Advent is here and it has been 6 months since my last post...so I thought I'd attempt to begin again. It is easy to fall out of the blogging groove. I guess that is true of most things in life: stop exercising or praying or reading your Bible (insert your favorite activity to slack off on) for a few days and it is hard to get motivated again. With the important things, we usually seem to cycle back again...so here is my attempt at cycling back!
I'm not sure I have anything to say about Advent that hasn't been said a million times before...so I will speak to something that has been convicting me: the idea of finding ways to give more (i.e. "Live simply so that others may simply live"). I really like the "Advent Conspiracy" website. I also have been reading their book: Advent Conspiracy: Can Christmas Still Change the World? by Rick McKinley, Chris Seay, and Greg Holder. The main premise of the website and the book is that we have lost the meaning of Christmas due to our preoccupation (even worship) of consumerism. They encourage us to take back Christmas by doing 4 things: 1) Worship Fully, 2) Spend Less, 3) Give More, and 4) Love All. There is much that is convicting and inspiring to me about those ideas, but for today, I just want to share an excerpt and a quote from the book that I found compelling.
First, the excerpt (p.13):
The water crisis around the world is staggering. Hundreds of children die simply because they don't have access to clean drinking water. It makes our mouths drop and our stomachs turn when we realize that the amount of money we spend on Christmas in America is close to forty-five times the amount of money it would take to supply the entire world with clean water. (see Living Water International for more information)
And a quote from C.S. Lewis (p. 61) challenging us to give more to the cause of Christ:
"I do not believe one can settle how much we ought to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare. In other words, if our expenditure on comforts, luxuries, amusements, etc., is up to the standard common among those with the same income as our own, we are probably giving away too little. If our charities do not at all pinch or hamper us, I should say they are too small. There ought to be things we should like to do and cannot do because our charitable expenditure excludes them."
Just some thoughts that have been meaningful to me as I prepare for the coming of Christ...
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
It's ok to cry...
I attended a women's conference a couple weeks ago at my sister-in-law's church. It was a day-long event for women, with speakers, worship, fellowship and chocolate...plus, her church has a bookstore, which, for me, is like an opium den to a heroin addict. Lots of things from that day touched my heart and left me with a longing for more of God. One thing happened, however, that made me think, "I might just blog about that someday". A woman at my table started to cry after one of the speakers. Another woman--kind, well-intentioned, fluent in "Christian-ese"--attempted to comfort her by saying, "It's ok. God loves you. You are beautiful to Him".
Our dog, Molly, when she does not like something, has this interesting habit. The hairs on the back of her neck spike up, like a little mohawk. It happens when small children smother her with love, when she is taking a nap and we try to talk to her, and when other dogs try to sniff her in more than just a cursory greeting. When I heard the woman's platitudinous attempt at comfort, I felt like Molly. The proverbial hair on my neck started to form a "Molly mohawk".
My first objection to what she said was that she didn't know what the crying woman was feeling. She had no idea. Nor did she ask. While it is true that God loves us each intimately and deeply and that we are beautiful because of His love, I am not sure that saying that to someone you barely know is going to heal the deepest hurts of a heart. In fact, I am sure that it won't. Why isn't it ok to hurt...to cry...to just plain need God? Why do we rush to "fix" people and stop tears? Why couldn't that woman sit there and cry and we could just sit there with her, in silence, with a hand on her back to let her know she is not alone.
I guess it bothered me so much because I see that tendency in myself to want to rush people through pain. "God loves you"; "Have faith"; "I'm praying for you"...all of those are true and wonderful things, but I think we often say them more out of our personal discomfort than because it is what a hurting person really needs to hear. We don't know what to say, so we pull out a platitude. We have our own hurts that we don't know how to deal with--things that start to come to the surface when others around us are hurting or in need--and we want to squelch it back down and make things comfortable again.
I am always struck by the Psalms for that very reason. Nothing is anesthetized, nothing is "safe". It is raw and awkward and uncomfortable...and for some reason, that is ok. That is different than my experience of the Church a lot of times. Especially at funerals. How many times have I heard mourners say, "They wouldn't want us to cry" or "I have to be strong for my loved one; that is what he/she would want me to do". Really? Is that true? I'll be honest and say that when I die, I expect some tears, people. I want to be missed...just like I will deeply and desperately miss the people that mean the most to me. Even Jesus wept over sin and death. When His friend Lazarus died, Jesus cried...right before He brought him back to life. I could analyze why Jesus cried, but I'll save that for some other post. The point is, He cried. He mourned. He felt. Tears are not a lack of faith. Feeling pain is not a failure on our path to spiritual maturity. It is part of being alive, part of being real, part of being connected to (as well as disconnected from) others.
I remember being a chaplain intern at a hospital one summer. For some reason, I was the "angel of death". I had friends that never experienced one death as a chaplain. I'd have 50 deaths a night...ok, maybe not 50, but some statistically impossible number of deaths again and again, night after night of being "on call". While the world slept one dark night, my beeper went off. An older man had passed away--a man who was old enough for death not to be an impossibility, yet still unexpected in this particular situation. I came into the room, introduced myself as the chaplain, and kind of stood in the room, waiting to see what the family needed. They were loud and sobbing. At one point, a daughter (in her 50s or 60s), literally climbed on top of her father's dead body and sobbed more loudly than I have ever heard anyone sob. The other mourners in the room joined in the melancholy chorus. It was deafeningly loud and uncomfortable and awkward. Everything inside me wanted to yell: "Stop!" I had never seen anything like it. It was too raw. You are supposed to control yourself in front of others. Deal with your pain in private and in public, act in a controlled, respectable manner. That was how every death I experienced went. You didn't sob and throw yourself on the body, even if you wanted to. At some point, I suggested we pray, and we did, amidst even more sobbing. Then I got out of there as fast as I possibly could. Great chaplain, I know!
Over the years, I have reflected on that experience. I am not sure where and how I learned that too much emotion is bad, but it seems to be commonplace in the Church. We have to act happy, act "Christian"--even when everything is falling apart. We put on faces and play a part. That is what it means to follow Christ--at least that is how we act it out, regardless of what we really believe. I wonder if that family was closer to the truth than I am, than we are. Maybe it is alright to sob and wail when you feel your heart breaking. Maybe being real and authentic is ok. Maybe it is even "Christian" to be that way. Maybe we need to stop rushing people through their uncomfortable emotions so that we feel better, safer, less out of control. Maybe it is ok to just let someone cry--even sob--and not have to say anything to "fix" it at all.
Our dog, Molly, when she does not like something, has this interesting habit. The hairs on the back of her neck spike up, like a little mohawk. It happens when small children smother her with love, when she is taking a nap and we try to talk to her, and when other dogs try to sniff her in more than just a cursory greeting. When I heard the woman's platitudinous attempt at comfort, I felt like Molly. The proverbial hair on my neck started to form a "Molly mohawk".
My first objection to what she said was that she didn't know what the crying woman was feeling. She had no idea. Nor did she ask. While it is true that God loves us each intimately and deeply and that we are beautiful because of His love, I am not sure that saying that to someone you barely know is going to heal the deepest hurts of a heart. In fact, I am sure that it won't. Why isn't it ok to hurt...to cry...to just plain need God? Why do we rush to "fix" people and stop tears? Why couldn't that woman sit there and cry and we could just sit there with her, in silence, with a hand on her back to let her know she is not alone.
I guess it bothered me so much because I see that tendency in myself to want to rush people through pain. "God loves you"; "Have faith"; "I'm praying for you"...all of those are true and wonderful things, but I think we often say them more out of our personal discomfort than because it is what a hurting person really needs to hear. We don't know what to say, so we pull out a platitude. We have our own hurts that we don't know how to deal with--things that start to come to the surface when others around us are hurting or in need--and we want to squelch it back down and make things comfortable again.
I am always struck by the Psalms for that very reason. Nothing is anesthetized, nothing is "safe". It is raw and awkward and uncomfortable...and for some reason, that is ok. That is different than my experience of the Church a lot of times. Especially at funerals. How many times have I heard mourners say, "They wouldn't want us to cry" or "I have to be strong for my loved one; that is what he/she would want me to do". Really? Is that true? I'll be honest and say that when I die, I expect some tears, people. I want to be missed...just like I will deeply and desperately miss the people that mean the most to me. Even Jesus wept over sin and death. When His friend Lazarus died, Jesus cried...right before He brought him back to life. I could analyze why Jesus cried, but I'll save that for some other post. The point is, He cried. He mourned. He felt. Tears are not a lack of faith. Feeling pain is not a failure on our path to spiritual maturity. It is part of being alive, part of being real, part of being connected to (as well as disconnected from) others.
I remember being a chaplain intern at a hospital one summer. For some reason, I was the "angel of death". I had friends that never experienced one death as a chaplain. I'd have 50 deaths a night...ok, maybe not 50, but some statistically impossible number of deaths again and again, night after night of being "on call". While the world slept one dark night, my beeper went off. An older man had passed away--a man who was old enough for death not to be an impossibility, yet still unexpected in this particular situation. I came into the room, introduced myself as the chaplain, and kind of stood in the room, waiting to see what the family needed. They were loud and sobbing. At one point, a daughter (in her 50s or 60s), literally climbed on top of her father's dead body and sobbed more loudly than I have ever heard anyone sob. The other mourners in the room joined in the melancholy chorus. It was deafeningly loud and uncomfortable and awkward. Everything inside me wanted to yell: "Stop!" I had never seen anything like it. It was too raw. You are supposed to control yourself in front of others. Deal with your pain in private and in public, act in a controlled, respectable manner. That was how every death I experienced went. You didn't sob and throw yourself on the body, even if you wanted to. At some point, I suggested we pray, and we did, amidst even more sobbing. Then I got out of there as fast as I possibly could. Great chaplain, I know!
Over the years, I have reflected on that experience. I am not sure where and how I learned that too much emotion is bad, but it seems to be commonplace in the Church. We have to act happy, act "Christian"--even when everything is falling apart. We put on faces and play a part. That is what it means to follow Christ--at least that is how we act it out, regardless of what we really believe. I wonder if that family was closer to the truth than I am, than we are. Maybe it is alright to sob and wail when you feel your heart breaking. Maybe being real and authentic is ok. Maybe it is even "Christian" to be that way. Maybe we need to stop rushing people through their uncomfortable emotions so that we feel better, safer, less out of control. Maybe it is ok to just let someone cry--even sob--and not have to say anything to "fix" it at all.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Joy Robbers
I served as a spiritual director on a Christian retreat (called "Emmaus") this past weekend. During a question and answer time, one of the questions asked was: "What do you do with all the 'joy robbers' at your church"? First, I laughed...because I knew exactly what that woman meant by a "joy robber". They are everywhere, in the church and outside the church: people who sap your energy, squash your dreams, poop on your best ideas, and generally make you want to go jump off a bridge. I gave some really poetic pastoral response about keeping our focus on Jesus and not letting other people's responses bring us down. I talked about Jesus being crucified on the cross and how his response to people far worse than a joy robber was, "Father, forgive them. They don't know what they are doing". I even mentioned how, if we are honest with ourselves, each one of us has been a joy robber to someone else, probably without even knowing it. People nodded their heads in agreement with my extremely profound and spiritually insightful answer to the question. I was pretty proud of myself. Then I left the weekend to attend my church that morning, before heading back to Emmaus to finish the rest of the weekend.
Just before worship service started, I saw one coming toward me...one of my favorite joy robbers. This person has made joy robbing into an art form. In our brief interaction, I felt all the peace, rest, beauty, energy, and grace I had been experiencing on the Emmaus weekend completely drain from my soul. I sat down in my fancy pastor's chair while our wonderful church pianist played music for the acolytes. I had my head down, praying...frustrated and disappointed. My husband caught my eye and mouthed to me, "What's wrong?". I mouthed back the name of that morning's joy robber. He instantly laughed, because he has heard many tales of joy robbing involving that particular name--and even experienced it himself. I was so angry with myself, upset that I could let someone steal my joy that quickly and easily. The irony was not lost on me. It is one thing to tell people how to act Christlike in response to joy robbers. It is quite another thing to live it out.
I had time while driving back to the Emmaus weekend after church services to pray and reflect about how easily I lose sight of Christ and all His goodness. I eventually caught sight of Him again, but we will see what happens the next time a joy robber comes around (my guess is that will be Sunday morning some time)...I am sure my eyes will slip again, and I will be discouraged, at least momentarily.
There are some who say not to worry about the joy robbers, but I do. Part of it is my neurotic need to have everyone like me. But a deeper part is that I truly care about people, even the cranky ones. My favorite joy robber--the one who got me this past Sunday--is someone I genuinely like. I want that person to know the joy that Jesus brings. I don't think you can be a joy robber if you are experiencing the life and Spirit of Christ at work in your heart on a regular basis. My guess is that those joy robbers are missing some joy themselves...why else would they need to rob it from those who have it?
There are church leaders who have said to me, "The secret to leadership is to go with those who want to go". The premise there is to focus on the people who are excited to go where you are leading, and let the others gripe and grumble as they may. There is truth in that. The joy robbers can steal your attention from what is important. But they still matter to God, grumpy and draining though they may be.
I have this unquenchable optimism in the power of Jesus Christ to transform hearts and lives. I have experienced it myself...and experience on a regular basis. I see His power at work in lives all around me. I want to see it at work in those joy robbers.
My new goal in dealing with joy robbers is two-fold: 1) even though their responses may bother me momentarily, I will not dwell on it and 2) I will do everything in my power to show joy to the joy robbers...so that they can stop robbing and start overflowing.
My challenge for you today (and for me) is to hunt down some joy robbers--seek them out--and lavish your joy on them. Then walk away smiling.
Just before worship service started, I saw one coming toward me...one of my favorite joy robbers. This person has made joy robbing into an art form. In our brief interaction, I felt all the peace, rest, beauty, energy, and grace I had been experiencing on the Emmaus weekend completely drain from my soul. I sat down in my fancy pastor's chair while our wonderful church pianist played music for the acolytes. I had my head down, praying...frustrated and disappointed. My husband caught my eye and mouthed to me, "What's wrong?". I mouthed back the name of that morning's joy robber. He instantly laughed, because he has heard many tales of joy robbing involving that particular name--and even experienced it himself. I was so angry with myself, upset that I could let someone steal my joy that quickly and easily. The irony was not lost on me. It is one thing to tell people how to act Christlike in response to joy robbers. It is quite another thing to live it out.
I had time while driving back to the Emmaus weekend after church services to pray and reflect about how easily I lose sight of Christ and all His goodness. I eventually caught sight of Him again, but we will see what happens the next time a joy robber comes around (my guess is that will be Sunday morning some time)...I am sure my eyes will slip again, and I will be discouraged, at least momentarily.
There are some who say not to worry about the joy robbers, but I do. Part of it is my neurotic need to have everyone like me. But a deeper part is that I truly care about people, even the cranky ones. My favorite joy robber--the one who got me this past Sunday--is someone I genuinely like. I want that person to know the joy that Jesus brings. I don't think you can be a joy robber if you are experiencing the life and Spirit of Christ at work in your heart on a regular basis. My guess is that those joy robbers are missing some joy themselves...why else would they need to rob it from those who have it?
There are church leaders who have said to me, "The secret to leadership is to go with those who want to go". The premise there is to focus on the people who are excited to go where you are leading, and let the others gripe and grumble as they may. There is truth in that. The joy robbers can steal your attention from what is important. But they still matter to God, grumpy and draining though they may be.
I have this unquenchable optimism in the power of Jesus Christ to transform hearts and lives. I have experienced it myself...and experience on a regular basis. I see His power at work in lives all around me. I want to see it at work in those joy robbers.
My new goal in dealing with joy robbers is two-fold: 1) even though their responses may bother me momentarily, I will not dwell on it and 2) I will do everything in my power to show joy to the joy robbers...so that they can stop robbing and start overflowing.
My challenge for you today (and for me) is to hunt down some joy robbers--seek them out--and lavish your joy on them. Then walk away smiling.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Value of a Life
I officiated my stepgrandmother's funeral yesterday. It was a small service, with a private family viewing and then a brief graveside rite. As we drove to the cemetary, I looked behind us at the line of cars following in the procession. There were maybe 6 cars. It seemed sad to me, that so few people were there. It made me think about what is really important at the end of a life. Yesterday, I thought, "I hope, when I die, there are more cars than this in my funeral processional".
It is not a matter of popularity or needing people to mourn me. It is about knowing that my life was significant, that I loved well and was loved in return. For me, the value of a life can be summed up by how well we loved, both God and others. I want to touch other lives. I want it to matter that I was here. I want to live in such a way that people feel compelled to come say goodbye to me.
At a recent funeral I officiated, for a wonderful man named Richard Cook, I was reminded about the kind of life I want to live. Person after person came by and spoke about what a great man he was, how loving he was, how gentle he was...how he was the kindest person they had ever known. I want to live my life in such a way--to leave my mark on the world by the way that I love and treat others. I want to live in such a way that when I die, people will want to be better--to live more fully, boldy, lovingly--because of my example.
I am reminded, again, of a song that has always meant a lot to me. I know I blogged about it a couple years ago, but the chorus bears repeating.
Legacy
by Nicole Nordeman
Chorus:
I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough to make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who blessed Your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy
----------------
May we strive to leave a legacy of love in all that we do and say and are...so that when our lives end, we will have left a mark of grace on a multitude of hearts and lives.
It is not a matter of popularity or needing people to mourn me. It is about knowing that my life was significant, that I loved well and was loved in return. For me, the value of a life can be summed up by how well we loved, both God and others. I want to touch other lives. I want it to matter that I was here. I want to live in such a way that people feel compelled to come say goodbye to me.
At a recent funeral I officiated, for a wonderful man named Richard Cook, I was reminded about the kind of life I want to live. Person after person came by and spoke about what a great man he was, how loving he was, how gentle he was...how he was the kindest person they had ever known. I want to live my life in such a way--to leave my mark on the world by the way that I love and treat others. I want to live in such a way that when I die, people will want to be better--to live more fully, boldy, lovingly--because of my example.
I am reminded, again, of a song that has always meant a lot to me. I know I blogged about it a couple years ago, but the chorus bears repeating.
Legacy
by Nicole Nordeman
Chorus:
I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough to make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who blessed Your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy
----------------
May we strive to leave a legacy of love in all that we do and say and are...so that when our lives end, we will have left a mark of grace on a multitude of hearts and lives.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Transitions
I am now a married woman...almost 7 weeks. It has been a lot easier to join my life with another person's than I ever imagined. We don't have disagreements about the toothpaste squeezing or the direction toilet paper should go on the roll. That isn't to say we don't have disagreements: we do! But it is never about the small stuff; our struggles are more about our internal demons and insecurities, trying to figure out how the other person communicates, and about finally feeling loved and safe after a lifetime of never really experiencing that with such intensity. It is a transition to trust someone to love you unconditionally and forever. It is a nice transition, but a transition nonetheless.
It is amazing to me how much of life is about transitioning. I say this as a person who just got married...then my aunt died...my dear friend's mother and father died within a month of one another...my step-grandmother died this week. Lots of death. Lots of transition.
Most of life involves change. There are very few times where life is simply "normal" and immutable. Most seasons include some kinds of transition: some happy, like marriage...others painful, like death. Most are mixed, meaning that there is happiness present at the saddest of times, and a little sorrow, even at the happiest moments.
Being human, I can't say I am overly fond of change. It doesn't bother me as much as the average person (I attribute this to being an ENFP on the Myers Briggs--that "p" part sort of thrives on change)...still, I like things to feel comfortable, normal, at rest. How often, really, is life like that? There may be a day here or there that is changeless...but for the most part, life is on the move, transition after transition.
I have always clung to the verse in Hebrews 13:8, "Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever". It gives me peace to know that whatever is changing around me, Jesus stays solid. Jesus stays the same.
The truth of God's constancy overwhelmed me during one of the recent funerals that I performed. (Please God, no more funerals...can I just get a month off from funerals?) As the pastor, it is my job to lead the body to the graveside. I walk ahead, with the pall bearers carrying the casket behind me, to the graveside. I stand there, at the head of the casket, waiting for it to be set into place. Long ago, someone told me that a pastor is meant to represent God to people--that during the significant moments of life, the pastor is there with families, reminding them that God is with them. Even when you don't say anything, as a pastor, you represent God's constant presence.
The last time I led a body to the grave, I was overwhelmed by the idea that I represented God's presence. It dawned on me that, just as I walk before the casket, God is always leading us to where we will go next. There has never been a moment when He was not present with us. There is no place we will go where He has not walked ahead. Even when we take our final breath, even then God has gone before us, to prepare a place for us.
I find it comforting that no matter how much life changes, God goes before us and after us and beside us and within us...leading, guiding, holding, healing, changing, helping, shaping, perfecting. As we face transitions that seem unknown and, perhaps, frightening, let us take comfort in our Leading God...who goes before us, every step of the way.
It is amazing to me how much of life is about transitioning. I say this as a person who just got married...then my aunt died...my dear friend's mother and father died within a month of one another...my step-grandmother died this week. Lots of death. Lots of transition.
Most of life involves change. There are very few times where life is simply "normal" and immutable. Most seasons include some kinds of transition: some happy, like marriage...others painful, like death. Most are mixed, meaning that there is happiness present at the saddest of times, and a little sorrow, even at the happiest moments.
Being human, I can't say I am overly fond of change. It doesn't bother me as much as the average person (I attribute this to being an ENFP on the Myers Briggs--that "p" part sort of thrives on change)...still, I like things to feel comfortable, normal, at rest. How often, really, is life like that? There may be a day here or there that is changeless...but for the most part, life is on the move, transition after transition.
I have always clung to the verse in Hebrews 13:8, "Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever". It gives me peace to know that whatever is changing around me, Jesus stays solid. Jesus stays the same.
The truth of God's constancy overwhelmed me during one of the recent funerals that I performed. (Please God, no more funerals...can I just get a month off from funerals?) As the pastor, it is my job to lead the body to the graveside. I walk ahead, with the pall bearers carrying the casket behind me, to the graveside. I stand there, at the head of the casket, waiting for it to be set into place. Long ago, someone told me that a pastor is meant to represent God to people--that during the significant moments of life, the pastor is there with families, reminding them that God is with them. Even when you don't say anything, as a pastor, you represent God's constant presence.
The last time I led a body to the grave, I was overwhelmed by the idea that I represented God's presence. It dawned on me that, just as I walk before the casket, God is always leading us to where we will go next. There has never been a moment when He was not present with us. There is no place we will go where He has not walked ahead. Even when we take our final breath, even then God has gone before us, to prepare a place for us.
I find it comforting that no matter how much life changes, God goes before us and after us and beside us and within us...leading, guiding, holding, healing, changing, helping, shaping, perfecting. As we face transitions that seem unknown and, perhaps, frightening, let us take comfort in our Leading God...who goes before us, every step of the way.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Long Absences
Hello Blog Readers!
Thank you for checking back in, even though I have been "silent" for a long time. Things have been busy: got engaged, planning a wedding, getting married in 30 days and 11 hours. In some ways, the wedding cannot get here soon enough, because I am truly ready to join my life with Joe's. It is all the little wedding details that make me wish there was at least a little more time left.
Being a pastor, I used to inwardly laugh at brides and all the things they worried about--things that really have no eternal meaning and really aren't important enough to cause ulcers (or potential matricide). Yet, now that I am the bride, I see it from a totally different perspective. It is like a light-switch clicked on and I became inordinately concerned with things like balloons and bubbles and ribbons and bows. Yes, I have become Bridezilla...me, the one who has counseled couples about the marriage relationship being the most important part of a wedding, about the wedding being a worship service meant to honor God, and about not getting caught up in details that really don't matter in the grand scheme of things, etc. Those are easy words to say until you become the bride and actually find yourself crying (read sobbing) over a simple, inconsequential printing error on your wedding invitations. Every few days, I cry about something. In all fairness, I think it is just the stress.
I am not stressed about marrying Joe. He's the best thing that has ever happened to me. I think that, because I have come to love him so much, I want a wedding that reflects how much Joe means to me, in the most perfect form possible. Perfection is a harsh thing to strive for...and pointless, really. I don't even know what perfect is. Still, I think a lot of the Bridezilla-mentality stems from a need to make your wedding into the perfect representation of your love. Not only does the phrase "perfect representation of our love" make me want to vomit, it is also impossible to symbolize marital love through bows and flowers. That just isn't going to happen. Something that meaningful cannot be made tangible through cake and balloons. Those things are just accessories meant to draw attention to what really matters.
This whole process has been eye-opening to me. I have learned that sometimes we surprise ourselves with our emotions and reactions. I have learned that I am more worldly-minded at times than I like to admit. And I have learned to never tell a bride to "calm down, it will all work out" (I am sure it is true, but brides don't want to hear it). I am also learning that maybe the stress and the mini-freakouts are just a normal part of the process and I should simply find a way to enjoy the crazy ride that leads me down the aisle. I will only travel this way one time; I might as well get the full experience! In the end, as long as Joe and I are married, I will be happy. Between now and then, I will probably be having nightmares about food running out, balloons deflating, flowers dying, and boys from the youth group (who are serving as ushers) wrestling each other in the narthex. Still, I guess the real fun (and meaning) in life is found in the unexpected, the disruptions, the detours. It is hard to remember that right now. I am sure I will get my spiritual perspective back again, after Bridezilla fever has passed.
I can't promise lots of blogging in the next month, but I will be back here soon enough. I miss it! And, who knows, you may get some pre-wedding rants from time to time in the next 30 days (and 11 hours). I am not sure how spiritually reflective it will be, but it will probably make you smile.
Feel free to check out our wedding website to read about the wedding details and sign our guest book: http://www.wedorama.com/joeandtina/
Thank you for checking back in, even though I have been "silent" for a long time. Things have been busy: got engaged, planning a wedding, getting married in 30 days and 11 hours. In some ways, the wedding cannot get here soon enough, because I am truly ready to join my life with Joe's. It is all the little wedding details that make me wish there was at least a little more time left.
Being a pastor, I used to inwardly laugh at brides and all the things they worried about--things that really have no eternal meaning and really aren't important enough to cause ulcers (or potential matricide). Yet, now that I am the bride, I see it from a totally different perspective. It is like a light-switch clicked on and I became inordinately concerned with things like balloons and bubbles and ribbons and bows. Yes, I have become Bridezilla...me, the one who has counseled couples about the marriage relationship being the most important part of a wedding, about the wedding being a worship service meant to honor God, and about not getting caught up in details that really don't matter in the grand scheme of things, etc. Those are easy words to say until you become the bride and actually find yourself crying (read sobbing) over a simple, inconsequential printing error on your wedding invitations. Every few days, I cry about something. In all fairness, I think it is just the stress.
I am not stressed about marrying Joe. He's the best thing that has ever happened to me. I think that, because I have come to love him so much, I want a wedding that reflects how much Joe means to me, in the most perfect form possible. Perfection is a harsh thing to strive for...and pointless, really. I don't even know what perfect is. Still, I think a lot of the Bridezilla-mentality stems from a need to make your wedding into the perfect representation of your love. Not only does the phrase "perfect representation of our love" make me want to vomit, it is also impossible to symbolize marital love through bows and flowers. That just isn't going to happen. Something that meaningful cannot be made tangible through cake and balloons. Those things are just accessories meant to draw attention to what really matters.
This whole process has been eye-opening to me. I have learned that sometimes we surprise ourselves with our emotions and reactions. I have learned that I am more worldly-minded at times than I like to admit. And I have learned to never tell a bride to "calm down, it will all work out" (I am sure it is true, but brides don't want to hear it). I am also learning that maybe the stress and the mini-freakouts are just a normal part of the process and I should simply find a way to enjoy the crazy ride that leads me down the aisle. I will only travel this way one time; I might as well get the full experience! In the end, as long as Joe and I are married, I will be happy. Between now and then, I will probably be having nightmares about food running out, balloons deflating, flowers dying, and boys from the youth group (who are serving as ushers) wrestling each other in the narthex. Still, I guess the real fun (and meaning) in life is found in the unexpected, the disruptions, the detours. It is hard to remember that right now. I am sure I will get my spiritual perspective back again, after Bridezilla fever has passed.
I can't promise lots of blogging in the next month, but I will be back here soon enough. I miss it! And, who knows, you may get some pre-wedding rants from time to time in the next 30 days (and 11 hours). I am not sure how spiritually reflective it will be, but it will probably make you smile.
Feel free to check out our wedding website to read about the wedding details and sign our guest book: http://www.wedorama.com/joeandtina/
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