Wishing for just one thing...

If there was just one thing I could do for my recovery, I would do it without hesitation.
Healing is just not that easy.
I would be glad to take a pill if it would take care of the pain. Don't misunderstand me. I am thankful for medication and meds have been a blessed part of healing for me. But only a part. Recovery is more than taking pain medication. Exercise heals. Diet makes a difference. Sleep matters. Drinking enough fluids is a part of getting all systems back on go. Breathing -- yes, breathing--deep, mindful breathing is part of the answer. Routine is a big part of getting the body back on track.
I spend a lot of time balancing all these things. No wonder I long for one simple solution!
Over and over again, I hear this same longing from churches recovering from decline. I hear from people who turn to simple (but not accurate) diagnoses that would, in their opinion, fix the lack of vitality of their church. Most often, in my present work, that is to blame the preacher for the present and fantasize that a new preacher is the answer to the problem. (Usually the simple remedy is a 30 year old preacher with 25 years' worth of pastoral wisdom and experience...)
Sometimes, a different preacher is PART of the answer. But, just like healing the physical body, recovery is not a simple, do-just-one-thing-for-instant-results answer. Recovery is a multi-faceted approach that takes time, patience, persistent practice and constant balance.
Add patience to the list of things that are essential for recovery...undergirding a renewed conviction that recovery and healing requires multi-faceted, balanced vigilance--in bodies, in relationships and in churches or in our world.
One simple thing will not usually fix significant problems and needs.

My joyful hymn of praise

When I was a child, I thought the hymn "For the Beauty of the Earth" lasted forever. It reminded me of a child praying for every conceivable thing to keep from having to go to sleep at night. Every time the one-line refrain came around, ("Lord of all to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise..."), I knew we were one verse closer to the end.
Reflecting back on the last two weeks of recovery from surgery, I am caught up in the deeper essence of the hymn: an overflowing grateful heart. My list includes everything I have sung through the years...but my personal application makes the 6 verses of the hymn-in-the-hymbook look pitifully short.
For surgeons, nurses, hospitals and pain medications;
For the marvelous intricacies and healing nature of our bodies;
For the healing presence of loved ones;
For supportive and patient family members;
For help -- and offers of help--in times of physical weakness;
For expressions of love, support and prayers that nourish and sustain a recovering spirit;
For the many ways that pain is ameliorated --
a simple walk; resting in a comfortable chair; slip-on shoes; a warm shower; music; soft
clothes, blooming flowers, the balmy-but-not-hot weather, the clear sunshine.
For going to sleep in the majesty of thunderstorms and waking to the singing of birds;
For healthy food which nourishes and sleep that restores body and spirit;
For the love of others that is not dependent on what you can do for them;
For staff persons who carry on the work and devotedly protect my time to recover;
For the rich privilege of watching my body heal -- a visible, personal hope;
For a beautiful place to call home -- comfortable places to sit inside and outside
to pray and rest and soak in healing grace;
For the prayers of others linking love on earth with the riches of God's resources in heaven...

"Lord of all," this is just the beginning of my "hymn of grateful praise."

Small rearrangement of letters describes it all....

I don't know how those under the care of physicians got called "patients". I'm sure some google search engine could tell me. As I was staying up last night so I would be on schedule for my medications, I was laughing to myself (in a tired sort of way) how much "p-a-t-i-e-n-t-s" need P-A-T-I-E-N-C-E.
A nurse-friend on Facebook had just admonished me to be a good patient. My instinctive reaction was that, to be a good patient, I would need patience. Of all the kind things people have said about me through the years, outstanding patience with myself has never been high on the list. And here I am in a very important time of life where patience is a core practice. Patience for patients is not just one among many attributes. Patience for patients is essential.
Going into surgery catapults normal people into a new realm -- a temporary and healing way of life--but a shift from what is familiar. It requires patience. I didn't say that patience is a happy, optional attribute to have. I'm saying that in recovering from surgery, patience is absolutely necessary. Oh dear.
Recovery is a new routine that requires listening to yourself, following instructions and living with constant reminders of vulnerability. I don't score high on those characteristics either. I do well in listening to others, giving kind and wise advice and gratitude for the gift of each day. So I am finding that it works well for me to just give advice to myself. As it turns out, I have learned first hand that the advice I have often given as a pastor is healing guidance indeed. Nice to know.
"Be a good patient" is not only good advice for me as an individual recovering from surgery. "Be a good patient" is a generally good reminder to all physicians of body and soul -- notoriously the worst of all patients. Wise to notice...
I love to see people live into grace space for themselves. And now, for a couple of weeks while my body requires rest and I am not allowed to drive, I am going to live into intentional grace space for myself--praying that this experience will not only allow for healing--but deepen my heart to be a better pastor. Patients need patience. Lord, I am working on it--or, more accurately, life is working on me to become more patient.

A grateful goodbye? A hopeful hello?

Yesterday, the General Conference made an historic shift for the United Methodist Church in removing guaranteed appointments for elders. Ever since the vote, I have been flooded with memories and emotions.
All through my life in the church, I have seen that claiming the authority of the Discipline rarely is the trump card that changes people's hearts. Especially as a District Superintendent, an important part of administrative ministry is to teach and apply the disciplinary covenant which is at the core of connectional life. When the Discipline speaks, all United Methodists--bishops, superintendents, pastors, laity--are in a good-faith covenant that the provisions of the Discipline are to be the standard of practice in church life. A perfecting process is available every 4 years-- The General Conference-- open for input from all. United Methodists live in covenant to the larger wisdom of General Conference action. So all the General Conference actions are big decisions.
Eliminating the guaranteed appointment for elders was an easy change for some. My heart, however, was remembering that I would not have had the opportunity to answer God's call in ministry except for the mandate of the Discipline. The night before my ordination as a deacon (the long-ago first step to ordination), my bishop resisted. While I was gathering in excitement with my family, the bishop was consulting with the conference Chair of Ordained Ministry to see if the ordination could be avoided. I have never stopped thanking God that the bishop was advised that my approval had been in conformity with the Discipline and that the bishop had no choice but to honor it. So my partiality to following the Discipline has personal roots.
Although the Discipline had specifically included women in all provisions applying to the ministry since 1956, twenty years later, women clergy were rare. As far as I could tell, what was written into the Discipline had not warmed hearts toward the change. Opposition to women in ministry was open and widespread. Adversity did not end with ordination. Time and time again, women had a chance to serve a church only because the Discipline guaranteed the appointment of elders. When I received my first appointment to a church, a District Superintendent from a neighboring district said in a conference meeting: "I hope she falls flat on her face." The experience of serving a church far exceeded the hurt of opposition. The guarantee of an appointment had opened a door and God blessed it abundantly.
I came into ministry in a most remarkable time in history.
I have stories and experiences that younger women will not have. Along with the hard experiences are a treasure trive of heartwarming and hilarious stories. Clergy sisters from my era remember getting chased out of clergy parking spots at hospitals by diligent parking attendants who did not believe that women were clergy. And the big dilemma of how to address a clergywoman -- when "Brother" obviously didn't fit. Every experience deepened my dependance on God's love. Every valley reassured me of God's presence, comfort and calling on my life. Every rejection was a challenge of love and renewed focus on living out grace to everyone.
Now, thankfully, much has changed in the church and in the world. It's been years since I have heard of a female clergy being refused a parking place or admittance to an ICU in a hospital at sheer disbelief that a woman could be a pastor. And for years, the cabinet has said that appointments will be made without regard to gender (or race or age).
In some ways, my heart is cheering that General Conference delegates would think that the church has come so far that guaranteed appointments are no longer necessary protections. That's the new day I have dreamed of and worked toward my whole ministry. That's the grateful goodbye I am glad to say...a hopeful hello to a new future where the mission is more important than traditional barriers that have divided us.
I'd be glad to be at the front of the line to welcome that new future.
My heart, however, is not quite sure we are there.
I am remembering that even this spring, I had a Pastor-Parish Committee tell me that, nothing personal, but they did not want a woman pastor. (How could such a claim be made in 2012? And how could people look at a female superintendent and say that their conviction was "nothing personal"?) I assured them that they did NOT want to continue that line of conversation with me. We worked through it together.
But this is 2012. That conversation -- and similar stories repeated around the cabinet table--nag at my heart. Is it too soon to remove the guaranteed appointment? Is the progress foundational to this vote more illusion and wishful thinking? That's the unanswered question. With all my heart, I hope the answer is yes. That same heart says, "Wait and see..."
One of the greatest blessings of living through these decades of being a first is that I recognize--and appreciate--every small step of progress. I am thankful for things that my father and male colleagues would naturally -- and understandably--take for granted. My heart gravitates to gratitude. I have received every appointment -- even with the guaranteed appointment--as a blessing and with a sense of wonder.
Now, my beloved United Methodist Church will show how far we have come. If, through the provisions the Discipline provided for decades, hearts have been opened, I will be the first one to celebrate. I will not be pessimistic.
I am, however, cautious. And I am praying that God will continue to open our hearts for sharing His love in the most abundant, Christ-focused ways possible.

Telling it like it is....

My precious "Tell-it-like-it-is" 4 year old looked at my bloomed out azaleas and said, "Grammy, these aren't looking so good."

He was, of course, right.

The bushes which had been gorgeous in full bloom were now laden with blossoms well past their prime. They aren't looking so good.

This bloomed-out, wilted look is, however, just a slice in the seasonal life of the azalea. I got to tell him about the big picture: this azalea bush is healthy and will bloom again. He looked at those dead blossoms and he looked and me and said a doubting, "Ok, if you say so."

The thing that caught Tyler's attention is true for right now. But it is just a phase. The azalea bush that looks terrible now is going to be a lovely green through the summer and fall and then be full of blooms again next spring.

Our little exchange reminded me how important it is to get the big picture and to take action or reassurance based on what that big picture is--and to learn to trust that God is working out something beautiful, even when it's not looking good right now.

"Grammy, these aren't looking so good."
"That's right, Tyler. But they are going to be beautiful again, just you wait and see."