faith – Page 22 – Lisa Lewton

Saying Yes and Saying No

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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)

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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.

Thank You Note to the Woods

Dear The Woods at Pacem in Terris Hermitage,

Thank you for welcoming me into your palace of greenery, where I lived as a hermit for four short days. Thank you for whispering words of greeting in the breeze through the oak leaves. Thank you for fresh air with the hint of campfire that I breathed so deeply each day, along with all the creatures who live in your palace.

I met the twitching chipmunk who dug in the leaves and darted away so quickly I could not see which direction he went. I met an otter who was swimming underneath the boardwalk to proudly bring home tall grass for his family. (And I’m sorry I scared him with my giggle, but he was so adorable I couldn’t stop myself.) I met a gray squirrel who would win any and every dance contest that involved standing still the longest, frozen in position. He looked stuffed, but I’m glad he wasn’t. I encountered deer who looked long and hard at me and then agreed to move off the walking trail and let me by, only when I disappointed them with the news I had nothing to give them. (I did assure them “Bambi” is one of my top five favorite movies.)

Thank you, The Woods, for welcoming me as a guest in your palace. And thank you, The Woods, for sharing the same Creator, and sharing the same need for one another.

Yours Truly,

Hermit in Cabin #3

Solitude

I drove away and escaped all the way to northern Minnesota. Not far south of where I parked my car is the home where my family lived before moving to Dickinson. I waved to Tulip Street as I got out of my car at Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth) Hermitage for my four-day adventure as a hermit.

To some extent, we have all been hermits since March. Maybe you have hardly left your house since March. Or maybe you yearn to be a hermit, pandemic or not, because it’s just your style. That’s cool, too.

A friend told me about Pacem in Terris last year and reported how much solitude he enjoyed and how renewed he felt at the end of his stay. This introvert cannot get enough solitude! I love it like Linus loves his blanket. I reserved a few days in May, but because of the pandemic, rescheduled in June after the hermitage could open up again.

I’d never been a hermit. I have heard of them, but never been one. I know some of the stories of saints who lived as hermits, and then there was Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and that guy in Maine who was recently a hermit for decades before he was discovered. I didn’t have decades, only a few days. Plus, I would miss my coffee creamer after too long. Oh, and my family.

This hermitage is a series of 14 small cabins, each with a twin bed, rocking chair, big picture window, and screened in porch. There is no electricity, bathroom, or running water in the cabin. It was a throw-back to my summers at Camp Metigoshe, although instead of “outhouses”, the hermitage offers “spiffy biffies”! (It actually was quite spiffy, I must say.)

I began my silent retreat on Wednesday afternoon, speaking only a soft and self-conscious “hello” to fellow hermits on the path. I walked and walked under old families of burr oaks that folded together above me like hands ready to pray. (I learned not to walk too fast, or you scare the other hermits.) I prayed and prayed beneath canopies of sugar maples, and on a boardwalk along a lake. I asked God questions, asked for forgiveness for this too-hurried life, and recited Scripture and learned new Scripture.

But mostly I listened to the silence.

Time to listen is hard to come by in daily life, as you well know. There is always time to make noise, but less time to listen. For there to be listening, someone has to stop talking and there is always talking. People talking, cell phones talking, traffic talking, news talking.

In a book that remains in the hermitage, I read, “There is no solitude without silence. True, silence is sometimes the absence of speech – but it is always the act of listening…when we are filled with ourselves, we leave silence behind.” (Poustinia p. 6-7)

I am often too filled with myself to be silent and listen. Too filled with my responsibilities to make plans, care for others, and go and go and go. This is how my life is designed to be, but it is not sustainable without solitude. Going and going means running and running from true, meaningful life. Meaningful life requires escaping from the going and doing. It may be for days, or it may be only for moments in your backyard, on a walk, or wherever you feel most at peace.

Sitting in silence lets you listen to the God who is trying to catch you from your running to renew your spirit.

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