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...

   

Broken Identity

I 

After scrolling through my many drafts of 'unpublished thoughts', this one called to me to let it loose. I have changed a lot from this post written over two years ago, but still have a long journey ahead. Written originally on 2/14/19 at 11:23 p.m. Enjoy.

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Last night a friend was with her daughter in the emergency room.

My heart broke to read her text to please pray.
Everything in me wanted to jump in my car and hurry to the hospital just to be present with her, give her a hug and pray with her. But between a Wednesday afternoon class and my Wednesday night program my hands were tied until late that evening.

Finally, my chance came. Kids had been picked up, classrooms cleaned, offices locked, car loaded -  now I was off to the hospital at 9:30 at night. A quick zoom down the freeway toward Fresno Community Hospital and my heart was pounding to give my friend a hug and reassure her of God's presence with her.

Quickly, I found a parking spot and began walking toward the emergency room doors when suddenly I froze. My feet literally stopped moving and my heart sunk within me.

My anxiousness to approach the door wasn't because of the armed guard in front of the door so much as the question that always proceed hospital visits.

Being in my fifth year as a pastor I should be calloused to the question - but I'm not. Even worse, the question itself drives a knife already lodged within my spirit even deeper causing me greater pain. I wondered if I could handle the pain today. Do I have the courage and the strength of identity to walk to the guard and ask to go in.

The person who was moved in her spirit just a few hours ago by the grief-filled text of a friend, responded and rushed to the hospital. But in the approach of the door that same woman froze. She couldn't respond to the Spirit's movement because of the limitations (even though just implied) put upon her.

Has your identity ever been so striped that you can no longer even speak it aloud? Or has the constant questioning of your identity gone on for so long that it forces you to begin questioning your true-self too?

The simple scenario that made me so anxious goes something like this:
"Good evening. Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here to visit a friend. I'm her pastor and would like to pray with her."
"You're her pastor?"

You know that smirk people get when they don't believe what you're saying? That smirk and accusative question is the one that hurts the most. Sometimes my skin is tough enough I endure the smirk and go on in to pray. But other times I simply am not strong enough.

This particular evening I just didn't have it in me.

Perhaps my energy level was just too low to be able to handle the pain that comes when my identity, value, and honesty are questioned. Perhaps the wound in my heart from this topic is too raw for me to have the ability to endure another twist of the knife. Or perhaps I just didn't want to be reminded, once again, that I'm operating in a role in which I'm not respected or appreciated.

Whatever the case may be, my friend who was just behind the emergency walls, didn't get a hug and prayer from me on this night (at least not physically).

I drove home pondering the scenario. I had just driven twenty minutes to be with a friend at a time of crisis in her life. But I couldn't get past the questioning guard at the door. Even worse, I didn't even ask because I couldn't stomach the potential rejection. The guard may have even willingly let me in with a smile without the accusatory questioning--I'll never know.

Driving home I was reminded of Galatians 5:1, "It was for freedom that Christ set us free, therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to the yoke of slavery."

When I'm operating in Christ, I am allowed to live in full freedom as a fellow image bearer who loves Jesus in all that she is and all that she does. But when I operate under human leadership I have limits put upon me - I am once again enslaved.

Peaceful Fragrance

Peaceful Fragrance

** Written in spring 2018, but never published**

My feet hit the ground running this morning as I jumped to chase my ever-intensifying to-do list. Shower. Dog. Eat. Water. Then hurry to get to work to before the day is gone...hurry...hurry...hurry...faster...faster...faster...

Watering a few plants around my yard I'm deep in thought about my work to-do list, which is growing deeper and wider by the minute, and my family calendar of upcoming events. Mentally chronicling my day with most urgent to things I can do tonight, my heart rate beat faster than the water pouring from my hose -

then suddenly, there it was

a smell in the air hijacked my thoughts. It was a gardenia.

My husband and I have owned three houses in our married life and every one of them have faced west. What this means (to all you non-valley folks) is that there is not one part of my front or back yard that does not suffer the cruelty of our three-digit summer temperature. Flowers like geraniums, gardenias, hydrangeas and azaleas (just to name a few of my favorites) cannot survive in my yard since there is nowhere to hide from the scorching sun.

With foolish-thinking, I still plant gardenias in the off-chance I might see a flower. The greenery on the plant and structure of the branches are beautiful, even without the white flower. Today, I saw flowers! Not just one, but multiple flowers.

The smell of this little white flower ushered me back in time to a day when I was a little girl. I would walk around our neighborhood smelling flowers. One neighbor had a gardenia plant. I remember I would pick the delicate flower and then put it in my pocket. Back at home, I treasured the tiny fragrant jewel! The flower would become my companion for the day, traveling with me to far-away places (in my imagination) all the way to my dreams, being tucked safely under my pillow to smell through the night. It was a season of imagination, adventures and beauty.

I am amazed how fast smells transport me back in time. This gardenia, in particular, had me tear up thinking about childhood fantasies, running through the neighborhood barefoot and feeling as light as a feather with no responsibilities at all.

The beautiful gardenia smell brings me warm, happy memories of childhood - a place I wish I could visit again. I recognize the blessing of a positive childhood and am so thankful for an active imagination, a love of nature and God who found me in the middle of my fantasy-world.

My prayer is that parents remember to fight for their child's childhood. Our culture wants our children to grow up too fast. Fight to keep them innocent, keep them imagining, keep them exploring. As my children continue to grow, I hope I created spaces for them to explore their world and see beauty in people and nature. My heart also grieves the many children who have not smelled a gardenia or put a flower in their pocket as their companion for the day.

Our world is full of sadness and injustice - but it is also a place where beauty blooms and love grows.

Not Enough

 **I had this experience in February but am finally getting time to write it. I hope this story brings freedom to my friends who suffer from hearing the same voice. **

Last fall, when I realized I may be able to graduate this spring, I sent a note to the Registrar’s Office to confirm I had fulfilled all my requirements to graduate. I put a sticky note on the wall above my desk to remind myself to keep checking for a reply just in case there was one-more-thing, one-more-class, one-more-form, or one-more-hoop I needed to jump through and complete.

I sent another email in December and another in February—still no reply. Do I just trust I am cleared to graduate? No, I must keep pressing…just in case.

After an email to my Advisor I discovered there was one more class.

Before the spring semester began, I had tried to register for this last class (and actually added it to my schedule 2x!) but was unable to click the registration button.

Now I found myself in February, unable to click the darn “register” button and needing now to complete online forms for a late class addition and pay a late fee. I won’t bore you with all the details because after more hoop-jumping to get it on my schedule with the help of my advisor and the Registrar’s office I am set to go (and the late fee waived). All ended well, but in the process, I had a confrontation with an internal voice.

In the middle of filling out paperwork and sending emails back and forth my heart raced, I got very, very angry and then found myself in a lump of tears over my desk. In between his online courses my son found me in tears worried, “Are you okay, mom? What happened?”

“I don’t even know.”

I pushed away from the computer and asked God, “What happened? Why did this event cause me to flip-out so dramatically? What is causing my extreme anxiety in adding this one class?”

Quiet.

I waited.

Sitting in silence—I heard it.

The internal record that plays in the background of my heart: “You’ll never be enough. You can keep adding degrees—but you are not enough. The problem is you..you are not enough”

The ugly Shame Monster that lives within me roared its insults against my identity, reminding me of the many, many ways I fall short and do not measure up, many being beyond my own power.

As this monster kept attacking and my internal self sat shaking, I became aware of what was happening.

I knew (logically) the accusations were not true, but in my heart I still believe them.

Up came decades of pain. Decades of voices and situations in which I was diminished, pushed-down, and discarded. Instead of silencing my tears, I let them flow. I would like to say those situations were not true or that I misheard the voices...but they are within me loud and clear. The pain of “not enough” was at the root of my anxious emails. This life-long cycle of always falling short was the lens in which I was seeing.

Through my tears, I began to hear other voices. From a distance at first—but getting louder. Voices of love. Voices of encouragement. Voices of courage. Voices of friends.

When Shame is attacking, it casts a shadow over our heart and blocks our ability to hear or see around it. Becoming aware of Shame allowed me to get beside it to hear the voices it had diminished behind it. I can’t say the Shame Monster is gone, but it did not win this round. I am grateful for the steps I have learned to recognize Shame, name it, and be aware of the power it has (or tries to have) over me.

I had to laugh out-loud when the next day I received a call from Fresno Pacific informing me I had been chosen to be the recipient of the Seminary’s 2021 Outstanding Graduate Award. My initial reaction was, "Why me? I'm not enough." As the thought crossed my mind I recognized it from the day before and told Shame to be quiet. Perhaps, I am enough. And just perhaps (thankfully) not everyone sees me through my negative lens, but sees God-at-work in me, through me, and often-times, in spite of me.

My encouragement to my friends is to be aware of Shame lurking inside, call it out when you hear its accusations, don't let it have power over you. Most importantly, allow yourself to receive and remember the voices of your friends and community when they share how they see God you.

To God be the glory,

Connie

 

Another Loss of 2020

2020 has been a year of loss and disappointment. My friends and family have experienced these in abundance this year so I hesitate to even articulate my loss - since it is coming from a privileged position and is not nearly as catastrophic as many others have experienced this year.

That said, I woke up this morning sad because today I should have been in London. 

I am 44-years-old and somehow I have not managed to get off the North American continent. That may sound like a petty problem and in many respects it is - but whenever I try to travel abroad something prevents me. Family commitments and work priorities have so dominated my life that unless I could go somewhere via family or work it just wouldn't happen.

I've lead mission trips to Mexico and been to conferences in Canada. We even got to travel to Canada two years ago - just for fun! But getting off the continent - that has continued to be difficult.

Last January I had the opportunity to interview Christy Wimber for a class paper. At the end of our conversation she invited me to the "Effective Leadership" conference happening in England on November 13-15. I had almost gone to the conference in 2019 but it fell on the same weekend as our church's anniversary celebration so I could not attend. 

"Maybe I'll go next year," I contemplated. 

With the seed of possibilities already in my spirit, Christy's personal invitation sent me through the ceiling with excitement. 

It was to be a conference for women in leadership (those don't occur too often!). And not just leadership, but church leadership. Not a conference to "be a better leader," but to simply be together, pray together, learn from one another, and support each other. Being a female church leader is far different (not better or worse- just different!) from being a man in church leadership. Likewise, it is different from leading a non-profit or serving as a teacher or a director of an organization. Then add the nuances of a "woman-pastor" - I cannot even begin to explain the strange loneliness, isolation and exclusion I have experienced in my stint as pastor (not necessarily in the current place I'm serving, but within other organizations and interactions with other pastors and leaders).

I had hoped this would be a weekend where I could be fully me.

Worshipping in an old church, listening to encouragement from women pastors, drinking tea at an English Teahouse, so many hopes...

I won't bore you with more of my ideas as to what I might have experienced since we all know the end of the story. 

The conference was moved to an online forum due to COVID-19 - though sad at the change, I understood and supported the decision. 

"It's okay," I told myself, "at least I'll still get to log onto Zoom and kind of be present to worship, talk, and share." 

Last week, due to rising COVID numbers, the pastors in England are needing to, once again, pivot quickly how they serve their communities - the conference was cancelled.

Once again, I understood. It makes sense logically, but my heart was sad.

All this week I kept thinking, what is happening on the 14th? Why is this date so ingrained in my mind? Oh yeah, the conference. I don't think I had realized how much I have been craving connection (with people I don't even know - mind you!) and was hoping to be able to find space to simply worship, pray and be together (even online!).

So today I'm a tad melancholy. 

I'm smart enough to know the logic behind the decisions and do not blame anyone...but I am sad.

Responding to COVID-19

I've been asked multiple times how I am responding to the COVID-19 situation.

I've been hesitant to want to share much on social media because I believe my response to each person's question is uniquely formed for the person who is doing the asking.

I do not believe this is the time for a 'one-size-fits-all' response, but varies depending on with whom I'm conversing.

In 1 Corinthians 8 and 9, Paul expresses the freedom in Christ has has found that allows him to eat food once thought to be unclean. His caution in these two chapters is not in the freedom of this discovery as much as in the self-limiting posture he chooses to make on behalf of others. While he may be perfectly content eating meat sacrificed to idols, to someone else, this action would inhibit them from hearing about Jesus and thus being a stumbling block to faith. "Be careful, however, that the exercise of your rights does not become a stumbling block to the weak." 1 Corinthians 8:9

As we navigate these uncharted waters of quarantine and care, I would encourage you to be sensitive to the Holy Spirit's guidance as to how to guide and care for people. While some activities (like going to the grocery store) may sound harmless to you, it could be a health-risk for others. We cannot shame someone for grocery shopping just like we cannot judge someone else for continuing to go to work.

Some people need to be strongly encouraged to practice self-care by self-quarantining themselves for their safety and health. Perhaps you fall into the category of 65+ or a compromised immune system or you are the care-giver of someone with that description. I would hope you are giving yourself permission to stay home. Please reach out to others in your circle-of-care to run errands and gather groceries for you. I've noticed this age demographic does not want to burden others - but this is not the time to be a super-hero and serve others, this is a season to care for yourself by self-isolating. God, I pray you would surround people who identify with this description with your peace as we feel afraid and vulnerable. I pray as we reach out for help and put our trust in other people that you would surround us with circles of support and care so that each of us can "feel" you near, even in this time of intangibility.

Others suddenly find themselves being overloaded with additional responsibilities. Many are being asked to work the same number of hours, but now from home while they are also tending to children, children's school work, and feeding a house-full of people three-meals-a-day. I pray for the moms and dads in this stage of life, that you would give us strength, energy and compassion as we calm the anxiety of our children, sooth souls with warm meals and coordinate schedules to still get our own work done. Give us an extended level of grace as we stumble often, but continue to keep pressing onward. I pray for peace in the home and for relational tension to be eased. May Your Spirit abide in our homes. 

Some people are looking for a place to help. They may find themselves within the range of a "COVID-19 Healthy Person." Many agencies and non-profits need people to help. Our schools are continuing to provide lunches/breakfasts for children in our community. Our 'older' or overwhelmed neighbors may appreciate someone to go to the store for them. This is your opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus in a very tangible way. If you don't already know your neighbors, introduce yourself and offer your services to help them stay safe. I pray for discernment as we listen for what You are calling us to do and how/who to lean toward during this season. Show us one or two with whom we can make a difference.

For others, the fear of this situation has been crippling. Too much news can indeed be too much news. I challenge you that whatever negative you are inputting, to be equalizing (or go beyond) that amount of positive input. Positive input can be going for a walk, listening to music, petting your dog, reading your Bible, sitting in silence, writing in a journal, taking pictures, painting a picture, writing a poem. Give yourself time to process. We can't process if we're constantly inputting. Make margins to protect your emotional and mental health as you give yourself permission to take care of yourself by going for a walk or writing a card. Remember especially, that you are not alone. God, I pray Your presence would calm anxious hearts. Give us permission to turn off our televisions and instead listen to our heartbeats and focus on You. Quiet the noise around us so we can hear Your steadfast voice reassuring us that You are near. 

This is an unprecedented time in which we are called to care for one another and ourselves. I have heard many encouraging stories of people helping other people. I am praying this crisis can bring us together as a collective group and not pull us apart as individuals.

Let's continue to care for the marginalized, the weak and the vulnerable - but have discernment to know who's who. Who needs to be encouraged to help and who need to be encouraged to stay home.

Let us not throw shame or judge others - we don't know their story.

Let's remember to love like Jesus - wholeheartedly and creatively.

May God's peace, presence and power be with you as we walk through this time together. Keep reaching out. We need each other now more than ever.

Connie

"These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In this world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Do You See It?

View of the south-side of Mount Shasta

 Driving home from Oregon two days ago I experienced the most terrifying moments of my life. 

Bret had been driving for four hours. We had stopped for breakfast in Grants Pass but it was now time for a second cup of coffee in Weed.

As we stopped to stretch our legs, I told my kids to look for Mount Shasta (which was currently encased in clouds).

"Believe it or not, there's a magnificent mountain behind those clouds. If you're patient, you might catch a glimpse of it." We got our coffee and stood in the parking lot waiting to catch the view. (see picture)

Two hours later we switched drivers in Redding. With a full tank of gas, the kids watching a movie in the back, and Bret getting comfortable in the passenger seat I moved into the fast lane, happy to set my cruise control at 80 mph on our way home to Fresno.

Thirty miles south of Redding, both lanes of traffic were flowing at fast speeds and were full of semi-trucks and cars. I know the age-old rule of never driving in someone's blind spot, but when both lanes are traveling at fairly equal rates and are tight with traffic, it's hard to stay out of someone's blind spot.

Suddenly, without warning, the car a few feet ahead of me in the right lane merged into my lane.

I tried to break lightly hoping the driver would eventually see me and back-off.

He did not.

Within milliseconds, I was pushed onto the shoulder.

I tried to ride the shoulder and not get dragged too far into the median while I eased down harder on the breaks realizing I've got to slow my car down. With my front-wheels breaking, my back wheels began to sway, catching my back left wheel in the gravel outside the shoulder and sucking my car into the median.

It's amazing how fast our minds can race in the middle of an emergency...

Years ago, Bret and I had rented a wave-runner at Shaver Lake. I remember driving over a large wave that made me nervous. Worried I was going to flip us over, I let off the gas (which for a wave-runner is equivalent to pressing the brakes) which spun Bret and I both off the boat, knocking Bret in the head. That experience taught me that suddenly breaking when traveling at an accelerated rate will produce unexpected torques and turns - it's much better to ease speed down, if possible.

With a tight grip on the steering wheel I was fighting to keep my car facing forward. North-bound traffic was just a few yards to the left of me, as was the South-bound traffic behind me.

I've never wrestled an alligator, but that is my best comparison. My car pulled left, so I pulled right. It pulled right, so I pulled left. Every tiny movement of my steering wheel was amplified by my speed as I tried to keep us from spinning out completely or flipping over into on-coming traffic.

What felt like forever finally ended as my van came to a stop landing perpendicular in the middle of CA I5 South. I glanced over my right shoulder at my two children and the on-coming traffic in the window.

My next thought: my children are in on-coming traffic. 

All I could see in my back window was a semi-truck.

..........................................................

Since you're obviously reading this story a few days after this incident, there's a good ending. 

The semi-truck and all other traffic had seen the car run me off the road. They had backed off and had come to a crawl. Have you ever seen a police officer perform a traffic-break? It was like there was a supernatural break-in-traffic, surrounding our car.

My car wouldn't turn on as we sat still on the freeway.

After a few deep breaths, I got it on.
"We're okay, Connie," my husband said kindly and calmly, "just put it into drive."

The truck behind me flashed his lights to signal to go ahead and adjust my car to drive forward. He was buffering me to help make a path for me to get off the freeway. Other cars gave me space to merge over into the right lane and soon I was off the freeway.

Up the off-ramp. Signal to turn right. Break at the stop sign. Look both ways. Turn onto the road. Drive a few more yards to a place to pull over. Put the car in park. Turn the car off.
My brain was reduced to auto-pilot. We were off the road and out-of-danger.

"Are you okay?" my husband gently asked.

The dam of emotions broke and I began to weep and shake.

We all got out to give each other hugs and check on Crosby (that's my car's name, her color is Bing Cherry). Except for gravel being impelled deep on her underside, she looked good.

A white van pulled up behind us and a woman got out.

"I saw the whole thing and knew this was a family van so I wanted to make sure you were okay. Can I give you a hug?" With tears streaming from both our eyes, a mom I do not know embraced me.  "That was some fancy driving. I thought for sure you were going to flip. You did good."

Suffice to say, I didn't drive home.

Once we were back on the road, I quietly teared up thinking of so many "what ifs" that would have been tragic for my family. On all counts, no damage was done. I believe our lives were spared on Tuesday. God helped me wield my car, surrounded us with a buffer of protection and a space where we were safe to drive (crazily) in the median. I'm doing my best to keep the potential-tragedy-thoughts at bay and instead focus on the reality of extreme blessings we experienced in this story.

I also have to be honest with not even knowing how to share my thankfulness. While I am aware that our lives were spared on Tuesday, three of my friends have died in car accidents in my life-time. I would never claim God was with me and not with my friends. Somehow - though I may never understand - I believe God is good and with us all the time, in tragedy and in joy. I do not believe God ordains, or wills the tragedy - I believe He is a God of love, never seeking retribution but always seeking restoration. (as you can tell...lots of internal processing going on...)

I've been thinking a lot about that majestic mountain that is so often shrouded in clouds and hard to see - or even know is there. Regardless of whether I believe it is there or not, or spend time gazing to catch a glimpse of it or not - the mountain remains. I experienced the power of that majesty touching earth on Tuesday and am forever grateful to God.

May you spend time looking for God-at-work in your life and in our world. Just like Mount Shasta, God is here - look and see! 

The north-side of Mount Shasta

"I lift my eyes to the mountains - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over you - the LORD is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore." ~ Psalm 121