You recently reminded me of this word in my slow meander with You in Isaiah.
Though grace is shown to the wicked,
they do not learn righteousness,
even in a land of uprightness they go on doing evil
and regard not the majesty of the Lord.
Isaiah 26:10
Majesty. I love that word. The created world sings of majesty. From a sunrise to a sunset, from a thick forest to a lone tree, from Mt. Shasta to the Grand Canyon, from the roaring ocean to a single dew drop, from the tallest redwood to a single blade of grass, Your majesty is sung over the whole earth. The proliferation of interconnected life is majestic. And even this is a mere shadow of the majesty I may yet be shown in my eternal home.
How can one not see this? This awe and wonder has been stolen by our enemy who spews out the lie this all was not created by intelligent design but is mere happenstance of colliding atoms that accidentally came together to form something new. Our prolific earth, so precisely placed into space is an accident.
No, this cannot be so. Our little earth screams life, it can't help but sprout life. The awe and wonder at this, that so many have lost, leaves them bankrupt, empty of true life, a life abundant, offered by You, Jesus.
Again, I must say, if this world vibrates in the image of Your majesty, how much more glorious is Your true majesty? And yet Your grace shown to the wicked produces no righteousness. Evil continues, is actually sought after. This evil corrupts so that any real majesty is missed. Just missed, not overlooked, just missed.
Majesty, how I love this word. Maybe it is one of my favorite words, ranked up there with grace and mercy.
Saturday, February 15, 2020
Saturday, February 8, 2020
TENT
The circus has come to town. Several times a week, in the course of doing my job I drive by three huge tents, white with deep royal blue swirls cascading to the ground declare Cirque Du Soleil is in town here in Sacramento for the month of February. I'd like to go see this spectacle. A few years ago my mother gave us two tickets to see the circus when it was in San Francisco. It was a memorable experience, but the tent used back then was not as beautiful as the tents the troupe has erected here in Sacramento. Seeing those tents has caused me to revisit my love of tents.
Growing up we had a little 9' X 9' dark green heavy canvas tent. Every summer we would haul it up to our family's favorite campground along the Middle Fork of the Yuba here in northern California. It was where we spent our summer vacation weeks when my folks had time off from their jobs. It wasn't far from home, probably just less than 30 miles, but it always felt worlds away for me.
Dad always folded it up precisely into thirds, one side in a third, the other side on top then the oblong folded again into thirds leaving a folded square of canvas about 3' square. It seemed magical to me whenever we would site that square where it would finally reside for the couple of weeks we would camp. Dad would carefully unfold it, stake it down, then crawl inside with the umbrella-like frame that supported the tent when fully erected and work it into place popping the whole canvas creation into the little room that became home for us.
My older sister, Carla, and I rarely slept in the tent. We were allowed to take our camp cots and find our own spots we would sleep in, places that became our bedrooms under the stars, but the tent was always our "home base" where Mom and Dad, along with our baby sister when she came along, would sleep.
Tents today are much lighter and easier to put up today, but I remember fondly that dark green canvas tent we used for years.
Something about these memories stirs in me thoughts about how we inhabit our places now. We strive for permanence that tents do not offer. As I write this, I am sitting out front of my home. I really love our home. It is modest by western measurements, just under 2000 square feet, but it has been our home for over 22 years now. I don't think there is anything wrong with our pursuit of what we call the American dream, home ownership, but I don't want to forget, this world really is not my home.
John tells us in I John the second chapter that we should not love the world. I think I understand this to mean our deeper love needs to be for God's kingdom, a kingdom yet to come and our heavenly home we will enter when we pass from this life into the next. I don't want my love for my home here on earth to supplant the home my heart was truly made for.
I am also reminded that many of our spiritual fore-bearers lived out lives of pilgrimage following God in shelters of tents. I think of Abram, leaving all he knew into the uncertainty of following God's leading. It was a "tent" existence that meant he was always ready to move when God spoke.
My cherished memories of that green tent calls me to wonder if I am following well the examples of so many who were willing to live out "tent" lives to follow closely the God of heaven and earth.
Growing up we had a little 9' X 9' dark green heavy canvas tent. Every summer we would haul it up to our family's favorite campground along the Middle Fork of the Yuba here in northern California. It was where we spent our summer vacation weeks when my folks had time off from their jobs. It wasn't far from home, probably just less than 30 miles, but it always felt worlds away for me.
Dad always folded it up precisely into thirds, one side in a third, the other side on top then the oblong folded again into thirds leaving a folded square of canvas about 3' square. It seemed magical to me whenever we would site that square where it would finally reside for the couple of weeks we would camp. Dad would carefully unfold it, stake it down, then crawl inside with the umbrella-like frame that supported the tent when fully erected and work it into place popping the whole canvas creation into the little room that became home for us.
My older sister, Carla, and I rarely slept in the tent. We were allowed to take our camp cots and find our own spots we would sleep in, places that became our bedrooms under the stars, but the tent was always our "home base" where Mom and Dad, along with our baby sister when she came along, would sleep.
Tents today are much lighter and easier to put up today, but I remember fondly that dark green canvas tent we used for years.
Something about these memories stirs in me thoughts about how we inhabit our places now. We strive for permanence that tents do not offer. As I write this, I am sitting out front of my home. I really love our home. It is modest by western measurements, just under 2000 square feet, but it has been our home for over 22 years now. I don't think there is anything wrong with our pursuit of what we call the American dream, home ownership, but I don't want to forget, this world really is not my home.
John tells us in I John the second chapter that we should not love the world. I think I understand this to mean our deeper love needs to be for God's kingdom, a kingdom yet to come and our heavenly home we will enter when we pass from this life into the next. I don't want my love for my home here on earth to supplant the home my heart was truly made for.
I am also reminded that many of our spiritual fore-bearers lived out lives of pilgrimage following God in shelters of tents. I think of Abram, leaving all he knew into the uncertainty of following God's leading. It was a "tent" existence that meant he was always ready to move when God spoke.
My cherished memories of that green tent calls me to wonder if I am following well the examples of so many who were willing to live out "tent" lives to follow closely the God of heaven and earth.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Advent 2019
My church has taken a very non-traditional approach to Advent this year. Starting with the Sunday just prior to Thanksgiving a partnership with Compassion International for sponsors in Ecuador was rolled out. It really has been very beautiful and a wonderful counter-balance to the consumerism that has engulfed this season here in the United States. The hope that Sunday was for 500 children to gain sponsors through those attending. Over 800 children now have sponsors that, hopefully, will impact the poverty these children live in.
The second Sunday of the series funds were raised to build a church/school in one of the cities where many of the sponsored children live. Again, the hoped for goal was surpassed by nearly double the hoped for amount.
The final Sunday folk were encouraged to consider joining a planned mission trip to Ecuador for next Fall. Again, the number of people expressing interest was exceeded by a large percentage. It really was beautiful to experience the willingness of our congregation to get behind this concerted effort to alter a cycle of poverty in one small part of our world, especially at this time of year when too much emphasis is on receiving.
Having said this, I must admit I missed the traditional approach and look at the familiar passages from Matthew and Luke that outline Jesus' birth. I picked up a great book of daily devotions that I've been using to help me focus more intentionally to this season. But I approached this last Sunday hungry to hear a traditional sermon regarding the cause for our celebration. I was not disappointed.
At the top of our sermon notes was the opening of John's gospel.
The word became flesh
Made His dwelling among us
We have seen His glory
Glory of the One and Only Son
Came from the Father
Full of Grace and Truth
John 1:14
(Editing and format mine)
I wrote words in my journal as I listened, listened to Phil, and to God's voice. I wrote this:
Incarnated in such a way that He can be missed; God in hiding, hiding not well if we search and seek with eyes of faith. Hidden nonetheless in human flesh, disrupting smug religion couched in "knowing secrets". He's out in the open, poured out for us to find, found through God-invited faith fueled by desire for truth and grace.
I know it seems odd to think of Incarnation as a form of hidden-ness, but the babe was missed until shepherds arrived having been prompted by an angelic visitation. It would take years before His true nature was recognized and even that was incomplete until resurrection.
I think that was the plan all along, hidden in flesh but out in the open, poured out for us in such a mysterious way. The mystery of Incarnation, fully God and fully man, is not something we can really grasp. It was the plan, a plan that invites us to accept by faith. Without faith we can never please God and it begins at the manger, a lowly birth, actually we can hardly imagine a more lowly birth among animals and in a feed trough. It is really scandalous when one thinks of it, yet that was the plan. He came in the dark of night, born to completely uproot our enemy and his stronghold.
It is this hidden-ness and this passage that has captured my thoughts and this short passage has now become my favorite nativity passage this season of Advent, 2019.
The second Sunday of the series funds were raised to build a church/school in one of the cities where many of the sponsored children live. Again, the hoped for goal was surpassed by nearly double the hoped for amount.
The final Sunday folk were encouraged to consider joining a planned mission trip to Ecuador for next Fall. Again, the number of people expressing interest was exceeded by a large percentage. It really was beautiful to experience the willingness of our congregation to get behind this concerted effort to alter a cycle of poverty in one small part of our world, especially at this time of year when too much emphasis is on receiving.
Having said this, I must admit I missed the traditional approach and look at the familiar passages from Matthew and Luke that outline Jesus' birth. I picked up a great book of daily devotions that I've been using to help me focus more intentionally to this season. But I approached this last Sunday hungry to hear a traditional sermon regarding the cause for our celebration. I was not disappointed.
At the top of our sermon notes was the opening of John's gospel.
The word became flesh
Made His dwelling among us
We have seen His glory
Glory of the One and Only Son
Came from the Father
Full of Grace and Truth
John 1:14
(Editing and format mine)
I wrote words in my journal as I listened, listened to Phil, and to God's voice. I wrote this:
Incarnated in such a way that He can be missed; God in hiding, hiding not well if we search and seek with eyes of faith. Hidden nonetheless in human flesh, disrupting smug religion couched in "knowing secrets". He's out in the open, poured out for us to find, found through God-invited faith fueled by desire for truth and grace.
I know it seems odd to think of Incarnation as a form of hidden-ness, but the babe was missed until shepherds arrived having been prompted by an angelic visitation. It would take years before His true nature was recognized and even that was incomplete until resurrection.
I think that was the plan all along, hidden in flesh but out in the open, poured out for us in such a mysterious way. The mystery of Incarnation, fully God and fully man, is not something we can really grasp. It was the plan, a plan that invites us to accept by faith. Without faith we can never please God and it begins at the manger, a lowly birth, actually we can hardly imagine a more lowly birth among animals and in a feed trough. It is really scandalous when one thinks of it, yet that was the plan. He came in the dark of night, born to completely uproot our enemy and his stronghold.
It is this hidden-ness and this passage that has captured my thoughts and this short passage has now become my favorite nativity passage this season of Advent, 2019.
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Trajectory
At the start of this year I asked God for a word for the year. I'd done this the prior year and the word GRACE was offered. This year I sensed three words, Isaiah, Simeon and Trajectory. Isaiah reminded me God had prompted me to start reading through that prophet's words. Simeon is one of my favorite characters from the New Testament, his willingness to wait his whole life to see the promised Messiah. Both of these were great encouraging words and gave me some direction for the year ahead of me.
Trajectory was a curious word, I wondered if the trajectory of things I've been working on might take a turn for the better. I waited and kept watch. There was not much to see in the way of change so I continued on with my life until July.
July came and my work schedule took a serious turn, one that meant a drastic change in the trajectory of my usual daily and weekly schedule. Without going into a ton of detail here, I have lost all of my morning time due to needing to start work very early most days. Many of you who follow me here know that my usual daily schedule involved spending time with Abba at a park near where I work prior to going into work. I also led a small group of men in a time of study on Tuesdays. In addition, several of my Spiritual Direction clients are on the east coast so I would meet with them at 6am my time. All of this was disrupted by the change in my work schedule.
Fortunately I've been able to work around this change and have been able to maintain my schedule with my clients, but everything else has been scrapped.
For several weeks I was reeling a little, it felt like I got kicked in the gut. This was not the trajectory change I envisioned and was looking for. Frankly, I felt a little abandoned by God. I struggled with this as I tried to find a regular time with Abba. Many evenings now I am sitting out front with my dog Murphy as I wrestle with these changes.
I noticed a distance between God and I. It felt like I'd been led out into deep water, I'd often felt He was doing this at times, inviting me out deeper into Him. He always felt near during those times and it was comforting to know He was there even though the water was deep. This time it seemed He was off a distance, not so far that I was all on my own, but a distance that made this experience of going deeper different, a bit more risky.
In the midst of this time, I've been trying to prepare for the sixth prayer retreat that I facilitate. These have been sponsored by my local church, but I have been getting some odd messages about the future of this sponsorship. This adds to some of the deepness of these days, with some days me feeling like I can barely keep my head above water.
Some clarity came when I was having a conversation with my Spiritual Director. I realized the distance was needed, similar to when children are learning to walk. Without some loving distance, a toddler won't find their legs and learn to walk. Jesus was doing something similar with me. I believe He is telling me, "I know you can do this, but you don't and you won't find your 'legs' unless I give you some distance".
There is a lot stirring right now, but the main thing is I still feel deeply compelled to continue with hosting retreats. I am not sure what that is going to look like, but I believe I need to figure out how to go independent in facilitating future retreats, perhaps growing them in content and frequency. I don't know how to do this, but I think this may be part of what the shift in trajectory looks for me.
We are often surprised by events that disrupt us. God was gracious in the warning back in January and He has not left me alone with this shift. Our enemy would like us to question God's goodness, His kindness when life disrupts, but I am believing those are the times we are offered an opportunity to strengthen our legs as we learn to stand and walk in the authority of Jesus.
Blessings in whatever disruption may come your way!
Trajectory was a curious word, I wondered if the trajectory of things I've been working on might take a turn for the better. I waited and kept watch. There was not much to see in the way of change so I continued on with my life until July.
July came and my work schedule took a serious turn, one that meant a drastic change in the trajectory of my usual daily and weekly schedule. Without going into a ton of detail here, I have lost all of my morning time due to needing to start work very early most days. Many of you who follow me here know that my usual daily schedule involved spending time with Abba at a park near where I work prior to going into work. I also led a small group of men in a time of study on Tuesdays. In addition, several of my Spiritual Direction clients are on the east coast so I would meet with them at 6am my time. All of this was disrupted by the change in my work schedule.
Fortunately I've been able to work around this change and have been able to maintain my schedule with my clients, but everything else has been scrapped.
For several weeks I was reeling a little, it felt like I got kicked in the gut. This was not the trajectory change I envisioned and was looking for. Frankly, I felt a little abandoned by God. I struggled with this as I tried to find a regular time with Abba. Many evenings now I am sitting out front with my dog Murphy as I wrestle with these changes.
I noticed a distance between God and I. It felt like I'd been led out into deep water, I'd often felt He was doing this at times, inviting me out deeper into Him. He always felt near during those times and it was comforting to know He was there even though the water was deep. This time it seemed He was off a distance, not so far that I was all on my own, but a distance that made this experience of going deeper different, a bit more risky.
In the midst of this time, I've been trying to prepare for the sixth prayer retreat that I facilitate. These have been sponsored by my local church, but I have been getting some odd messages about the future of this sponsorship. This adds to some of the deepness of these days, with some days me feeling like I can barely keep my head above water.
Some clarity came when I was having a conversation with my Spiritual Director. I realized the distance was needed, similar to when children are learning to walk. Without some loving distance, a toddler won't find their legs and learn to walk. Jesus was doing something similar with me. I believe He is telling me, "I know you can do this, but you don't and you won't find your 'legs' unless I give you some distance".
There is a lot stirring right now, but the main thing is I still feel deeply compelled to continue with hosting retreats. I am not sure what that is going to look like, but I believe I need to figure out how to go independent in facilitating future retreats, perhaps growing them in content and frequency. I don't know how to do this, but I think this may be part of what the shift in trajectory looks for me.
We are often surprised by events that disrupt us. God was gracious in the warning back in January and He has not left me alone with this shift. Our enemy would like us to question God's goodness, His kindness when life disrupts, but I am believing those are the times we are offered an opportunity to strengthen our legs as we learn to stand and walk in the authority of Jesus.
Blessings in whatever disruption may come your way!
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Lent Again
I am not sure my thoughts are ready for typing. I still feel drawn though to writing here.
This has been interesting. A couple things I'm noticing, I am realizing how easy it was for me to scratch the itch for a little mindless entertainment and I am noticing I "itch" a lot. I find myself wanting those few minutes playing mindless solitaire fairly often and then rather quickly realizing that I'm really hungry for something more. It has become an often made choice between distraction or paying attention to what is underneath the "itch". I am not finding it hard to say "No" to distraction because the hunger that is there leads me to noticing more of God in the moment.
I wonder if I am suppose to feel deprived, I really don't. I feel blessed to be hungry for Abba. The distraction was not allowing me to actually be hungry for Him. It was either covering up the underlying hunger or was moving me away from the desire. I am not sure which it is, it really isn't an important distinction.
I am noticing how easy and how often I moved towards the distraction. It is a little sobering for me to think of it in terms of the ease and frequency I indulged myself. It isn't about sin, rather it is about where I place my heart on my personal agenda. The distraction of the games moved me away from noticing my own heart. Volunteering to take away the distraction has allowed me to notice more carefully what makes my heart really beat.
I am also struck by how often I am called to participate in this act of noticing the desire. It goes a little like this: I want some "down" time with nearly mindless distraction, I say "No", I then notice my heart turning towards the desire for Him, I listen more carefully and notice the still small voice of the Spirit that dwells in me, the desire transforms into a bit more hunger, my heart is more in tune with His. It all happens in just a moment.
I am also noticing I am going straight to the desire without the initial prompt of the "itch", I am simply hungry more often for a conscious sense of PRESENCE.
I've got some other thoughts regarding this experience, but I think I will save those thoughts and let them percolate for another time typing here.
Still game-less, Kelly
This has been interesting. A couple things I'm noticing, I am realizing how easy it was for me to scratch the itch for a little mindless entertainment and I am noticing I "itch" a lot. I find myself wanting those few minutes playing mindless solitaire fairly often and then rather quickly realizing that I'm really hungry for something more. It has become an often made choice between distraction or paying attention to what is underneath the "itch". I am not finding it hard to say "No" to distraction because the hunger that is there leads me to noticing more of God in the moment.
I wonder if I am suppose to feel deprived, I really don't. I feel blessed to be hungry for Abba. The distraction was not allowing me to actually be hungry for Him. It was either covering up the underlying hunger or was moving me away from the desire. I am not sure which it is, it really isn't an important distinction.
I am noticing how easy and how often I moved towards the distraction. It is a little sobering for me to think of it in terms of the ease and frequency I indulged myself. It isn't about sin, rather it is about where I place my heart on my personal agenda. The distraction of the games moved me away from noticing my own heart. Volunteering to take away the distraction has allowed me to notice more carefully what makes my heart really beat.
I am also struck by how often I am called to participate in this act of noticing the desire. It goes a little like this: I want some "down" time with nearly mindless distraction, I say "No", I then notice my heart turning towards the desire for Him, I listen more carefully and notice the still small voice of the Spirit that dwells in me, the desire transforms into a bit more hunger, my heart is more in tune with His. It all happens in just a moment.
I am also noticing I am going straight to the desire without the initial prompt of the "itch", I am simply hungry more often for a conscious sense of PRESENCE.
I've got some other thoughts regarding this experience, but I think I will save those thoughts and let them percolate for another time typing here.
Still game-less, Kelly
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Lent
Last Sunday afternoon I was sitting backstage at my church, deep in rehearsal for a program planned for Maundy Thursday - the Thursday prior to Good Friday. I was sitting between two other actors while we waited for our next entrances. All three of us had some time before we would be needed on stage, plus our director was working with a fellow actor on a long solo passage. Each on either side of me had pulled out their phones and were playing different games.
I don't normally say anything like this, but I just blurted out, "I took my games off my phone for Lent". I don't know why I said it, I really didn't want to come off as super spiritual and I normally don't draw attention to my personal spiritual practices, it just came out. Val, my friend to my right, said something to the effect that she thought Lent was something Catholics do. I've known her a long time and knew it was offered without any judgement, it was just her immediate thought. I think I responded in some way that indicated that I no longer believed it was just a Catholic thing.
The little exchange got me to thinking.
I grew up semi-regularly attending a small Baptist church in Nevada City, CA. Lent was never discussed, it was simply ignored by the Baptists. I don't recall anyone telling me it was a Catholic thing, but I picked up on this when my best boyhood friend, Kevin, asked me once what I was giving up for Lent. His family was Catholic. I remember him being amazed that I knew nothing of Lent. I think I've always been open to the idea but never spent time in any community that observed Lent.
A few years back our previous Senior Pastor introduced it and encouraged folk to observe these 40 days prior to Easter with a time of preparation. Frankly, for the last several years since then, I've done something during this time of Lent; usually some intentional time in personal observance through reading and writing, but I've never given something up during this time.
Last week I enrolled in an on-line Lent Devotional series offered by a friend. I thought that might be the extent of my observation of this season, but on Wednesday I pulled out my phone and sensed a nudge to delete the two games I had on my phone - two different versions of Solitaire. Let me share what I am noticing so far.
I find myself wanting the amusement those games offered. In fact, as I type this on my laptop, I am tempted to take a break and play a few rounds. Frankly, I find it relaxes me and my mind moves into a creative space. It is somewhat mindless in a way that allows me to free-think things at the same time. I do enjoy the amusement, though.
Often, in these last few days, I find myself wanting to pull out my phone and play a little. When I feel that pull, I find myself asking God, "What is this about? Why do I need to be amused right now?" It is a kind of hunger and as I sit with the hunger for amusement, I am finding my hunger for something deeper from Abba growing. The absence of immediate gratification is drawing me into a deeper hunger for Him. This isn't about deprivation, its about desiring Him in a deeper, more heart-centered way.
I've not written anything here since last August, that may have been my longest absence from this blog. I am thinking I may just come here more often these next few weeks prior to Easter and write what I observe during this time of Lent. I am already finding words that have been absent since last August.
-Your friend,
Gameless Kelly
I don't normally say anything like this, but I just blurted out, "I took my games off my phone for Lent". I don't know why I said it, I really didn't want to come off as super spiritual and I normally don't draw attention to my personal spiritual practices, it just came out. Val, my friend to my right, said something to the effect that she thought Lent was something Catholics do. I've known her a long time and knew it was offered without any judgement, it was just her immediate thought. I think I responded in some way that indicated that I no longer believed it was just a Catholic thing.
The little exchange got me to thinking.
I grew up semi-regularly attending a small Baptist church in Nevada City, CA. Lent was never discussed, it was simply ignored by the Baptists. I don't recall anyone telling me it was a Catholic thing, but I picked up on this when my best boyhood friend, Kevin, asked me once what I was giving up for Lent. His family was Catholic. I remember him being amazed that I knew nothing of Lent. I think I've always been open to the idea but never spent time in any community that observed Lent.
A few years back our previous Senior Pastor introduced it and encouraged folk to observe these 40 days prior to Easter with a time of preparation. Frankly, for the last several years since then, I've done something during this time of Lent; usually some intentional time in personal observance through reading and writing, but I've never given something up during this time.
Last week I enrolled in an on-line Lent Devotional series offered by a friend. I thought that might be the extent of my observation of this season, but on Wednesday I pulled out my phone and sensed a nudge to delete the two games I had on my phone - two different versions of Solitaire. Let me share what I am noticing so far.
I find myself wanting the amusement those games offered. In fact, as I type this on my laptop, I am tempted to take a break and play a few rounds. Frankly, I find it relaxes me and my mind moves into a creative space. It is somewhat mindless in a way that allows me to free-think things at the same time. I do enjoy the amusement, though.
Often, in these last few days, I find myself wanting to pull out my phone and play a little. When I feel that pull, I find myself asking God, "What is this about? Why do I need to be amused right now?" It is a kind of hunger and as I sit with the hunger for amusement, I am finding my hunger for something deeper from Abba growing. The absence of immediate gratification is drawing me into a deeper hunger for Him. This isn't about deprivation, its about desiring Him in a deeper, more heart-centered way.
I've not written anything here since last August, that may have been my longest absence from this blog. I am thinking I may just come here more often these next few weeks prior to Easter and write what I observe during this time of Lent. I am already finding words that have been absent since last August.
-Your friend,
Gameless Kelly
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
PASTOR
Tonight I am grieving the home-going of a great pastor, Pastor Bill Hamel. I don't know what to say amidst the flood of memories I have sitting under this great man other than to say he was the last really great pastor who pastored me and my family during some very difficult years.
We moved to Minnesota in 1979 when my daughter Abby was just a few months old. He became her first pastor. She connected to him in a special and glorious way. Fortunately for her, she got to see him this last May when she went back to Minnesota to visit some dear friends. It was just weeks before he received the diagnosis that meant he had such a short time left on this earth. I am happy she had some time with him.
We started attending West Bloomington Free Church shortly after settling into the suburb of Bloomington. It was not a huge church, probably medium sized by most standards. We made some life-long friends there. Bill was the pastor there, a great big man with a huge heart for his flock. During several of those years I led worship alongside this great man. I fondly remember sitting in his office each Sunday morning before each service. We would talk and pray and I came to love this man of God deeply.
While we were in Minnesota our daughter developed some health issues. She had to spend a couple days in the hospital when she was just 13 months old while needed tests were run to figure out why she was failing to thrive. I remember he came to see us during those days. It was something he did as a pastor.
As Abby got older we noticed she adored this great big man. On two occasions during a Sunday service while the congregation was praying, she slipped away from us and would walk up to the platform and stand next to him while he prayed. He would finish praying and seeing Abby would just tell her she needed to go back and sit with her parents.
At one point she needed surgery to remove her tonsils. When she came back to her room after the surgery she refused to talk to us, I don't think she even wanted to look at us feeling we were responsible for her post-surgery discomfort. At one point we looked up and there was Bill standing in the doorway, filling it. She looked at him and flung her arms out for him and uttered her first post-surgery word, "Pastor". He took her in his arms and comforted her.
Bill left West Bloomington about a year before we left. He'd taken on the role of Area Pastor for the Free Church and was moving to Nebraska. His reason for leaving was because he wanted to pastor pastors. His heart was always for coming alongside and helping others, and he felt there was a great need for this ministry of pastoring those who were pastors. I remember that last Sunday sitting in his office. Tears streamed down my face as I knew I was losing his influence in my life. I've missed him greatly these past 30+ years.
The practice of pastoring is not as it once was, especially in this day of large, mega churches. Pastoral duties are viewed as a duty to be delegated to other staff members. It may be more efficient this way as Senior Pastor duties are huge in these mega congregations. It saddens me that this is occurring.
My own experiences in the 32 years since we left Minnesota have made me realize how special this man was. I've had some tough times here and often felt alone facing some of these troubles. In my grief at Bill's passing, as I recall now, I am brought to the conclusion he really was the last great pastor I've had.
Well done, faithful servant. You will be missed greatly by this man here in Sacramento. I look forward to seeing you one day when I get to go home.
We moved to Minnesota in 1979 when my daughter Abby was just a few months old. He became her first pastor. She connected to him in a special and glorious way. Fortunately for her, she got to see him this last May when she went back to Minnesota to visit some dear friends. It was just weeks before he received the diagnosis that meant he had such a short time left on this earth. I am happy she had some time with him.
We started attending West Bloomington Free Church shortly after settling into the suburb of Bloomington. It was not a huge church, probably medium sized by most standards. We made some life-long friends there. Bill was the pastor there, a great big man with a huge heart for his flock. During several of those years I led worship alongside this great man. I fondly remember sitting in his office each Sunday morning before each service. We would talk and pray and I came to love this man of God deeply.
While we were in Minnesota our daughter developed some health issues. She had to spend a couple days in the hospital when she was just 13 months old while needed tests were run to figure out why she was failing to thrive. I remember he came to see us during those days. It was something he did as a pastor.
As Abby got older we noticed she adored this great big man. On two occasions during a Sunday service while the congregation was praying, she slipped away from us and would walk up to the platform and stand next to him while he prayed. He would finish praying and seeing Abby would just tell her she needed to go back and sit with her parents.
At one point she needed surgery to remove her tonsils. When she came back to her room after the surgery she refused to talk to us, I don't think she even wanted to look at us feeling we were responsible for her post-surgery discomfort. At one point we looked up and there was Bill standing in the doorway, filling it. She looked at him and flung her arms out for him and uttered her first post-surgery word, "Pastor". He took her in his arms and comforted her.
Bill left West Bloomington about a year before we left. He'd taken on the role of Area Pastor for the Free Church and was moving to Nebraska. His reason for leaving was because he wanted to pastor pastors. His heart was always for coming alongside and helping others, and he felt there was a great need for this ministry of pastoring those who were pastors. I remember that last Sunday sitting in his office. Tears streamed down my face as I knew I was losing his influence in my life. I've missed him greatly these past 30+ years.
The practice of pastoring is not as it once was, especially in this day of large, mega churches. Pastoral duties are viewed as a duty to be delegated to other staff members. It may be more efficient this way as Senior Pastor duties are huge in these mega congregations. It saddens me that this is occurring.
My own experiences in the 32 years since we left Minnesota have made me realize how special this man was. I've had some tough times here and often felt alone facing some of these troubles. In my grief at Bill's passing, as I recall now, I am brought to the conclusion he really was the last great pastor I've had.
Well done, faithful servant. You will be missed greatly by this man here in Sacramento. I look forward to seeing you one day when I get to go home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)