It's a Family Thing

This morning, a few other pastors and I had the privilege of serving in our children's ministry's very first Family Communion Day. After worship, parents were invited to bring their children to a room that had been set aside just for communion so that they could celebrate the sacrament together. Sunday School teachers had prepared the children for this by teaching about Jesus' last supper with his disciples and how communion is our remembrance of this.

Many thumbs up to our children's ministry for this special worship element. The room was prepared thoughtfully, with five beautiful communion tables, candles and soft music, the atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable, and a large number of families took advantage of the opportunity.

Many of the children had never taken communion before, and it was so cool to be a part of their first experience. We teamed with their parents to walk them through their first communion, and the relaxed atmosphere set them at ease so that they were not overwhelmed, nervous or bored. I loved watching their smiles, their twinkling eyes, their laughter as they accepted the bread of life and the cup of salvation. Some ate their bread before dipping it into the juice, others dropped their bread into the juice and then looked at me with confusion. So, we just smiled and gave them more bread and another chance.

One family made an event out of two of their children's first communion. They invited the entire extended family, took pictures the entire time, and then family pictures after communion. Their little girl, after communion, exclaimed, "Yum!" Perfect. Communion as a party, a significant life event, and even a delight to the taste. It makes sense, if we are doing this in remembrance of Christ, the bridegroom who invites us all to the great feast.

I'm looking forward to the next family communion day, and the day when every day is one big family communion.

Spin Mistress

So, I started a new spin class today. For those who don't know, this is an indoor cycling class. The instructor turns on some fast-paced music, sits on her cycle in front of us, then does her best to induce heart attacks by leading us all up never ending hills. For some reason, there's never any down hills in spin classes.

During one of the songs, she split the room into two teams. Now, I'm all about competition. The drive to win is one of the strongest drives within me, so I was geared up for whatever challenge she threw our way.

To my surprise, though, it wasn't a competition. Team one was the first to sprint for a full minute, while team two's responsibility was to cheer and holler for team one. Then we reversed roles. Now, I felt a little silly yelling and clapping for team one, a group of women pedaling for dear life on their stationary bikes. I mean, what was the point?

Then it was our turn to sprint. For one tremendously long minute. And those cheers and applause were the only thing that kept me going. Thanks, team one!

So, tomorrow I'm going to look for someone else to cheer for, even if I feel a bit silly.

Adding Parents to Our Family

A couple of weeks ago, my daughter began exhibiting very strange behavior; she made her bed every morning. Even while we were visiting family in Oklahoma, she neatly smoothed her blanket on her little blowup mattress every day.

I didn't know where she learned that kind of behavior. Certainly not from her dad or me. But, kids will be kids, so I decided to let it slide and didn't say anything about it.

Things finally came to a head, though, one morning when we were running behind schedule. After brushing her hair, I told her to grab her jacket so we could run out the door. She looked at me wide-eyed, and gasped, "But I haven't made my bed yet!"

"Honey," I said, with as much patience as I could muster, "you don't need to make your bed."

"But my Karate coach said I had to make my bed every morning," she explained, and ran into her room at top speed.

So there it is. In just two weeks of lessons, her Karate coach surpassed my influence over my daughter. This week, thanks to the coach's instruction, she has memorized her full address and telephone number, something I've been working on with her for months.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly grateful to the Karate coach. Actually, I'm thinking of sending him a list of suggestions: tell the students they must learn to cook dinner, give ribbons for learning to mow the lawn.

The thing is, I know that this is just the beginning of other influential people in her life. Actually, it's probably well beyond the beginning. So, I now know that one of my parental responsibilities is to carefully choose, as much as I can, who those influencers are.

First major decision: the Karate coach stays.

A Weekend of Good Stuff

It's not often that I use this blog for promotion, but I just had to let you know of a couple of great opportunities this weekend. And I'll be at both, which of course sweetens the deal.

This Saturday night at 7:00 is Justice Jam in the Church of the Resurrection student center (the east building). For just a $10 suggested donation, you get to enjoy the awesome music of the band Waterdeep and, best of all, make the world a better place. Proceeds benefit Love146, an organization dedicated to fighting sex trafficking around the world. Can you think of a better way to spend your Saturday night? Because I can't.

The fun doesn't stop there. On Sunday, we're hosting our second lunch and discussion at Church of the Resurrection after the 10:45 worship service. You'll have an opportunity to delve into conversation with others about the current sermon series. I guarantee that at your table you will have at least one, quite possibly five, people in a different generation than you. Last week, one table's participants ranged in age from 19-85, and they had some pretty rich discussion. You should only come if you're willing to listen to ideas and opinions different from your own, and excited about the possibility of a new perspective. This week's sermon topic: When Christians Get it Wrong When Talking About Other Religions. Registration is $10 and includes a delicious lunch.

So, don't tell me you're bored this weekend.

A Very Serious Post, Not for the Feint Hearted

I've been debating whether to write this post, and decided for it for a few reasons:

1. So that you know why the sadness sometimes lurks in my eyes.

2. Because I need to talk about it, but I don't want to talk about it.

3. So that you who have not experienced it can hear one person's story. Not that I claim my feelings and reactions are universal by any means, but for those who care for others, maybe my story can help.

Last week Dave and I were happily expecting our second child. Today we are not.

I tuned out when the doctor mentioned the possibility of miscarriage. Hadn't I just seen the baby's little heart beating? No danger could touch its little life in my strong, healthy body, a body which was designed to bring forth life.

Which is why I feel so betrayed by my body.

For days I ignored the mounting evidence, searching internet sites for every other possible explanation. It was only the wise council of my husband a good friend from church that kept me from preaching this weekend, and the end finally came at the exact time that I would have been in the pulpit Saturday night. Thank God for clearer minds than mine.

As soon as I could steal away to a private room, the wrenching sobs which I had repressed for hours poured out. They surprised me. It's not that I don't cry- I cry quite easily over movies, Hallmark commercials, good books, a well-told story, a sermon (even my own), weddings and funerals. I just don't often cry over my own life or situation. But I cry now.

Initially, I thought I'd throw away the pictures from the sonogram with the little white blob, an arrow, and "baby," but they're still in my purse in the envelope. I can't look at them, but I can't throw them away. They're all I have left of baby.

I feel like I have a tomb inside of me. A cold, dark, lifeless tomb.

And every minute of every day, my body reminds me of what has been lost.

The other stories have surprised me. They shouldn't. It only makes sense when you look at the statistics: around 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, so of course women all around me have suffered through this. But I just never thought of how many there were. It's like I've discovered a huge underground sisterhood which I didn't want to join, but for which I am incredibly grateful. They share their stories with me, and I can believe in hope, in the return of real laughter, in a body that will bear life again.

Tomorrow I will look again for the sunshine. Maybe the next day I will even dance just a little bit. It's just life; we'll win in the end.

But tonight I'm crying again.

God at Oak Park Mall

Yesterday I spent some quality hours at Oak Park Mall (thanks, SPRC!) and a few spiritual experiences caught me by surprise.

The first encounter was at the Seacret kiosk. Elad, a salesman at the kiosk stopped me to demonstrate their nail care kit. While he was beautifying one of my nails (it really did work well, so I bought the whole kit) we chatted. He's lives in Israel, and is here just to help promote the company's products in the United States. He lives just 30 minutes from the Dead Sea, his favorite place back home. He asked me about myself, and when I told him I was a pastor, he was more than a little surprised. He said, "you don't look like a pastor." He expected a pastor to be dressed in a dark suit and tie. Back home, he told me, religious leaders always dress differently from other people, so he really was taken aback by a pastor who looks, "normal." We laughed about this, and he shared with me what he loves and misses about home.

Not long after this fun encouter, I ran across Jesus. He was hanging out at the top of the escaltor, just watching people over the railing. He was in full regalia- white robe, crown of thorns, full beard and long flowing hair. We didn't talk, but I couldn't help but think about Elad, wondering what his reaction would be. What is his overall impression of Christians, or at least Christians in the United States?

My final encounter was at the check out counter of a department store. I bought a couple of items that finished out my gift card, and it rang up $0.98 over what was left on the card. I very rarely carry cash (yes, I know what Dave Ramsey would say), and so asked if I could put the $0.98 on my credit card. The woman checking out next to me laughed and handed the cashier a dollar for me. I thanked her and she just smiled and waved me off, then left. It was just a dollar, but she did it so quickly and without a second thought, that it made me think that generosity must just be a way of life for her.

It's been an interesting season.

Merry Christmas.

The Bible sometimes ticks me off

I love the Bible, I really do. I read it everyday, meditate upon it, study it, and treasure it. But just now I'm pretty frustrated with it.

We've been reading Aliyah's children's Bible to her every night as her bedtime story, and last night was the story of Hannah, who prayed to God for a son and whose prayer was answered. I had not yet completed the last sentence, which announced that Hannah had a baby boy, before Aliyah slammed her hands on the book and yelled, "Again?!"

"What do you mean 'again,' honey?"

"It's another baby boy. In the whole Bible, that's all there is- baby boys! Why aren't there any baby girls, mommy?"

I tried telling her that there are some baby girls in the Bible. Unfortunately, they are all such minor characters that none of them made it into her children's Bible. And the truth is, of the few baby girls, none of them is a direct answer to prayer.

How can I look at my beautiful and amazing baby girl, who is an answer to prayer, and tell her that the Bible is the most important book in the world, inspired by God, useful for instruction and edification, when she knows there are no baby girls in it? Either it is not that great of a book, or baby girls are not that important to God. That's not what I believe, but it's the message she's hearing right now.

So I'm really ticked off at the Bible. And maybe just a little bit at God, too.