Tuesday, July 20, 2021

Overwhelmingly Sad

**Written originally on February 6, 2018 at 10:16 pm, but never published**
  
I am just two days away from my last day at Loma Vista. It's been home for me and my family for over 13 years - now it will suddenly be over.

My journey of departure has been long. Little parts of me have been dying for years now. Only recently had I discovered so little of me remained alive. Authentic Connie has ever-so-slowly been slipping away. So subtle, only people closest to me have noticed.

The two things that most stirred this decision:
1. To be in a place where I can be authentically me.
2. To be able to follow God in a way that is true to myself and what I believe.

To feel such total freedom and total loss simultaneously is strange.
To drink wine for my mourning heart and also for my joyous deliverance is oddly paradoxical.

My heart is confused and torn.
I want to get off this roller-coaster of emotions.

I know You are with me...but I am afraid.

Seeking Your face is not easy. Seeking Your face is not comfortable. Seeking Your face is not logical.

When does faith transcend logic? If we only choose that which is logical, are we living by faith?

Not a Token

 A few weeks ago I was interviewed by a panel of men. The panel was made up of the National Director of my denomination as well as two other District Ministers from the Central and Northern United States. 

In some way I was honored that my name came up as a potential member for a board which studies the theological background for policy, faith, and belief in my denomination. But in another way the interview left me feeling ill.

The interview was going along fine. We all four shared background information, laughed a bit and then I shared on my understanding of the difference between inerrancy and infallibility. They asked me my opinion on other topics like racism and women as Lead Pastors. I was being completely honest (though it may not have been the perspective they necessarily agreed with) and then one of the District Ministers paused the interview to explain to me that I am not just a token woman on the board of ten people. "Your participation, insight, and opinion is just as important as everyone else's," he assured me. I really do think he meant well and was trying to be encouraging, but I sure felt like the conversation went side-ways.

First - I am not an idiot. 

The board consists of ten people total: one person is the National Director (a man), then each of the five districts have a District Minister present (also men), followed by four "members-at-large," with one lady presiding. The set-up alone dictates that a woman feel like a token. Even IF the other four members were women, there would never be an equal representation, especially given the difference in titles and authority.

Second - Oppression Leaves Wounds

I was surprised to discover something about myself I did not previously realize. The District Minister followed his 'token' statement with a question asking, "Will you be able to speak up and share your insight and opinions?" I sat quiet for a few long seconds. I have no doubt these three gentlemen are kind people. I have no doubt they love Jesus and love the Church. I also have no doubt they have no idea what kind of oppression I have been through as a woman, especially a woman in ministry. My seconds turned into a minute as I tried to determine how to respond.

45 years of being told to... 

"be silent," 

"submit to your husband's authority," 

"don't teach a man"

...and now I was asked if would be able to talk freely in this group of the National Director and five District Ministers? My answer surprised me as much as it silenced them.

I told the District Minister thank you for encouraging me to share and for giving me permission to speak. Then I decided to get (just a little!) more vulnerable...

"I have been in ministry for 25 years. As a female church leader I have had it engrained deep in my soul that my opinion, insight, perspective are not as valuable as my male counter-parts. I have been publicly shamed, publicly silenced, and publicly reminded about my inferiority. Thank you for your permission to speak, but I need you to know that though I have a lot of good insight I also have 45-years negative conditioning in which I was taught not to share freely and not to speak up. While I would like to answer your question in the affirmative, I have to be honest and admit that the message of silence and subjugation that has been taught to me in church has left me oftentimes unable to speak. I am trying to find my voice, but until I do, I will need to be reminded and invited quite regularly to share my thoughts and opinions." (I said something along those lines, though probably not as articulate!)

Until the direct question of, "Will you be able to talk?" was addressed to me, I hadn't realized how guarded and silent I have become. Perhaps I should have asked if what I have to say is worth his time? Do my words have the same weight as the other nine people? Does he have the patience and empathy to continue asking my opinion and encouraging me to share? 

My intelligent, but voiceless self is the unfortunate fruit of church. 

There are insights I see and strategies I understand that could be of much use for the Kingdom of God - but instead I stay quiet, doing just as I was instructed. The question remains as to if I can find the courage to share. Do I speak only if I know I am heard or is my job simply to speak? Perhaps I am not accountable to the listener but I am accountable to myself for oftentimes choosing not to speak.

Hmmm...lots to process and consider. Hopefully one day I'll read this experience and laugh at how far I've come. For now, I am grateful to be more self-aware and pray God gives me courage to talk more even if no one is listening. 

Friday, July 9, 2021

Until We Meet Again

On Tuesday night, July 6th, my Grandpa passed away.

Like watching and waiting for a laboring mother to deliver, we watched and waited by his bedside - providing comfort, speaking our love into his ears, and holding his hand until his laboring ceased and he was delivered to his Savior. His wife of 69-years sat by his side holding his hand. 

"He was 91, what did you expect?" many critics say. You don't know my grandpa. He has been in and out of hospitals for the last 20-years. We were used to the many, many calls of, "he might not make it." Miraculously, over and over again he continued to recover. 

This time it was different. 

My Grandma chose a teal snoopy t-shirt for my Grandpa to wear when he came home from the hospital on Monday. Snoopy was dancing happily over the words, "Just Keep Smiling." Through his labor pains his simple Snoopy t-shirt bore witness to his enduring gratefulness for God's presence and grace. When his spirit had departed and body was still, Snoopy was still dancing. His picture (above) from his 90th birthday party captures his smile and comforts my heart like he is whispering a reminder to "Just Keep Smiling."

We weren't ready.

You would think we would have been ready for Grandpa's departure. Instead death came quickly, like a thief in the night. After hours of watchful care, we decided to read Psalm 27, pray together and sing some hymns - three of Grandpa's favorite activities. At every space in the house was a Bible, plus the Bible's on the bookshelf - by his bedside, at the table, by his chair, on his desk. I picked up the Bible by his chair. Inside his Bible was his mask and the bulletin from my church from the Sunday I preached a few weeks ago. My heart felt that deep pain knowing I wouldn't get to see him in church, smiling from ear to ear. Once we finished singing, we began preparing for bed. 

While we weren't looking he slipped away.


I know I have much to be thankful for and have many memories to bring me comfort, but for now my heart is grieving as I remember and ache in his absence.

Thank you, Grandpa, for your gift of music, your model of service, your timeless sense of humor, and your love for Jesus. I love you and already miss you so, so much. Until we meet again...