Creative Valentine's Day for the Craft-Challenged

Well, this is becoming a series. As I said recently, I am not crafty. I appreciate those who are and, by the blessing of Pinterest, I can follow directions and do some of these things myself! Here is the simple Valentine's Day cards we made for James's grandparents and great-grandparents that I think is super-cute (and super-easy!)

Step 1: Find some Valentine's Day-appropriate construction paper. I guess thinner paper would do, but construction paper is nice and sturdy. We did ours with red paper, because that is what I found in our supply cabinet. Fold the paper in half.

Step 2: Hold your kid's hand on the paper so that the index finger and thumb are on the folded edge. Explain to them that they are going to make someone's day so much better as you do your best to trace their hand with a pencil. Don't hold on too tight - this is supposed to be fun. I imagine, if your child is older, they could do this him/her-self.

Don't worry about tracing the hand for each card. If you have a little one (like my 2 1/2 year old), send them on their way to play or, better yet, go play with them and do the rest later, when they're asleep.

Step 3: Cut out the hand you traced with the paper still folded, being careful not to severe the link connecting the index fingers and thumbs. This is where the heart will appear!

If you need to make more than 1 card (which I bet you do, since I went to the trouble of making one for myself), just trace this one. It's a lot easier than making your little one sit for many tracings. Again, if your child is older, they may actually enjoy doing the tracing themselves repeatedly.

Step 4: Write or draw something on the "front" of the card so that when the recipient sees it, they will orient it the correct way.

Step 5: Write something extra cute on the inside, where the heart appears.



I had sparkly foam heart stickers, but I really couldn't justify taking away from the beautiful heart that the hands make, so I didn't use them. I also wrote the year so that we could all be amazed at how small James's hands were back when. And there you have it - cute cards from your child to all their loved ones.

Hope your Valentine's Day was special! How did you share or show love?

Remember you are dust...

Years ago, when I worked as an admin at a church, one of the other admins talked about “baby preachers” that came through the system. At that time, the senior pastor of her church was the chair of the Board of Ordained Ministry, so she kept all their files in her office. From her, it was a term of endearment.

Now I am one of those baby preachers. I’m often aware of all the things I don’t know, despite a Master of Divinity hanging on my wall. And I’m often struck powerfully, painfully, truly by the grace that I sometimes talk so much about that it becomes subject rather than reality.

I’ve been appointed to my church for 3½ years now. I’ve gotten to know so many of the people deeply. Their faces are dear to me and I know their stories. In teaching an older adult Sunday school class recently, I was able to step out onto political limbs for the sake of the gospel because I was entirely confident that I love them, and they know it, and they love me back. It’s an amazing place from which to do ministry.

So tonight, on Ash Wednesday, which has never been my favorite day of the liturgical year, I choked up…again. I didn’t remember it from last year, but as I looked into all of these dear faces, young and old, dipping my thumb into the bowl of ashes to trace there the symbol of death which has become a promise of life for us, I found my voice breaking. I see an upturned face, an expectant waiting. I approach. I press my thumb into the black grit. I trace a broad down stroke, with the words, “Remember you are dust…” And as I seal the sign across their brow, “…and to dust you shall return.”

Ah me! Across the wrinkles, I wrote it. Across the smooth skin of children, where time has left no sign yet, I wrote it. Across the foreheads of mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, wives, husbands, grandparents, grandchildren, I wrote it. I wrote the fatal/immortal sign and felt the anticipated pain of losing them to this mortal sight.

To me, the reminder of our mortality is unwelcome. I don’t like being dust! I’m so much more, as I preached one Ash Wednesday a few years back. Death and the fear of death hang around all of us, why must our faith remind us of it, too? Just look at the pop culture, where men and women spend small fortunes to remain forever young. We all fear the march of time that robs us of vigor and spirits our loved ones away.

And yet, I know the hope in this day is that death does not have final say. Even as we enter Lent, even as we remember that we are but dust that our Eternal Creator crafted in the palm of an almighty hand, we know we are precious creatures who find their eternal home in God.

As William Wordsworth puts it in his Ode: Intimations of  Immortality,

            “The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,

                        Hath had elsewhere its setting,

                        And cometh from afar:

                        Not in entire forgetfulness,

                        And not in utter nakedness,

            But trailing clouds of glory do we come

                        From God, who is our home:

                        Heaven lies about us in our infancy!”

This is my "who am I?" for the #rethinkchurch
photo-a-day project for Lent.
Follow me to see more: @UMeldergirl

So while I may not like Ash Wednesday, I do my best to wrestle with it and find its blessing, as Jacob taught. And I pray that I never become so hardened or practical or accustomed to grace that these moments fail to move me toward tears.

 

But when I got home, just before my 2½ year old’s bedtime, grace continued to abound. He saw me, pointed to my forehead, and laughed. Mommy had a dirty forehead. Oh yes, child, and how much dirtier am I within. But there is good news for me and for you and for all us dirty folks.

What are your thoughts on Ash Wednesday? I’d love to hear your take.

Creative Christmas for the Craft-Challenged

Those of you who know me in real life know that I am not at all crafty. I appreciate beauty and creativity, but often have difficulty putting them together in a visual medium myself. But, I am a smart woman and I can follow directions. So, wanting to be one of those moms who does those things with her kids and wanting to create something meaningful for James’s grandparents and great-grandparents, I pinned a couple of simple looking crafts and got to work.

I am grateful for Pinterest. I am a better cook for it and now I’m a better crafty mama. It all started with pin about salt dough Christmas ornaments from Creative Playhouse. It looked great (i.e. easy but still pretty), but I was very glad to find this link on making salt dough in order to get started.

So, here’s our wonderful, messy process, annotated for those who are craft-challenged like me. I combined 1 cup salt (the Morton’s in the cupboard), 2 cups flour (the all-purpose in the freezer), and around 1 cup cold water. I worked with it in a bowl until it felt like dough. I will say, though, that this made a ton of dough. We only used probably half to make 12 ornaments, so I think you could safely half the recipe and still have plenty. I stuck the other half of my dough in the fridge, hoping to use it for something else another time.

Then I stuck the dough in front of James, hoping for some of that sensory learning to happen that all the moms seem to be going on about. He seemed interested, but confused about why we were sitting at the table playing with something that looked like food but obviously wasn’t food.



So we got down to business, rolling out the dough. 


This was more fun, but I was constantly flouring the table and the rolling pin to try to keep it from sticking and I have one of those supposedly nonstick pins. Ah well. If I had it to do over again, I may have skipped to the painting part for a 2-year-old, but he seemed to humor me.










Then we used some thematic cookie cutters to cut out some shaped. We did butterflies, trees, and stars.

This is where I lost him for the day. It took too long for me to pull the dough away from the shapes, get them to the cookie sheet, and reroll the dough. He did a few, then I finished up. To make a nice hole for hanging, I used a plastic straw to punch a hole in the soft dough. That worked surprisingly well!

The instructions say to bake them for a couple of hours at 100°. Since my instructor is in the UK, I figured this was Celsius, so it would be 212° Fahrenheit. My oven, thinking it knows better, wouldn’t do anything less than 300°. Since this is a craft and not food, I figured I couldn’t overbake them, since the whole point was to dry them out. I left them on one side for a couple of hours, then took them out to let them cool so we could paint. Unfortunately, my husband ruled that the pan side of the ornaments still seemed doughy, so they went back in for a couple of hours on the other side. The ornaments are done when they feel hard and a little brittle.

The next day we started painting:

 

I also bought glitter, which we applied directly to the still-wet paint to help it hold on. Here are our almost finished products:
 

I really liked the way the butterflies turned out. I was less controlling about what James did, letting him mix colors of paint and glitter. I’m constantly relearning that life turns out more textured, beautiful, and amazing when we relax our grip on our façade of control, and just let things be what they are.
 

A few days later, I was telling some coworkers about our craft project and how it just didn’t seem finished. After all, we had basically made a kind of food. Sure, it had paint and glitter on it, but if it was going to last from year to year, it seemed like there must be another step. The experienced mamas advised me to buy a spray sealant. (One of them asked me if we had used acrylic paint to which I didn’t have an answer. I used the paints that James got at some point. They had good colors.) I went to Michael’s, told the helpful clerk what I needed, and left with a Krylon crystal clear acrylic coating.

I put the ornaments on paper plates (for easy transport), took them out front, sprayed them down, then let them dry for a day. The coating did modify the colors, but I think they still looked nice.

The next day, I flipped them over, wrote my son’s name and the year with a Sharpie, then sprayed them with sealant. I’m not sure if it was the Sharpie spreading on the dough or the wet coating being applied too soon, but some of it smeared. Those I kept for myself. But some of them turned out just fine.
 

Finally, when all was dry, I tied red ribbon hangers on each one and parsed them for giving. If I were to do this again, I might make more effort with coordinating ribbon or whatnot, but I was up against a deadline.

Here’s one of the keepers on our tree:

 

I hope your Christmas was merry and bright! What traditions did/do you have as a family?

Revelation at the Rail

I was serving communion on Sunday. I had half a loaf of bread in my right hand, swaddled like a newborn, and I was tearing pieces to give to the people worshiping with us. Pinch, tear, give, cover, “The body of Christ, broken for you.” It’s a powerful moment; one of the reasons I pursued becoming an elder in the United Methodist Church. The sacraments are holy, mysterious things in which bread, water, and other common elements become conveyors of grace. Good stuff.

Now for my confession – even extraordinary means of grace can become routine in the life of a pastor. I know – you’re shocked and appalled. I wonder of ob’s and midwives would confess the same thing about birth. In any case, on Sunday, I was a little distracted. I was doing a very un-choreographed dance with my partner, who had the tray of shot-glass sized juice cups – to the rail, around the Advent wreath, around the lectern, avoid the other servers! Bend, serve, watch, move, repeat.

There are a lot of mundane things I think about as I serve communion. Are her hands open? Is he ready to receive? Do I have enough bread left to manage this group, or should I signal for more? How many folks to go? Watch me, juice server, so we make sure that everybody gets both. Is she going to be able to get up from kneeling? The juice cups are stacking up there. Who left some bread on the rail? Seriously.

Then I noticed a pair of older adults making their way to the rail with their granddaughter. The grandmother, a tall, slender, stately woman, carefully knelt at the rail, arranging her skirts. The granddaughter, who’s maybe 3 years old, watched and stepped up onto the kneeling cushion before kneeling, too. The grandfather knelt on her other side. Then the little girl realized she couldn’t see over the rail, so she stood back up. She was very cute – all blue eyes and blond hair and sweet expression. The grandparents cupped their hands, the signal that they were ready to receive, and she followed suit.

I smiled, a little wistful. I haven’t figured out how to worship with my family much yet. My son is at the church all morning, most of the time. He comes in for children’s time, twice, but then is whisked away by the childcare staff before communion, which is probably for the best for a very wiggly 2 year old. And if my husband is in church, he’s usually running the sound board, which puts him across the sanctuary and up a floor from me.

So I savored the sweetness of this family moment, of a child being brought to taste and see faith. I felt such love within me – a love that started with my child, but which, more and more, is being grown by God. And I realized that this is who I am to be as a pastor. I am called to love each and every person who comes to the rail, who comes through the door, who is a part of my community, like I am able to love this child. God continues to teach me, even when I’m not expecting an epiphany. What has God taught you lately?

Spiritual Discipline (Is not Ought!)

I met with a couple of members of SPRC today. For the non-UMC folks, that’s our Staff Parish Relations Committee – lay folks who serve 3 year terms functioning roughly as an HR department for a local church. I was meeting with them at my own request. A year ago, a new evaluative tool was put out from our Conference office and, with a deadline looming large, they did what they could and submitted evaluations of the four clergy at our church.

Unfortunately, from my perspective, there was no opportunity for us to address any concerns that arose or even just offer insights into our ministry, so many things were marked NO, as in “not observed.” Seriously, a lot of the best stuff clergy do is invisible. I can’t tell you about the amazing counseling session or the powerful moment of confession and transformation. And that’s as it should be. I trust that my God “who sees in secret” knows the ministry I am doing (Matthew 6).

The first section in this evaluation had to do with my personal life – fiscal responsibility, emotional health, physical fitness, spiritual disciplines, etc. I confessed quickly that I usually stink that these things and I have scored myself the lowest in these areas both years we’ve been using this tool. I thanked them for scoring me higher than I scored myself last year.

 

But then one of the SPRC reps said the most profound thing – “Forget about the ought’s. What do you do?” And after thinking a moment, and forgiving myself for not fasting or searching the Scriptures (except when there’s a sermon to prep) or only praying in traffic, I realized I do have a spiritual discipline that is life-giving and beautiful and perfectly tailored to me.

The time I spend with my son, as I have explosive epiphanies about the nature of God’s love for me in the experience of my love for my child, is a constant spiritual discipline. I could never forget my nursing child or show no compassion for the child of my womb (Isaiah 49:15). He has made my heart grow, he has made me more mindful of all God’s children, he has inspired new mission efforts. These are fruit of a spiritual discipline.

This was my epiphany for today. I pray that you are released from your ought’s, too, so that you might embrace and rejoice in what is already beautiful, powerful, and grace-filled in your life. God’s fingerprints are everywhere, we just have to let go of ought’s and embrace what is (as in I AM).

Can anything good come out of Halloween?

Halloween was just a couple of days ago. And as I saw the advertisements featuring scantily clad women and devil babies, I got to thinking what good could possibly come out of Halloween.

It certainly doesn’t do anything for women’s equality since most ladies see it as an excuse to get away with wearing as little as possible and calling it a costume. I’m not throwing stones; I owned pleather pants and corsets at one point in my life. And I know it didn’t help anyone see me as a smart, strong, capable woman.

It certainly doesn’t do anything for our selfish American tendencies or our national bent toward obesity. Lots of folks have lamented the folks who came to their door with a sense of entitlement, whether it’s teens without costumes expecting candy in their pillow cases or the family that asks for water and then fusses that they each didn’t get a bottle.

It certainly doesn’t bring out our best selves, for the most part. Halloween is a holiday that glorifies fear and gore. Maybe I’m extra fussy because I don’t like being scared. I don’t like scary movies (although I have seen more than my share since I do like having friends). It really did bother me that one of my neighbors had skulls on stakes in their yard as well as a gravestone with a skeleton resting in the dust. Ugh.

I was wrestling with this since my mom loves Halloween and always has for as long as I can remember. She keeps a stuffed leg, knee to shoe, around all year long so that in the weeks prior to Halloween, she can dangle it from her trunk. And since I love my mom and she loves Halloween, there must be something redeeming about it. 

So I kept my eyes open this Halloween. I saw lots of new things, especially since my son is old enough to be exploring this holiday on his own for the first time. We went to the fall festival at the church, which I know is a safe and secure place, but he was scared of many of the people in costume. Not that they were “scary” costumes, but they obscured the people he may have otherwise recognized. Oh, I had forgotten that. And asking for candy, receiving it, but not eating it didn’t come naturally to him. Some sense of entitlement is a learned behavior, in the same way we teach children not to play with the gifts they open on birthdays or Christmas, but to set them aside and eagerly open more and more. 

But, finally, on the way home, I saw one good thing that comes out of Halloween. My neighbors were out of their houses, sitting in lawn chairs waiting for trick-or-treaters or moving with their families up and down the sidewalks. And porch lights were on, more than I've ever seen, lighting the way to a welcoming house. Wow. It was stunning to see this kind of warmth and hospitality. My neighborhood is fairly new, so there are no front porches. Most days, most of my neighbors and I never set foot outside, let alone linger there, beyond checking the mail (and some even do that from their cars).

I’m outside more nowadays because I want James to play out there. And I delight in how he finds so much to do with leaves, acorns, and other free toys. So I see my neighbors arrive home in the evenings, open their garage doors, pull inside, and close the door behind them. It’s sad. There’s not much that feels neighborly for most neighbors, and I have a feeling I’m not alone.

But on Halloween, we have an excuse to break our well-worn habits, put on silly costumes, and act like neighbors. Thanks be to God.

Because I love you, I may not always agree with you

Well, that’s putting it simply. I may not agree with lots of folks, but if I love you, you’re very likely to know it. I’m thinking about this in light of my own experiences and the political atmosphere of our country at the moment.

A few days ago when I was acutely feeling a lack of local friends, I asked my husband what the difference was between me and another acquaintance of ours, who makes friends easily wherever she goes. Not just run of the mill friends, either – these are feed you dinner, watch your kid, more like family friends. And my husband, who has made vows to be my loving friend for life, said, “You don’t suck up to people.” Pressed to explain further, it turns out that I’m honest with others; I don’t always say what they would like to hear (or keep my mouth shut to leave it a lie by omission).

So I’ve been mulling this over. A couple of weeks ago, I was teaching one of our older adult Sunday school classes at their invitation. The lesson was on Stephen, the first Christian martyr, one of the men chosen to help distribute food to widows when the apostles were getting too busy to make sure this was happening fairly (Acts 6-7). The account the author gives us of Stephen echoes that of Jesus in some powerful ways – a person doing good, witnessing to the good news of God, brought up on false charges and put to death.

The emphasis of the lesson was on being a witness. Now these folks are such excellent evangelists exhibiting such marvelous hospitality, that their problem is that their room is too full. So what could I say about being a witness? So I asked this question: Are there ever times when our positions on issues, the way we are witnesses for the smaller things, clouds the way we may be a witness for God?

And then I did it. I crossed the boundary. I named the elephant (and donkey) in the room and wondered aloud how our words and attitudes during a political season might undermine our witness to the good news. Are there things more important (namely, the reign of God) that should trump and inform how we are who we are in the world?

Afterwards, many of the class members thanked me, probably as much for my presence as for my lesson. I found myself saying that I wasn’t afraid to talk about hard issues with them because they know I love them and I know they love me.

So I guess that’s where I find myself today. When I love someone, when I really love them, I’m going to share all of myself with them. All of my thoughts, all of my feelings, all of it! Those who know me know that I have an independent streak a mile wide and another mile deep, but that’s, hopefully, balanced by my fierce loyalty. When I love someone, I love them for who they are and who they might become. I will defend them and pray for them. I will bring casseroles or watch your child or visit you in the hospital. Because I love you.

And because I love you, I may not always agree with you.

I’m working this out because I can point to an example right now of a wonderful couple that we know. And I love them. I’ve known them for years, but I know that they are never going to be the friends that I long for. Because I can’t keep my mouth shut, and even if I do, what I’m thinking is probably all over my face. And if I have to keep my mouth shut, for fear of offending or challenging, that’s probably not the friendship I really need.

So, in a season when tension and fear and anxiety are high while the outlets of social media feel anonymous, making it safe to be tacky and rude, let's try to be loving instead. Love your neighbor as you love yourself  (Leviticus 19:18, Matthew 19:19 and 22:39, Mark 12:31, Luke 10:27, Romans 13:9, Galatians 5:4, James 2:8). And as often as you may disagree with them, let them know/see/feel that you love them first.