letters we string together between us.  True love rises from within the tangible moments of our shared lives.
In these days and beyond, may all of your loves be true. May your love have heft, have scent, be brilliant as the sun, may it chime like the stars of the heavens.
May your love be made flesh.
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Rev Elizabeth Grasham is the Solo Pastor of Heights Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Houston, TX. She is a mother, a minister, a geek, and has very firm opinions in the Star Trek vs Star Wars argument.

Chansin Esparza: I Know I Love the Church; I Think I Will Love My Kids

January 2016, Uncategorized, , , , ,

I know I love the Church. I think I will love my kids.

My call to the Church has been just as strong … if not stronger … than my call to motherhood. And so I’ve waited. I put off having kids. I know a lot of young people don’t feel the urgency and are waiting to have kids, too. But my waiting has truly been all about the Church.

You see, I already know I love the Church. The people who have been the Church to me have taught me about God, have shown me how to live meaningfully, have affirmed my value, have fought injustice around them, and have lived in true community.

And I love what God thinks of the Church – it’s his bride, the hands and feet of Jesus, the hope of the world. I’ve been hurt enough times by church people to get mad now and again, but I’ve always kept those episodes separate from the greater Church – the true Church –  in my mind. And so I am just overwhelmed with passion for the people of God.

I got married pretty young. I was 22. And I’ve always known I’d want a family eventually. But my husband and I set our eyes on seminary and becoming better equipped to serve the world by serving the church. Kids could wait.

My mother knew from the moment she was married she wanted to build a family. She wasted no time getting started. But I waited seven years. Several of those years were spent earning my Master of Divinity.

And then after all that hard work, I couldn’t imagine not giving my complete devotion to a local church for at least a little while. I needed to work as a minister full-time for at least a year, I decided. But then finding that full-time position as a woman in a new town proved difficult initially. So the timeline was pushed back a bit more.

I was loving the church; I was loving my life. But I was nearing 30, knew I’d eventually want more than one child, and there were biological factors to consider.

So I scheduled it. I was plenty busy serving a church at this point, but the timeline had to be considered, and so I believed God would make a way.

Pregnant chansin in church

I haven’t known many mother-ministers. I figured it would be hard. It didn’t help that – in the midst of me quietly trying to get pregnant – my lead pastor told me not to get pregnant. It was a completely inappropriate comment. I knew he should never have said it. He didn’t have to elaborate for me to know he believed that I couldn’t give my all to the ministry objectives I shared if I had a baby in tow.

And while it made me angry that he would make such a pronouncement, it also voiced the inward fear I’d been harboring for years. Could I be effective in reaching people for Christ, in making disciples of new Christians, in equipping leaders to take Jesus into their workplaces – if I was preoccupied with a little one who was completely dependent on me?

Pregnant chansin church work day

Thankfully, I am now serving in a church where the lead pastor believes I can still be effective with a child. She hired me as her associate pastor with full knowledge of my pregnancy. She sees I am determined to serve. She believes I can be both mother and minister. She did it. She knows it’s possible.

So her beautiful budding church – only a year old – hired me when I was 30 weeks pregnant. They call me their Pastor of Multiplication. The plan is that in a few years my husband and I will plant a second church – an offshoot of this church. My pregnancy gives them fodder for jokes about multiplication … when it comes to their church and when it comes to my family, and I love it all.

They let me preach my first Sunday with them. The pastor sees me as her partner, not her assistant. The church is excited for my expanding family. Barely having served the church for two months, they threw me a baby shower. They are giving me paid maternity leave. Their open arms and all of their generosity only makes me love the Church more.

Pregnant Chansin baby shower

And so when I say that I know I love the Church and I think I will love my kids, I mean it.

I’ve never been a baby person. Kids make it harder to schedule meetings or parties or ministry events. I hear about how exhausted I will be, and I’ve witnessed the struggle of parenting rambunctious, rebellious little ones. But parents say it’s worth it. They say it’s the hardest-greatest joy one could experience. I’m told it will make my ministry deeper in ways I haven’t experienced yet.

Scripture says children are a heritage – a blessing – from the Lord. I am truly looking forward to teaching my son about Jesus. I look forward to growing the Church in this very personal way. And with the confidence of my church community – who believes I can serve both them and a child – as well as the example of my lead pastor and the friends and women who write for this blog – my faith is strengthened.

So here I am, writing this on my due date – truly believing that God equips those whom God calls. God makes us complete in everything good so we can do God’s will. God has prepared us to do good works, and God will see it through. It’s all for the glory of Jesus, after all, and not for me.

I waited to get pregnant. I put off having kids. It looks like my baby is now making me wait a little longer for him to come into the world. Perhaps greater patience is one of the first things God is going to teach me through this new experience of motherhood.

And I will take whatever lessons I learn from God through this baby and pass them along to my congregation. Because I love the Church. And I will love my kids.

Pregnant Chansin maternity

Chansin Esparza is the Pastor of Multiplication at Life In The City in Austin, Texas. She has served in connection ministry, young adult ministry, and youth ministry. She and her husband both have Master of Divinity degrees from Baylor’s Truett Seminary. Their first child is due in January 2016.

Ashley Mangrum: Soulful Question

January 2016, Uncategorized, , , ,

Over dinner one night last week, my four-year-old asked one of those questions. Perhaps you can relate. He asked a question that I, as an adult, would never think to ask.

It was the kind of question that causes grown-ups to reach into the outermost edges of our hearts, minds, and life experiences for a sufficient answer only to find that the question asked is far more meaningful than anything we might say in response.

We were discussing death. This is not a new topic of conversation at my house. On this particular evening the conversation began with volcanoes.

My son asked about Vesuvius, the volcano famous for reducing the Italian village of Pompeii to dust, which naturally lead to the topic of death. In response to my son’s wonderings about what happens when a person dies, my husband and I repeated what we have been saying since the first time our son asked about death: your soul goes to be with God.

On this particular night, he wanted to know more.

After thinking it over for a minute, he asked, “Can your soul ever be lost?” We asked him what he meant by that question, to which he replied, “Can you lose your soul? Can it ever just fall out of you?”

A heartbreakingly simple and poignant question.

In the silence that followed, my mind and heart racing, I wondered how to answer. There is so much that could be said. The San Bernardino shooting had happened the day before. Yet another mass shooting, and this time, a prominent Evangelical responded by encouraging thousands of college students to carry guns—even in their residence halls on college campuses—in order to get the other guy before the other guy gets them.

Elsewhere, millions of people are running for their lives and the lives of their children, but they run into locked doors and closed borders because the people on the other side are too afraid to open up. Our prisons are filled with predominantly one type of person whose crime, in some cases it would seem, is to have been born with the “wrong” color skin. In the richest nation in the history of the world, children go to bed hungry.

And the list goes on and on.

I look around and ask the same thing as my four-year-old. Have our souls fallen right out of our bodies? Where did we leave them? How is it that we have lost our souls? And how do we find them again?

I thought about an answer to my son’s question long after our dinner conversation ended. I still wonder about it now.

Of course, the soul cannot literally be separated from the body. If the early church fathers and mothers had thought this possible, Christianity as we know it would look very different.

But when I search for answers to why our world is filled with such hatred, bigotry, and fear, why human beings are the source of this suffering, the best answer I can come up with is my son’s question: Have we misplaced our souls? How else could a person created in the Image of God treat another person created in the same Image so soullessly?

We must be disconnected from the fundamental truth of who we are and in whose Image we were created. Somehow, when we weren’t paying attention, we misplaced the most important aspect of who we are. We have lost that which makes us human.

My son was still waiting on a response. I turned and looked into the sweet, sincere face of my son who just wants to know if his soul is in danger of slipping out in the night.

“No, little one. You will not lose your soul.” And I pray with all my might that it will be so.

I pray that his soul is never lost to him, that soul is never severed from action. I pray that he stands on the side of the hopeless and oppressed. I pray that he speaks truth as he lives it.

And I pray he will never have to backtrack to look for a soul that has been misplaced—hoping he never loses it in the first place.

May this be our collective prayer. And now, let’s get busy backtracking, searching for the souls we’ve lost and the places where we left them.

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Ashley Mangrum is a Baptist minister, and the mother of two small children who ask big questions. Until recently, she served as the CBF Campus Minister at UNC-Chapel Hill. She and her husband currently live in Davidson, NC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bio: Ashley Mangrum is a Baptist minister, and the mother of two small children who ask big questions. Until recently, she served as the CBF Campus Minister at UNC-Chapel Hill. She and her husband currently live in Davidson, NC.

Katrina Brooks: The Momma Lens

Uncategorized, , , ,

Several months ago with the help of some Baptist General Association of Virginia (BGAV) field staff we began a peer-learning group for youth pastors who are female. There are seven of us and I am the old lady of the group (Read: old enough to be their momma).

These young women are gifted, talented, pop culture gurus who are called and passionate ministers. They are technology savvy and speak a millennial code that transports me back to my Hebrew class as I often grasp the code meaning but not the specific translation.

These young ministers energize me, challenge me and inspire me. They also remind me I am no longer a young minister.

Due to a chronic illness I am protective of my schedule. I rely on folks to open things and carry things. I lead bible study and games from a chair. Regular trips to a hair stylist keep my natural hair coloring “in check” and I take naps. I have traded my stylish shoes for shoes with support and comfort and it has been a long time since I was called cool.

I use a MacBook but can’t seem to figure out how to work on more than one project at a time or load my iTunes account. My iPhone might as well be a flip phone considering the few apps I use and to be honest I prefer books.

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I am an old school (Read: I would use technology if it was available, but I am not going to figure out how to make it available) teacher and facilitator and while I keep abreast of pop culture I am more likely to insert illustrations into a study rather than play a clip.

Life has taught me that far more than any study I lead or any cool game I introduce, my life speaks.

How I treat people, how I love people, how I share my story, how I relentlessly seek after, and even how vulnerable I am speaks louder than any “perfectly crafted” study or “cool” game I demonstrate. I have come to understand there is a sacred holiness to doing life together (Thank you, Bonhoeffer, for that term.).

In doing life together convictions and beliefs, discipleship and mission are caught. Later, when words are necessary, they are used to explain significance and meaning (Thank you, Saint Francis.)

On Sunday I watched as some of our youth girls received communion from deacons who were female. The ones in the pew in front of me took the elements without a thought.

I was not surprised. These youth had been a part of lengthy discussions over the past few years as we wrestled with supportive and non-supportive scriptures.

I then watched our sixth graders. Having only done life with them a short while I wondered how they would react. Tears popped into my eyes as they responded the same as the older youth. Somehow without a lengthy study, without a minister to guide their curiosity and challenge their opinions, they knew the gender of deacons is irrelevant.

Glancing over at the pastor, I evaluated the deacons serving communion. One male was the grandson of a former pastor. Two sibling pairs (one male, one female) were represented. One deacon was the spouse of the former deacon chair (last year they served together). Half of those serving were female. The faces of the other deacons came to mind as tears flowed.

I’d like to say I would have recognized the sacredness of this moment when I was younger, but I am not sure. When I was the age of the women in my peer group life was complicated. I chose to bury myself in my spouse’s ministry and have children.

My call to ministry came after I turned thirty. Truth is, I never was a young minister. I was always the momma.

In that sacred communion moment I realized the things I sometimes think render me less qualified to be a youth pastor actually make me more qualified. Innately, I minister in synergy with other church ministries and leaders. Events and ministry opportunities are intentionally designed to teach the congregation’s convictions as church dreams and visions are implemented.

My “momma lens” helps me interpret behavior, guide gatherings, create opportunities, and informs how I do life with our youth. It is the same in my peer-learning group.

In this season of Epiphany, the Church celebrates the gifts that were brought to a momma and daddy for the Christ Child. Just as Mary marveled at the wonder of it all, I am hoping 2016 will be the year the marvel of doing life with all of these folks will transform this no- longer-young youth pastor into the one she needs to be.

Fierce. Fabulous…and definitely over 50!

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Katrina Stipe Brooks is Youth Pastor at Madison Heights Baptist church in Virginia. The other Rev. Brooks is Tony, who work for the BGAV. Katrina is also mom to Tara, who is also a minister, and Joe, who works for GE.

Jenny Call: Grace Upon Grace

January 2016, Uncategorized, , , ,

12.29.15 197‘Tis the season…
to survey (and contemplate cleaning up) all the mess generated by holiday festivities,
to think about getting back to healthier habits (thanks to the holiday festivities),
to remind the kids to be grateful for all the gifts they have received,

and in reality…
to give up on all chores and resolutions and instead binge on Netflix while the kids fight over their gifts.

According to Target, tis the season to prepare for Valentine’s Day and Easter. Following the church calendar, we are still in Christmastide, but when I went to the store two days after Christmas in search of a good deal on a tree for next year, the Christmas merchandise had been wiped clean with just a single aisle of reduced price wrapping paper and two shopping carts full of assorted goods. In the place where the trees once stood were racks of candy for Valentine’s Day and Easter.

We are nothing if not forward-looking (at least when it comes to consumerism).

I don’t want to rush to February 14th, though, and overlook the New Year’s holiday as I always appreciate the chance for introspection and reflection. The problem comes, though, when I’m quick to remember all the negative things and forget about all the good.

I’m a recovering perfectionist, and the visions of how things “should” be play on an endless loop in my mind. Advent and Christmas are the “perfect” times for me to confront my obsessive tendencies with how things “ought” to be, but I usually pursue my unrealistic expectations, which more often than not, end in bitterness and disappointment.

And I wonder why my kids can’t learn to be more grateful.

I preached about grace this Sunday as I tend to speak on what I most need to hear. In case I wasn’t getting the message, an unfortunate series of events on Saturday night resulted in my computer’s blue screen of death, losing all of my files (including my sermon), and the complete removal of Microsoft Word.

It was tragic, and yet also a lesson in what is not within my control. I went back to my text and felt anew the hope of John chapter one:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (vv. 1-5)

It is both humbling and a relief that God is the Word. It is not my words that make a difference, but I have the privilege to point to the Word, the Logos. Just as John was a witness to the light, my job is to testify to what I have seen and received. That takes me to my favorite line:

“From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.”  (v. 16)

Grace. I can’t think of anything I need more in my life.

My head is full of the deafening noise of judgments, rules, and guilt about what I could have done better as a person, mom, and minister. And God whispers into the chaos, “Grace”.

And not just simple grace, but an abundance–grace upon grace. Surely I have fully received that again and again, and this gift of God is a promise that I can count on receiving forever.

Grace will be my word for 2016.

I want to share it in my ministry, my speaking, and my writing. I long to show it more to my family: to my aging mother and grandmother, to my devoted husband, and to the two kids that demand it the most (and yet share it freely with me).

But first I must receive grace myself. As I accept my failures and am still able to see myself as God’s beloved, may I be less critical and judgmental with those I love.

May 2016 be the year of grace and graciousness for all of us.

Jenny Call is writer, mom, and university chaplain at Hollins University. She blogs at www.hopecalls.blogspot.com.

Hannah Coe: Pregnant with Hope

Advent 2015, Uncategorized, ,

Luke 1:78-79:

By the tender mercy of our God,
    the dawn from on high will break upon us,

to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
    to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Christmas Eve worship, 2014. I was pregnant and uncomfortable. I sat, facing the congregation, belly bulging under my robe. I wondered, “How could I possibly have to use the bathroom again?” I lumbered into the pulpit and read Luke 1:46-55, Mary’s Song of Praise.

Christmas Eve 2014

A moment I will not forget. A text full of faith, Mary’s faith. A belly full with the hope and promise of new life, my daughter’s life. A congregation full of love and grace, colleagues and family and friends worshiping together.

Yet, I felt uncertain, a little sad, even. My husband and I were in the final stages of discerning a call to a new place and a new season of ministry. As I mentioned before–uncomfortable. In a matter of weeks, my family moving across the country, newborn and all. Christmas Eve 2015 would look different, but how?

In Luke 1, Mary and Zechariah are on their own Advent journey. When Gabriel visits Zechariah in the temple, Zechariah is overwhelmed with fear. At times on this 2015 journey, I have been like Zechariah—fearful, ready to quiz God, unable to believe what’s right in front of me.

When Gabriel visits Mary, she responds by saying, “I am the Lord’s servant.” At times on this 2015 journey, I have been like Mary—faithful, pondering what God is doing, open to what’s next.

Though their journeys are quite different, Luke 1 ends with both Mary and Zechariah praising God.   Praise from the willing servant, Mary. Praise from the unbeliever-turned-believer, Zechariah.

Transition has, indeed, been our family’s primary experience this year. Master’s degrees completed, new jobs begun, a new baby, a cross-country move—a blur. Yet, as Christmas Eve 2015 comes into focus, I am profoundly and humbly grateful. As God did in Zechariah’s heart, God has turned my unbelief into praise and gratitude. As God did in Zechariah’s heart, God has turned my fear into faith.

May praise, gratitude, and faith find you on your Advent journey.

Tender and Merciful Lord, fill our hearts with praise. When we are fearful. When we are faithful. Turn our eyes to the horizon where Christ’s light breaks upon us, from which Christ’s light breaks through darkness and death. Turn our feet, O Lord, toward the pathway of Peace. Amen.

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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.

Sarah Boberg: For Better or Worse

Ordinary Miracles 2015, , , ,

I, like many others, took a marriage oath on the day of my wedding. These vows went something like this, “I Sarah, take you Bradley, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

Upon taking that oath, I knew to expect good times and bad times in my marriage. I knew marriage would be a roller coaster ride, and it has been. However, I wish there would have been the same type of oath on the day of my ordination into the ministry and even on the day I found out I was pregnant with my first child.

Family

Motherhood and ministry both require the same dedication as a marriage. As a mother and minister I have held many people, have stood beside my own child and my church children in the best of times, and the worst of times. I have struggled with what it costs to raise a child and with ministry budgets, but I have always been able to make it. I have nursed my own sick child, have given out many Band-Aids and ice packs, and sat beside many hospital beds. Motherhood and ministry, like marriage, are lifetime commitments.

This all hit me last week as I went from dancing and singing on stage at Vacation Bible School to a funeral visitation within an hour. Ministry is full of these instances. However, I will cherish this specific “for better or worse” moment forever.

I remember the first time I met my ministry mini-me. (For those who have ministered with children and/or youth, you know what I am talking about. A ministry mini-me is that kid in your group who is so like you as a kid it is scary.) It was the Sunday Brad was visiting First Baptist Church, Red Springs to preach his first sermon and be voted on to become their pastor.

We had spent Saturday meeting some church members, but Sunday was the big day. And while on normal occasions I am extroverted and great with crowds, this day was overwhelming for me as a 23 year old wife who knew very little about being a First Baptist preacher’s wife. So I found myself migrating to my comfort zone, the youth room.

There in the youth room I met a young girl. She was around 12 years old, tall and skinny. As we began to talk I realized I had not met her on Saturday because she had been preparing for and performing at her dance recital all weekend. I thought, “Now this is a conversation I am comfortable with. Thank you, Lord!”

We talked a little and the Sunday morning continued to unfold. I met a lot of people. I shook a lot of hands. After Brad preached, the church voted, and he became the next pastor at First Baptist Church in Red Springs.

Egg Hunt

My ministry has been full of “for better or worse” moments, but no ministry relationship has taught me more than ministering to my mini-me. We both share a love for dance, basketball, volleyball, all things tie-dye and retail therapy. We both but up a strong front, but are sensitive on the inside. We are both hard-workers and put others above ourselves. We both have what I call “sassy mouth.” As a college student, she even worked as a waitress at the same restaurant chain I worked at as a high school and college student!

This beautiful young woman has grown up before my eyes. As her youth minister I walked along side of her through middle-school and high school, some of the hardest years for girls. I have been to many sporting events and awards days. We have taken many trips to Taco Bell. We have spent hours talking. Her name should be engraved on the chair in my office. I have rejoiced with her in her accomplishments and when her heart has been broken, mine has broken. As she has grown, our relationship has become less one-sided. I no longer just minister to her, she ministers to and with me.

Our relationship has been full of “for better or worse” moments. Our relationship has taught me about ministering with agape love, unconditional love. Even though I don’t always like her life choices, and sometimes want to scream at her, I love her with the unconditional love of Jesus.

Several weeks ago this relationship taught me again the value of committing to relationships in ministry. As I entered the funeral home, still wearing my “I Love VBS” t-shirt, my husband grabbed me. He asked if I had seen my mini-me. I said, “No”. He then told me she had not gone to the casket yet, she was waiting for me to go with her.

It was her grandmother’s visitation. Her grandmother was a committed member of the church and a great friend to my husband, daughter, and me. I spoke to many church members, family members and friends, but my heart and mind were solely focused on finding my mini-me. I found her, we hugged and talked a little. I told her I was there and ready whenever she was.

After the funeral home cleared out of guests, we reconnected. She grabbed my hands and we made our way to the casket. We cried, we talked, and we even laughed, the whole time holding each other.

It didn’t matter that she is now 22 and not technically one of “my youth.” It didn’t matter that we hadn’t had a taco bell run or long talk in a while. All that mattered was that we were there together, “for better or worse”.

Life and ministry are full of “for better or worse” moments. Marriage, motherhood, and ministry mean committing to love God and each other “for better or worse.”

(As I type this, the next generation mini-me just made her way into my office! Thankful for many “for better or worse” moments to come.)

Mom and Mickey

Reverend Sarah Boberg is a minister, mother, and PhD candidate. She is currently conducting narrative research for her PhD dissertation.

Merianna Harrelson: On Cooler Breezes and Bigger Bellies

September 2015, , , ,

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.

Rev. Merianna Neely Harrelson is the pastor of Emmanuel Baptist Fellowship in Lexington, SC. She is always looking for a good cup of coffee and a great book to read. Read more of her bog posts at http://www.merianna.net.

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

Uncategorized, ,

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.