Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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people and a vision

Yesterday afternoon Handsome and I spent some time working at the church. It was just the two of us, and we had a short list of tasks we wanted to accomplish. But something unexpected happened that caused me to take a long, hard look at my own heart. I walked away feeling very different. Changed. Which is what church is supposed to do for us, right? Even if it’s just a work day?

Let me briefly set the stage by explaining that for us in this season of life, “church” is an elusive concept. It probably doesn’t resemble anything you normally think of when you hear the word. Just being at the building can produce emotions ranging from joy to anger, wistful melancholy, frustration, loneliness, bitterness, and then, either out of the blue or with some effort, bubbling hope. Overwhelming excitement for the future. Going to church is far from a mechanical weekend ritual for us right now. And I suppose that’s a good thing. God is speaking to us in unprecedented ways, almost randomly, with all the tradition and habit, all the human distraction, stripped away.

Okay.

The day was mild. Warmish-cool with abundant sunshine, wide open blue skies, and a ticklish breeze. As we unloaded borrowed wedding tables and began mowing and weed eating the lawns, I was in one of the bitter moments. I had to consciously push negative thoughts out of my mind, and then I remembered the lessons about not resisting so much as replacing, so I fished for images that would inspire me. Images like a north-facing flower bed overflowing with fall blooms, a freshly painted church kitchen fragrant with the meals we hope to provide soon, and music streaming through open doors. I tried really hard to conjure up an idea of how things could be for us here. I gave thanks for all the miracles that have been poured out after prayers were said here. Because this mental tactic always works, my attitude gradually improved, and my energy increased. Then we got a visitor.

The elderly, retired pastor from the church directly across the street walked over and struck up a conversation with Handsome. He was there on a Saturday with the statewide conference for his denomination. They are long time acquaintances, these two families, and it’s good for them to reconnect. But the gentleman doesn’t really know what has been happening in our family since we lost Judy, only that we obviously are not having Sunday morning services right now. This begs lots of obvious questions.

My husband navigated the conversation with grace, I could sense this every time I passed the pair of men, but I knew he was being economical with his words. Careful not to plumb too deep into painful waters. Instead of stopping to join the chat like I normally would do, I continued working. Sort of rebelliously, to make a point. As the friendly moment turned into five minutes, then ten, then thirty, I grew increasingly frustrated. Handsome was being held up which meant that our stay would be longer and longer, no matter how much I accomplished on my own. My reverie about a healthy, fruitful church community was being eroded by all the things I wanted to be doing at the farm, all the fun ways I craved to spend our weekend. I felt more and more resentful about this interruption to our Saturday, about the fact that no one else is here to help us, about how alone we feel most of the time. It was a pretty gross downward spiral. I am good at those.

And of course, this perfectly wonderful elderly gentleman did what lots of men this age do, he repeated himself extensively. Most of the conversation was just him saying the same things over and over again, not really listening to his audience at all. Handsome nodded affectionately a lot, offered bits of answers when the man asked the same question over and over. You know. But I was impatient. I cannot stand for people to waste my time.

Friends, if that sounds really ugly to you just reading it, know that as soon as I registered this thought in my own mind I felt sick to my stomach. I am really ashamed to have even allowed the thought, but I’m sharing it now because it’s a big part of the story. I guess it’s also my confession.

So as the time passed and I forced myself to reign in frustration and bitterness, control my emotions better, God allowed me to hear a very important slice of their conversation. I abandoned most of my bad attitude and walked up to the men at just the perfect moment.

The elderly retired pastor and my husband had been sharing ideas of the two communities’ hopes and dreams for the future. How might we serve the neighborhood? Are we moving into the future according to God’s will? Beautiful stuff. Stuff totally worth some time on Saturday afternoon, despite the younger man’s selfish, hurried wife. Then I heard it, the quotable thing.

The elderly pastor was joking about how a church needs people, willing workers who can sacrifice time as well as money. Very much to myself I had a series of snarky thoughts on this subject. All I said aloud was, “Yes, time is the hardest thing to sacrifice sometimes.” Handsome and I made eye contact. He gave me a half smile and weary eyes. He knew exactly what I meant and is normally even more greedy with his time than I was in this moment. But at church, this is his rodeo, his traumatic healing more than mine. I backed down.

Then we pan back to the elderly retired pastor:

“The Bible says without a vision the people are lost. And then I say with the people a vision is lost!”

He have a long round of generous, warm hearted laughter then we joined him. He cannot have known how much I needed the exact combination of his bold speech and loving tone. Humor delivers hard things so well, right?

It sank into me rapidly. Musically, almost. Is it that instant for you? Without the people a vision is lost. It’s not scripture; it’s just one man’s inspired moment or bit of humor or something. But it does point back to scripture. Back to the New Testament lessons about the church being the hands and the feet of Christ. Willing workers giving of ourselves to act out His love on earth. And if our current situation “at church,” air quotes because it’s such an elusive concept right now, isn’t an example of how much we need this, I just don’t know what is. We have so many hopes and dreams for how things could be, how much help we could provide, but how will we do it?

The end of yesterday’s story is happy. We traded so many loving words with the man, this old friend of Handsome’s family, and reaffirmed our intention to both stay in touch and help each other along the way. Handsome finished his jobs and I finished mine, then we loaded up to leave right on time. Despite the very inconvenient interruption to my very selfish Saturday, it’s as if no extra time had passed. That’s how God works sometimes. He can literally stretch the moments and fill them with exactly what you need.

As for the question of how will we do it? The answer is: One work day at a time, with consistent obedience and more humility. If the vision is sound, the right people will cross our path. Or we will do it alone.

Maybe instead of focusing on who is no longer here, I need to acknowledge that we are being called here still. We count. We can do hard things, worthwhile things, and maybe without us a vision will be lost. Maybe that? Or maybe, keep the vision and the people will come. Maybe that?

2 chairs

Now I sound like The Field of Dreams. Sorry friends. haha But thank you for listening. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings to sort out. Thanks for joining us here and sending goodness and love! I am amazed at how God walks us through these seasons of life.

“She will hold his hand and tell him 
God is proud of him for being a good boy on his birthday,
and that will make the world feel right side up again.”
~Mitch Albom,
The Five People You Meet in Heaven
XOXOXOXO

 

 

Karma Has a Mic and it’s Switched On

   This morning we had a pared down Christmas service at church. Lots of family circumstances are different this year, and not just in our little corner of the world. Seems like every household is enduring something difficult that, collectively, has changed the landscape of our church. Without quite enough people to put on our traditional Nativity production, we gathered today for preaching, cookies and juice, and singing. Lots and lots of singing.
   We sang so many songs.

   At the top o’ the mornin’ my husband was called up to the pulpit to sing some traditional tear-jerkers with his Uncle David, a fellow preacher. This duo was intended to, well, elicit those much anticipated holiday blubberings.  You know, hearing the old songs in reverent, baritone voices,  feeling those decades-old holiday memories swirl around us, and getting all caught up in the salt water magic. Help us purge the pain by candlelight.

   But guess who was not ready to cry Christmas tears? Who was, instead, ready to break it down Elvis style?

   My Handsome. 

   He sauntered up to the microphone and openly referred to his mother, our organist and Pastor’s wife, as “Little Lady.” He shimmied his voice and curled his upper lip at every opportunity. He cheerfully complained about every key in which she played said organ, completely interrupting the flow of the service. But somehow this festive anarchy drummed up smiles instead of sneers. Tendrils of laughter began to smoke up from the congregation, everyone relaxed, and pretty soon my guy was in full on Christmas Elvis mode.
   For the record, lots of people were laughing. 
Let’s establish that early on.

   But an old friend, Beatrice, who was seated with her fiancee behind me was laughing a lot. Way more than me, just so you know, although I was laughing too.

   Eventually we were kind of laughing with inappropriate volume and energy for a church service. A Christmas church service. A Christmas church service that was supposed to be sad, or at least somber. It was wrong, but I could not stop.

   And you know how a good belly laugh takes on a life of its own? Well, that definitely happened, and on top of that, Handsome’s inner comic totally fed off of our unbridled goofiness. My friend Beatrice and I may or may not have crossed the line from “entertained” to just plain “rude,” but let’s not judge.

   The point is that about halfway through the singing, the Little Lady called Beatrice and me up to the microphone.

   To sing.

   Neither of us is a singer by nature, so we froze like startled fainting goats. We even let out those pitiful little terrified moans before our stiff little goat legs sprang up into the air.

   Unwilling to suffer the consequences of not only interrupting service but then rebelling against the sense of singing teamwork, Beatrice and I righted our goat selves from shock and tiptoed reluctantly to the pulpit. 

   Handsome, the guilty instigator but crowd-approved victim of heckling, was way too happy to thrust microphones into our mortified faces. And he was still Elvissing! S-E-R-I-O-U-S-L-Y.


   My giggling came to a screeching halt and my face was hot like lava. Hot like Elvis. Hot like not heaven. We proceeded to fake like we were singing until we realized nobody else was singing with us, just watching. We were busted lip syncing to nothing, relying on the guys to smooth out our nonexistent tones. 


   Let me just say that if I am wrong here 
and Beatrice was in fact singing, 
she was as quiet as a butterfly. 
A scared, mute, sleeping butterfly.

   We were on the hook for way more than one song and the microphones were not leaving, so verse by verse I tried to muster up a Christmas groove. I probably sounded like a donkey going through prepubescent voice changes, but I pressed out every word. Beatrice gradually sang too but physically retreated inch by inch away from the mic.

   Her backwards scooting became so pronounced that eventually Uncle David exclaimed on it loud and clear, “If you push us back anymore we’ll be off the platform!” Laughter exploded at this point, and that might have been the final song. Our punishment was evidently fulfilled.

   I am not sure if there is a clear lesson to be learned here, but the anatomy of karma cannot be overlooked. I will say that the mood was lightened and brightened far past our gloomy expectations for today.

   And for me it was worth it.

Wishing you some MERRY for your Christmas…
And cheers to living with no regrets.
xoxoxo