a puppy’s death

There are several neighbor girls who come to our house and play with our girls on a regular basis. We have a slide and monkey bars plus a huge grassy yard. Some of the girls are sisters and at the beginning of summer, their family adopted a puppy named Cookie. Cookie was a sweet little thing that came over with the girls any time they came to play, and even our old dog, Grayla, enjoyed playing with her.
Yesterday, Cookie was run over and killed. The girls came to our house and asked our daughter , Jandica if they could pick some flowers to put on Cookie’s grave. We were all devastated. Not more then an hour earlier, we had walked passed their house, and Cookie came out to say “hi”. We went with the girls back to their house and watched as their older brother held back his tears while he dug a grave. Ed said a little prayer and we all stood around a cried. It was so sad.
I am learning more and more about what it means to minister in a small town. These neighbor girls will come to Ed with flat tires on their bikes, they borrow board games from our girls to play together. They are all of hispanic background, and will sometimes speak in Spanish to each other and leave Jandica out of the conversation…. But we are sharing Jesus with them.
Many of them participated in VBS this summer, and a few of them are old enough to join our youth group. I feel so privileged to be their youth leader, neighbor and minister’s wife, and I am grateful for the opportunity that my girls have to be their friends and learn about their culture (my girls have eaten and actually enjoyed tongue tacos!) and share Jesus with them as well.
I am looking forward to the fall when I will be starting a Bible Study for the youth group girls, and I really hope that some of these girls will want to join. Many of them are from a Catholic background, and I hope to learn who Jesus is to them as well as to share who Jesus is to me.
I know that God has led me to this place and I am so grateful for the opportunity that God has given me to be a part of the lives of these girls. I look forward to watching them grow and to helping them through other experiences of significance, whether it be more pet funerals or victories on the sports field, or recognizing God’s call on their lives…. I cannot find the words to express how I feel, the high privilege of being allowed to share in their sorrow and knowing that God has placed my family here for just such a time as this…. It is all overwhelming and poignant and I am so touched by God’s grace.

Spring Morning

The girls have started spring break, and I woke up before 7am this morning… and couldn’t get back to sleep. So I decided to go for a walk (I’ve been trying to get some exercise at least three times each week, and I was behind). What a beautiful spring morning! There was a bit of frost on the windows of the cars as I passed, but the sun was just starting its ascent, and the sky was bright. The birds have made their way back to town and are starting their spring routine of nest building. It was peaceful and quiet and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

As I was walking I was reflecting on my family’s last year. We have been through quite a bit. It was just about a year ago that we found out we would be moving to this wonderful new community and I was not as receptive to the idea as I could have been. I was looking forward to continuing to teach musical theater at the alternative school that my kids were attending, and the girls were not too happy about leaving their friends and their lives. (We had just moved 4 years prior and were feeling settled where we were.) But I can now look back at how the experiences of previous ministries have led to me to where I am today.

As a pastor’s wife, I’ve moved from north of Seattle to Omaha, NE; back to south of Seattle; the south of Olympia, then back north (to the house I lived in when I was in high school) and now to a small town in Eastern Washington. And each move has been a part of my journey to finding out who I am in Christ and what my role is in God’s kingdom. Sometimes the road has been difficult… my father’s passing last fall was probably the most painful experience to date, and the emotional scar is still raw from it. But I’ve also learned that each move has been the right one, at the right time, even if it wasn’t always the most enjoyable.

So here I sit with the sun shining through my window (that needs to be washed) and I am so very thankful for this spring morning and for a God who has been directing my steps. I know that each day is another opportunity to experience God’s love and grace and direction for me and I look forward to what this spring day and each following day has for my family and me as we walk the path set before us.

Dad’s funeral

Dad passed away on October 2, 2010. This is the eulogy I shared at his memorial service…

First, I just want to say thank you to all who wore their sports teams jerseys. Those who knew my dad know how pleased he would be to be honored this way.

I know there are so many wonderful stories about Dad’s life that I couldn’t pick just one, and I know all of you are here because he touched your life in some way. If you have a story or memory, please share with one another during the reception. We want to celebrate his wonderful life.

Many years ago, Dad attended a “How To Win Friends and Influence People” seminar, and I think he really took that philosophy to heart. Everywhere he went he was always intent on making others feel good about themselves, or to just have a better day, or to feel appreciated and cared for. He was a quiet man of faith, and shared God’s love with those around him, just by being kind and loving.

We learned to cherish the time we had with Dad, and that is why we can celebrate his life together today. Over 30 years ago, Dad was diagnosed with a rare, incurable disease called dermatimiasitus. There are 3 outcomes for this disease- an early death, severe muscle degeneration, or remission. Dad’s went into remission, and we gratefully looked forward to each day with him. Then, 15 years ago, almost to the day, he had a heart attack. His disease had weakened his heart muscle, but again he came through fine, and again we gratefully took each day as a gift.

Then 2 years ago, he developed a lung condition, and because of it, contracted staph pneumonia. He was in the hospital for a month, but he fought back and we celebrated his retirement. Mom and Dad were able to travel after that and enjoyed many trips together and with family, again grateful for our time.

But because of the medications he had to take for his lung condition, his immune system was no longer able to fight off even the simplest of illnesses… and this time his body couldn’t fight off the staph pneumonia.

So we have to say goodbye to a man who loved life and loved people.

My dad had a saying when I was growing up… whenever “tragedy” occurred, like getting a pimple right before a date, or the meatloaf burned, Dad would say, “400 years from now, who’s going to care?” Well, Dad, I’m pretty sure that you have left such a legacy, that 400 years from now, people will still care about Jim Wallace.

struggles

As of this writing, my father is in the hospital, under sedation and with a ventilator breathing for him. He has a lung condition and the medication for it depletes his immune system so he’s more suseptable to infection. He developed staph pneumonia.

Before we moved to our new church, we lived next door to my parents. Now they are all alone and I desperately want to be with my mom and dad during this time. It makes it really hard to be motivated to do anything. I’m planning on heading over there tomorrow and spend the weekend, and right now, mom’s sister is staying with her, but it’s still not easy going about my daily routine without feeling anxious and wanting to drop everything and go now.

The frustration is knowing that mom and dad were just starting to enjoy their retirement. It doesn’t seem fair that their future would be so severely hindered. Mom is trying her best to trust God and leave it all in his hands, but she has a lot of time to think and that doesn’t help. I think the worst part is the utter helplessness of the situation. We are unable to do anything to fix the problem (the doctor’s aren’t even sure what triggered the lung condition in the first place). So all we can do is pray.

Now I know when others have been through tough times, I’ve told them that prayer is enough, but now it doesn’t feel like it. (I’ve been praying that my parent’s house would sell so they could move to our side of the state and they’ve barely had anyone look at the house let alone make an offer.) There are so many examples of effective prayers in the Bible, King Hezikiah, Paul, Peter and John, even Jesus’ parable of the widow and the unjust judge seems to be an exhortation to pray and that God will take care of it. But even as I write this I recognize that God is not my personal Santa Claus to give me whatever I wish. I just feel like I’m praying to emptiness right now. Is this how David felt when he wrote all those psalms asking “Where are you, God? Why don’t you answer me?”

I have many friends from previous ministries that are on a social network site and I have asked for their prayers. Many of them have responded, so I know their are many, many petitions reaching heaven right now, and I am so grateful for all the love and support shown to me and my family through them.

I guess the most difficult part of a life of faith is not trusting God during the trials, but dealing with the emotions that come with them. I know that God is in control, that God knows what He’s doing, and even if my father were to die, it won’t shatter my faith (we all die, it’s just a matter of when).  The test of faith for me is how I walk in the midst of the anxiety. I want to sit in my room and play computer games or read or watch TV all day, anything to keep my mind from broaching the subject of my father’s mortality (I have too vivid an imagination at times). But my family needs me to still feed them and care for them, and I have ministry and community obligations that I can’t ignore. But I can’t do it on my own. I can’t pull myself up by my bootstraps and power through the suck without the power of the Holy Spirit. If I try I’ll burn out or become bitter and that won’t help anyone.

And there’s no quick fix answer to this situation either; not for my dad and not for me. Dad is on medicine that has to take the time it’s going to take; and I need to trust the Spirit and let God do what God is going to do in God’s time. I so want the 30 minute sit-com wrap-up and everything is better, but I just have to wait.

Rebel

My cat, aptly named Rebel, has not handled the move as well as the rest of us. At our old house, he had several acres of woodland to roam and not much in the way of “human” noise with which to contend. In our new community, we live in a small town, but are in the middle of it, so there are cars driving by all day, and no woods. During the day, Rebel will stare longingly out the door, but not venture past the door frame. At night, however, his nocturnal instincts must kick in, because he will try to sneak out the minute the sun goes down.

Sometimes, I have to get up in the middle of the night to let the dog out to do her business, and Rebel tries to escape. Normally, I will catch him, but last night, I was still too groggy to pay attention, and sure enough when the door opened, ZOOM! out went Rebel! I laid down on the couch, thinking maybe he’d get spooked and I’d hear him meowing to come back in right away, but after a few minutes, I gave up and went back to bed.

I’m concerned that Rebel will meet some ill fate while he’s out at night (I’ve heard stories of coyotes, and I’ve seen lots of other cats in the neighborhood), so this morning I was up bright and early, and out calling for him to come home. Sure enough, after a minute or two, Rebel came crawling out from under the church steps next door, covered in cobwebs and yowling like he does when he’s in the car. He ran into the house and started rubbing on the dog, as if to say, “I missed you, I love you.”

It struck me how often I am like my rebellious little kitty. God knows what is best for me, but I don’t always pay attention. I want something so badly, even when I know it’s not good for me, that I sneak around to get it, (like I’m really fooling the all-knowing God). When I finally get what I want, it turns out to be not so incredible. (spending the night under the church steps in a dusty, cobwebby hole). And when I finally come crying back into God’s protective arms, God’s there to wipe away the tears, and the cobwebs and to remind me that He knows what’s best, but I need to trust Him, and stop trying to do things my own way.

I love it when God uses the simple things in my life to remind me of who He is. The lessons I have learned through the years from my girls or watching animals or even in the lyrics of a favorite song, often have a more powerful impact then from just sitting in the pew on Sunday morning (sorry, dear). But then, just when I think I don’t need that Sunday morning pew-sitting experience, I hear a sermon that coincides with a lesson I’ve learned during my week, and I smile and think how awesome God is to use everything around me to teach me what I need to know.

So I’m learning to try and pay attention to all the experiences and to see God’s hand in it all. Romans 8:28 has taken on a new understanding for me…

“For we know that all things work together for good, to those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose.”

I used to try to use that verse to find comfort in the midst of difficulties or tragedies. But I’m realizing that I shouldn’t limit that verse to only the bad stuff. There are so many “good and perfect gifts, coming down from the father of the heavenly lights…” James 1:17, and those things all work together for good, too. but I’m too often distracted to realize them.

So now, I’m going to keep my eyes and heart open for those moments and see if I can’t see the hand of God through all of my life’s experiences, good and tragic, and hopefully learn the lessons God has for me without having to spend another night under the steps in a dusty, cobwebby hole.

unpacking

I’ve spent the last two months in transition. We moved from our old house to our new one 200 miles away. Because the kids were still in school, we commuted on the weekends and took loads of stuff with us each time. Now the kids are done with school, and we are finally getting settled in the new place. I am surrounded by boxes of stuff that I thought I couldn’t do without!

As I packed things in the old house, I thought I was being ruthless, “I’ll never need this; I haven’t used this in 5 years, out it goes!” and got rid of what I thought was a lot of stuff. But now, I am realizing just how much extra I have.  My new house has really high ceilings (it was built back in the early 1900′s when that was the fashion), so the kitchen has two sets of cupboards, one low, that I can use on a regular basis, and one up high where I need a step-ladder to get to the counter to stand on to reach the upper shelves. (okay, so I’m short.)

I’m beginning to realize that I don’t need 27 sets of plastic storage containers (only 2/3 of them have matching lids, but I keep hoping, with the move, I’ll find the rest). I only use 5 cooking utensils for every day cooking: the rubber spatula, wooden spoon, tongs, pancake flipper and serving spoon; all the rest are “specialty” items that are just taking up space. (why do I still have 2 ice cream scoops?)

My life has become so cluttered with “stuff” that I don’t have time to do anything with it. I can’t cook until the kitchen is clean, and once it’s clean, I’m too tired to cook. The desk is so cluttered, I can’t find the bills I need to pay, so I keep them in a shoe box instead.

How did this happen? And more importantly, how do I break this cycle of consumerism, so my children don’t fall into the same traps? Each subsequent generation is going to have a more difficult time with saving the planet if the examples set by their parents doesn’t change.

It’s probably not so bad in some other countries, but here in America, we are addicted to stuff. It’s all part of the “American Dream”. He who dies with the most toys wins. (I used to think that was a cute saying, now I realize it’s an epidemic!)

So, now as I unpack, I get to be ruthless again! Instead of finding a place for it, I need to find a purpose for it. And I should do that with my whole life, not just the stuff but my attitudes and desires as well. Do I need to be mad at my teenaged daughter when she gives me that “look” and says she won’t clean her room. What is the purpose of my anger, to MAKE her obey or to feel self-righteous. Do I need a bowl of ice cream every night after dinner (that’s why I have two scoopers, in case one is in the dish washer). Is my purpose in eating dessert to satisfy a sweet tooth or an inner need for comfort that I try to get from food instead of from God?

As my family and I start our new life in a new town, with a new job, it’s a good time to take stock of what we have, what we need, and what we can get rid of, and I’m not just talking about our “stuff”!

Saying “Good bye”

I don’t like saying good bye. It hurts. But it’s a necessary part of life and growth, so I guess I have to deal with it.

After almost four years as the youth and children’s director for our church, my husband and I said good bye to the congregation today. Ed has accepted his first senior pastor call (he’s been a youth pastor for over 20 years) and this was our last week with our old church. I decided to start a blog to help chronicle our new life.

This is the sixth church we’ve served with in the 20 years we’ve been married, and each move seems to hurt a little more. Maybe it’s because the kids are older now, so I grieve for them as much as I do for me. Maybe as I get older, I form deeper relationships so that when I move, the hole that is left is deeper. Maybe I’m just tired of packing my life… again… and don’t relish the thought of starting all over again to make friends. Maybe it’s a combination.

All I know is that I feel kind of numb now. I’ve said good bye to a lot of good, loving people today, and I will say good bye to the youth group tonight, and I have cried many tears already and anticipate many more.  So how can I look at this as a positive growth experience? How can I tell my daughters that everything will be fine when I have my own doubts? That’s got to be where my faith steps in and says, “You don’t have to know that everything will turn out okay, just trust that God will do what God will do, and be excited to be a part of it.

So as I start this new journey, I hope to find a fresh sense of God’s hand in it all and that the journey will be what I focus on instead of just trying to get where I think I’m supposed to be. I hope to have others join me in the journey so that together we can say “hello” to a new and grand experience.