Lisa Lewton

Faith Over Fear

“Why wear a mask when I want to live out of faith, not fear?” asked someone else. (Actually, a lot of someone elses.)

The congregation I serve has been both in-person and online for two months after 11 weeks of online only. Leadership has set an expectation now, as COVID-19 case numbers rise in our county and state, to wear masks when we gather in the church building.

My colleague and I wear masks before and during worship except when we are preaching. It is hot as blazes and extremely hard to enunciate through the cloth over my face, but we do it because this is how we are loving our neighbors and inviting our community of faith to do the same.

“But why would I wear a mask if I want to live out of faith and not fear?”

There is conflicting information in the United States about COVID-19. Is it a thing or is it a hoax? Who is making money off of this and why is the government telling me what to do? Why can I stand in line at Walmart but not gather in a crowd at a funeral? Why will my school be social distancing but my high school football team play face-to-face?

“And why is my church telling me to wear a mask when I want to live out of faith and not fear?” asked several someone elses.

It is a lovely question if, and only if, the question is intended to engender conversation and not inflict a political opinion upon someone else. Asking questions is the way we learn; stating uncompromising political opinions is the way we continue to divide.

“Why would I wear a mask when I want to live out of faith and not fear?”

Why? Yes, why? Could that begin a conversation instead of end it? Be shaped as a question and not a closing statement? Could we really wonder why wearing a mask is in fact the way we live out our faith, unafraid of the mean looks and despicable memes?

That is a question that might lead to faithful, not fearful conversation.

Saying Yes and Saying No

(Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com)

Life as a spouse and a parent is like a chess match in which each choice moves you a square. You say yes to something that stretches you too thin and you move in the dangerous path of a bishop. You say no to what would be good for your workplace but not your family and you get closer to the opposing queen.

You say yes to cooking healthy food instead of eating from the freezer section and you move in the right direction. You say no to spending time with a friend and a knight bulldozes you from around the corner.

I know very little about chess. My son taught me a few years ago and quickly grew bored defeating his mother. I do, however, know something about saying yes and saying no.

Last weekend, I very intentionally said yes to most of the items on my daughter’s agenda, which Fancy Nancy taught her is fancy for “schedule”. This is very normal for some moms but not so normal for me. It’s important to me to play with my kids, and also important to me that they learn how to be bored and entertain themselves so I can get a few things knocked off my list each day.

I said yes to changing Barbie clothes, yes to taking a walk, yes to reading a story, yes to playing Unicorn Uno. And so, I said no to updating our finances, no to reading a grown-up book, no to cleaning up the kitchen, and no to pruning the perennials that are safe for me to prune.

These no’s and yes’s are not easy for me. It is not possible to say yes to everything. A mom cannot say yes to exercising, cooking healthy, playing with kids all the time, working a paid job, and maintaining a healthy marriage. Ada Calhoun points out in “Why We Can’t Sleep” that a long time ago, a mom and wife was responsible for only a few of those things. Now, we often put so much pressure on ourselves to say yes to everything and no to our own well-being.

And so it is the weekend, (the week’s end), when we might say yes to a little more downtime and no to some of the chores that can certainly wait. And I think I just moved a square, (a single square), in the right direction.

Consideration

At the start of the season of Epiphany in January, our congregation distributed words on small wooden stars. (Epiphany begins with the story of Magi who followed a star that revealed the Messiah.) The “star words” spiritual practice invites individuals to engage with a word. Prayerfully holding onto this word month after month, something new might be revealed to you about life with the Messiah.

My word was “consideration”. And I did not like it one bit.

Many months before Epiphany, a handful of colleagues began encouraging me to consider the call to serve as bishop of our synod. Such a call had not entered my mind before their nudging, so I went to work considering, also known as discerning. My inner sense of call arrived at the same place each time I considered. This is not a season of my life to live such a call. With the travel and on-call demands, I would miss my boys’ high school years and my daughter’s formative preteen and early teenage years. And I would miss my husband. I would miss the work of writing a book and serving as a pastor at a congregation I love with a colleague for whom I am grateful.

But consideration is not a one and done deal. Not long after I finished considering, someone else would nudge and I would go back to considering, again arriving at the same place. Yesterday when the assembly cast its first ballot and I was second on the list, all hell broke loose in my heart. I looked to God with utter confusion. Hadn’t we looked at the map of my life enough by now? After a whole year wasn’t that enough consideration? “What the heck, God,” I gawked, feeling perhaps betrayed after all the time God and I had spent in consideration. And then I cried. And then my husband and my dear, dear friends texted and called and my colleague prayed with me and in the 30 minutes I had to withdraw my name from that list, I arrived at the same place, once again. And God and I are friends again.

Consideration. It is hefty word that requires setting aside all preconceived notions, all prior decisions, all assumptions, in order to consider that God may indeed have something to say. The Magi had to consider following a star in the sky to reveal to them the new Messiah, and the Messiah was not who they thought it would be. Any preconceived notions they may have had did not apply to the tiny king.

Like the number of stars that occupy the night sky, life is overwhelmed with an abundance of decisions. A few of them are gut-wrenching hard and demand you to define who and what is most important in your life in that moment. I suspect the kind of consideration that involves career choices tends to be more intense for women, as we weigh the expectations and needs of our marriage, kids, parents, and who will buy the groceries and take kids to school whenever we are considering our future work.

If we distribute “star words” again in Epiphany, I am going to be very careful in considering my selection. And like the Magi, I will be surprised by whatever God reveals.

How to Vacation in a Pandemic

July is the month that scurries by. Distracted by the surprising warmth of June, we hardly notice how quickly 31 days have passed until August is all, “Hey you! Time to stop doing fun outdoor stuff! Go sit inside until May.”

So…have you taken a vacation yet, if you normally do in the summer? A few days or a few weeks at a different pace and in another place? You need one. The pandemic lingers heavy over you, promising to rearrange the months ahead. Now is the time, if you have not done so already, to go on a vacation.

It is possible. Even if it means getting in your car with your lunch and driving to a city park 200 miles away and then turning around again, that counts. Vacations are important. They disrupt the rhythm enough to make you appreciate the rhythm.

My family and I pulled our camper to Lake Metigoshe State Park and hung out for a few days with friends and family. It is a beautiful place. We wore masks the few times we were close to people, washed our hands a lot, ate mostly our own food cooked in the camper, walked in the woods, and most importantly we left our phones off much of the time.

Like you, our fall is going to be something we have never seen before. We are bracing ourselves for the unknown way our kids will go to school and we will go to work. The unknown is exhausting, so go on a mini-vacation, a full-vacation, or a long lunch where the scenery is different!

Take a deep breath while you are there. Breathe in the fresh promise of life, and trust that God will give you enough of whatever you need when you get back.

Friendship: Part Two

“Reindeer are better than people,” Kristoff sang to his best friend (and reindeer) Sven. (If you have not seen the movie “Frozen”, you might want to google this fun song as long as you know it will still be in your head in three days.)

If reindeer are better than people, I have wondered if books are better than people. “Bo-oks are better than people,” is not quite as smooth.

And yet, books are among my top five loves. A book whisks me into adventures, teaches me new things, places me in someone else’s shoes, and welcomes my company at all times. A book makes me guffaw and also gives me permission to cry. I can get angry at a book and it will still be there tomorrow.

Because I love books so much, over the years this introvert has occasionally chosen the safety of their pages instead of a human friend. Friendship was easy for me until after I had kids. After that, time and energy are much more sparse. Choices of stewardship are made with the limited time and energy not expended on marriage and little people. Looking back, I often chose books over people.

Books are safer because I don’t have to go to the trouble of arranging a time to meet them; I don’t have to wonder if I’m clever or interesting enough; I don’t have to risk all the risks that accompany a relationship like friendship.

Kristoff did change his tune as the movie unfolds, and so have I. Reindeer and people are both quite wonderful, and people can be better than books (although books remain in my top five).

Indeed, it takes more effort to foster a friendship than crack open a book. Yet the time I spend with a friend over coffee or walking down a path somehow brings me more joy. (If you are an extrovert who gains energy being with people that will not surprise you. But I am not that and so it does. )

Perhaps spending time with a friend offers the en-fleshed reminder a book cannot give, that we are humans meant to drink coffee and walk down paths alone and also with another human. Humans, in our best moments, tend to understand one another. With smiles and sad eyes and resounding laughter an inaudible book cannot express.

Thank you, Jesus, for books, coffee, walks, and especially for friends. Amen.

Friendship for Moms (and Pastors)

(Photo by Nadine Wuchenauer on Pexels.com)

Friends for moms can be hard to come by. Friends for pastors can be exceptionally hard to come by. Friends for moms who are pastors, well…you get the drift!

Pastors are warned not to get too close to people in the churches they serve. Making friends with church people is tricky territory. Pastors in churches are pastors first, friends second and it can never be the other way around. At any moment I might be the person sitting with you in the worst point of your life, or at the most difficult board meeting, or at the most frustrating budget meeting about my own salary. (If it hasn’t occurred to you that a pastor’s job is very weird, then today I taught you something new!)

And so a friend for a mom and pastor is one of the most glorious treasures in the entire world. And by friend, I mean a person with whom you can be your whole true self, with your good sides and bad sides and upside down sides. With the truth that you carry in the deepest marrow of your bones, along with the fears, disappointments, and hurts.

Today I give thanks for friends, because I do have about three, and they do happen to be people in the church I serve, and I could not be a whole person without them. I hope you find these treasures, too, and rejoice in the gifts that they are.

And if you are a pastor, we are in the treasure hunting business together.

Driving Kids and Dreaming Dreams

Moms with cars drive kids. Day after day, sometimes past my bedtime and once in a while when I’d like to be sleeping longer.

Yesterday my son felt a little badly about all the time I’d spent driving him around that day. Really, he did much of the driving while I took my proper place in the passenger seat beside the permit-driver.

I assured him the time sitting next to him in the car is some of my favorite time. “You’re stuck hanging out with me!” I did not say out loud, hoping he wouldn’t realize we were actually hanging out.

Wise voices long ago warned me not to look disparagingly at the hours and hours driving kids each week. It is sacred time, particularly when there is one kid and one grown-up in the car.

Windshield time is time to ask little questions and dream big dreams. Time to process the tiny moments and peek into the huge future. When my family moved from the Twin Cities to Dickinson, my husband and I both missed our 30-45 minute commutes. We spent the time processing our workdays before arriving home. It was sacred time to think and wonder.

In our very short commutes with kids (which are not short enough when there is a fighting mob of kids in the car!) it is time to hang out. Time to wonder, “How did that go?”, “What’s next?”, “What do you need?”. Mostly, it is uninterrupted time to listen. Time to assure a kid he or she is loved just as he or she is, now and always.

Dependence

I come from a long line of fiercely independent women. It never occurred to me growing up that a boy could do something I couldn’t (aside from standing up to pee). I have no memory of someone in our family suggesting boys are smarter or stronger than girls. I learned to be independent watching the generations of women ahead of me as they went to college, raised kids, and worked in their communities.

Independence was inherited, which at some point, (possibly like all inheritances), can become a rather complicated companion.

If the independent one marries, for example, the heir of Independence must evaluate how to be both independent and somewhat dependent at the same time. This is how partnerships work. They are a fluid mix of dependence and independence, with each partner taking turns being the leader.

It would have been advantageous to have a conversation with my inheritance early on in my marriage. Something like this:

Me: There you are again, inherited Independence. I’m glad you tell me I can do stuff all on my own, but…

Independence: But what? I’m sure you can come up with the words all on your own.

Me: It’s just. Well, I don’t understand how to be both independent and dependent at the same time, and it seems kind of important.

Independence: I suppose that’s true. What are you going to do, since you can do it!

Me: (sigh) So, let’s say I need my handsome husband to help me get the dog to the vet. Then what?

Independent: You just do it yourself. You’re Independent!

Me: Okay, well, what if I’m sick or something? Or just super tired? Then can I ask for help?

Independence: (snorts)

Me: The thing is, I wonder if this is going to be lonely, this whole independent-not-dependent thing. If I just do all the stuff, is that really a partnership?

Independence: I don’t speak your language right now. All the women before you did it.

Me: This is all so confusing.

[19 years later]

Me: This is all so confusing.

(Confusion personified, er, pug-sonified)

See what I mean?

In a time in the life of the world when so many women before me, both in my own family and in the history of women, have shown fierce independence, it is complicated for this woman to know when to ask for help. And on some occasions when I leaned on independence and not my own spouse, did I miss out? Independence, as important as it is, can be a lonely companion compared to partnership.

These thoughts roll through my brain each Independence Day, wondering how much Independence becomes a sort of god.

In my daily life, how much do I teach my sons and daughter a mixture of independence and dependence? Do they know the value of dependently bearing one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2)? Do they know we are created to be dependent upon one another more than we are made to be fiercely independent? That was God’s dream after all, entrusting us to one another’s care, perfectly imperfectly and fiercely loved by the God on whom we eternally depend.

Pruning Oops

Pruning: The art of cutting branches in the right place at the right time to promote good growth.

While gardening is not my thing, fortunately for me it is my husband’s thing. So although I understand nearly zilch about making a backyard pretty, I get to enjoy a pretty backyard with perennials that showcase a variety of colors at different times throughout the summer and fall.

I am not a gardener, but I am quite helpful. This year, however, I learned I am not so much a helpful gardener. Let me confess why.

Pruning perennials happens most intensely in the fall at our house. We cut back plants to protect them from winter so they are ready to shoot out of the ground in the spring. Last fall, my husband was away one weekend and I decided to pretend I was a helpful garden.

In my defense, my husband had taught me to prune this and that the summer before, arming me with just enough knowledge to be dangerous. At the same time, I had spent many months in discernment about how my life had become overgrown in some areas. I was as determined to prune the backyard as I had been pruning away at the busy in my life.

Looking back, this is clearly a dangerous collusion.

I pruned it all. Everything. Every perennial that had grown I pruned to the ground, with almost no exceptions. The grapevine my husband had been tending for a few years did not see it coming. I pruned it all, making the fence it had clung to naked and confused.

My husband lost a breath when he saw my “helpful” gardening, but because he has more grace than concern about his backyard, he said something like, “Thank you. Next year we can do this together.”

Grapevines should not be pruned each year. Some of the perennials I pruned can fend for themselves over the winter and should have been left alone.

All these things I know now!

Perennials, like life itself, demand constant pruning. The gift of your life is not to be wasted, taken for granted, or left to grow out of control. God has given you life “that truly is life” (1 Timothy 6:19), and that life requires sitting with God, the wisest pruner of all, and wondering what to cut back and what to let grow.

Just don’t go after it alone with a Felco Pruning Shears, or you might prune the wrong things, like the grapes. Now we have to wait patiently for new growth, which indeed is coming. Even pruning oops can be redeemed by the God who grows abundantly life now and always, particularly in you.

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