Pressed Penny

This year, Christmas break included a visit to Knott's Berry Farm.  At the end of the day, Tristan eagerly watches as his penny is pressed.

The Wait is Almost Over

The season of waiting is almost over; Christmas is nearly here!

Calling it the "season of waiting" suggests that in the weeks leading up to Christmas, we have a lot of spare time, when, for most of us, there is not the case.  To the contrary, we find every moment packed with activity.

Furthermore, we work hard to fill what few empty moments we do have.  The truth is, most of us hate to wait.

These thoughts came to me yesterday as I was peeling an orange.  I rarely eat oranges, because of the hassle involved: peeling takes too much time, and it's hard to wait!  However, I took my time peeling the orange, feeling the texture, allowing fragments of peel to get under my fingernails, smelling the aroma and watching the fine mist spray into the air as I pulled the orange apart.

Although I often avoid them, I've learned that quiet moments of waiting are essential to my well-being.  I used to hate empty moments of "wasted time," but now, at least some of the time, I treasure them.  It's in those quiet moments that my thoughts seem to settle and organize themselves.  It's in those quiet moments that I find myself able to breathe.

I have discovered a number of ways to wait that are rejuvenating.  Standing in a checkout line the week before Christmas is not one of them -- that's not the kind of waiting I'm talking about -- but these are:

• drinking a cup of tea
• going for a walk (without worrying about a destination)
• doing crafts, like friendship bracelets (yes, friendship bracelets)
• stacking rocks
• gardening
• meditating/praying, something that often takes place during one of the other activities

This is the kind of waiting I find helpful.  It never occurs while the TV or computer are on.  Updating one's facebook status is not "waiting."

Preparing for Christmas may require a lot of activity, but it also requires waiting.  Be sure to find some time to wait for Christmas.

It's Raining

I think this picture is probably a rerun on this blog, but it exemplifies what the weather has been like this week. And while it is tempting to say that this is an actual rainstorm, in truth it is the splash from a raft sliding down the chute at the Grizzly River Ride at California Adventure. The picture was taken on a rainy day (hence the umbrella), it just wasn't that rainy.

The picture does show another truth: when it rains, kids love to play outside.

Caroling

A couple dozen cub scouts, along with a few siblings and friends, went caroling last night. Tristan, our youngest, is in the cub scout pack. "Why do I have to go?" I explained how much joy it brings to the people who live at the care facility where the caroling would take place. His older brother Ethan got excited and wanted to go, so it became a whole family affair.

When it was over, we had a school chorus concert to attend; Ethan another performance of the play he's in; and we had a neighbor's birthday gathering to attend. This followed a day that included a doctor's appointment, a school awards assembly, and watching a neighbor kid for a couple of hours. No wonder I didn't have time to write a decent blog post.

Dog Beach

This past weekend featured some unusually nice weather, even by southern  California's standards.  It wasn't just the dog who went in the water...

First Interview

By the end of my first year in seminary, I was expected to find a "student ministry" placement in a local congregation.  So I filled out the necessary paperwork, turned it in to the seminary's field education office, and waited.

One by one, my classmates received calls for interviews, and began finding placements.  Waiting and watching was a strange experience.  It was like we were members of the Quileute tribe, wondering who was going to "phase" next.  Some placements were nearby, right in Indianapolis (where the seminary was located); others were as far away as Evansville, or even in Illinois or Ohio.  Some were for a part-time position as the sole pastor of a small church; others were for associate or youth pastor positions in larger congregations.

One day I received word that a church in Pittsboro, Indiana was interested in talking to me about becoming their part-time youth pastor.  We made contact, and an interview was scheduled.

I counted down the days to the interview with both fear and excitement.  I knew that I had been called by God to be a minister, and yet I had a hard time picturing me - a shy, socially awkward young man - leading a congregation.

At the time I was working a temp job in a real estate office on the north side of Indianapolis.  (The guys who ran the office had ventured into a side business promoting "Softspikes," a then-new feature of golf shoes that, in the years since, has become quite popular.  I imagine those guys are rich today.)  On the office wall was a detailed map of Indiana.  I spent quite a bit of time staring at the map, following with my eyes the road that led from Indianapolis to Pittsboro, imagining myself driving that road several times a week.

Finally, the night of the interview came.  Outside my apartment it was raining.  Inside, I nervously adjusted my tie while murmuring to myself, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength."  I kissed my wife, Ginger, and on my way out to the car I grabbed an umbrella and directions to a Pittsboro restaurant called Frank and Mary's, where I would meet the search committee.

Frank and Mary's, it turned out, was the only restaurant in Pittsboro, a small farming community of about 1,000 with exactly one stoplight.  I pulled into the parking lot and gazed upon the mostly windowless, stone-brick building, noticing the drops of rain illuminated by the one outdoor light.  It looked to me like the kind of place one sees in the movies, where crooked yet powerful people meet in semi-secret to drink, smoke cigars, and plot their next sinister move.  Before stepping out of the car, I hesitated just a moment, wondering what would happen if I didn't make it back home, and how long Ginger would wait before calling the police.

Knowing (hoping?) that it was my nerves that made the situation seem more ominous than it probably was, I walked across the parking lot and into the unimpressive door on the side of the building ... and was greeted by some of the friendliest church people I've ever met.  The conversation flowed easier than I expected it to, and a few days later, I found myself leading the youth program at Pittsboro Christian Church.

I stayed there almost three years, until I graduated from seminary.  The people there treated me and Ginger better than any other church I've been part of.*  We returned to Frank and Mary's many times - a place that became much less scary with familiarity - and once or twice I was even surprised when I went to pay my bill and was told that it had already been taken care of.

I learned a lot about ministry from the people of Pittsboro.  I carry those lessons with me still.  My time there was a great beginning to my ministry.

---

*Probably the main reason for this is that the people of Pittsboro Christian Church truly saw themselves as a community that had been called to nurture young pastors, and saw me for what I was: a student pastor. They taught me even as I ministered to them.

Early Snow

On the back (north) side of the San Gabriel mountains, where the winter sun struggles to warm the earth, snow lingers even after it has melted elsewhere.  I took this photo last week; over the weekend, a storm that dropped more rain than snow may have changed the view from this spot, which is near Devil's Punchbowl.  But winter is just getting started.

Being Present

In my life, I have hiked thousands of miles and spent hundreds of nights sleeping in a tent or even outside.  I will admit that, sometimes, when I'm preparing for another venture into the wilderness, I wonder if perhaps I'm a little crazy for leaving the comforts of home:  soft bed, warm shower, a roof to keep me dry if it rains.

I never wonder this when I'm in the wilderness.

So what compels me to spend so many days outdoors, in nature?  This is a question that has come to me every so often, and the answer wasn't always clear.  But I think I'm starting to figure it out.

Being in the wilderness allows me to be "present" in a way that is difficult under normal circumstances.

At home, the calendar shows events for months to come.  I'm always anxious about money.  Usually the anxiety is not about meeting today's needs, but tomorrow's.  My mind is often fixated on things that are days, weeks, months, or even years away.

As a pastor, I've been thinking about Christmas for many weeks now.  Indeed, I've moved beyond Christmas, and am already anticipating programs and ministries for 2011.

Planning ahead is necessary and important, of course.  However, too often it takes place at the expense of being present.  Hours go by, and we're not even aware of their passing, because our thoughts are elsewhere.  What did you have for breakfast this morning?  What did you do last evening?  Sometimes it's hard to remember such simple details, because while we were eating breakfast, our mind was somewhere else; while we played a board game or had a conversation last evening, our mind wasn't really present.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, I went camping with Troop 29 (my church's boy scout troop, which my son is in) to Joshua Tree National Park.  While there, I found myself watching the clouds, and watching the rocky cliffs change color as the clouds passed in front of the sun.  Climbing (well, "bouldering," actually) one of those rocky peaks, my thoughts were fully present as I contemplated how to safely navigate to the top, where to put my hands and feet, feeling the rough texture of the rocks on my hands, feeling the cool breeze and warm sun on my face, and keeping alert lest I surprise a rattlesnake as I climbed.

With thoughts like these, there is no room in one's mind for worrying about the future.  One cannot always live in the present, of course, but most of us hardly ever live in the present.  We need to find some balance.

Some call it mindfulness.  It is, I think, an overlooked spiritual practice, at least in the West.  I've been told that meditation involves shutting out sights, sounds, and distractions, and emptying one's mind.  I'm not so sure.  For me, meditation is more about opening the mind to the world around me, and recognizing the sacredness of it all.

The view from the top of my climb.