And I'm going there...

I’ve done a lot of work on myself. No, not plastic surgery or anything like that. I’ve done heart work, brain work, behavior work, and I’m pretty proud of myself. Through counseling, reading, reflection, prayer and conversation, my goal is to live this life in a way that is “aware.” Certainly, I am not at the end of any growth around this. Our lives are journeys. With God’s help, we each have the opportunity to always be growing, learning and becoming our better selves, our self that God intended.

The next step of growth has been thrust before me recently. Although, it had been gnawing at me for quite some time. This new truth came at the burning fire located just below my breast bone. Thanks to Zegrid the burning has gone away, but the truth remains. I have a terrible relationship with food.

My first indication around this was at the table with kindergartners during a brief stint at substitute teaching before I started seminary. I sat with the kids because I had no idea you didn’t have to do so. One of the kids blurted out: “Look how fast the teacher eats!” Now, this could have been influenced by the fact that I had just quit waiting tables. When you are waiting, you have to eat when you can and that usually means fast. The reality is that I still eat quickly. It’s been nearly 10 years since I waited tables. Seems to me I don’t have a really good reason for it anymore.

My first struggle with weight was in middle school. I contracted what the doctors finally decided was Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. As a result, there was a week-long hospital stay followed by over a year of high doses of prednisone and other steroids. Steroids are notorious for their side effects. Mine were significantly worsened near-sightedness, weight gain, and curly hair. The last one is a special Kelli-only side effect. The other two are common. Weight gain doesn’t exactly explain what steroids do. They make you hungry all the time. Then, the food doesn’t really satisfy you. You are stuffed but the sensor in your brain doesn’t truly know it. You retain water and your face gets puffy. All this in middle school. MIDDLE SCHOOL.

Ever since then, I’ve hated my weight, whatever it was. When I weighed 120, I wanted to be 110. When I weighed 150, I wanted to be 130. And, last year when I reached my scale-number breaking point at 180, I went on a diet. I downloaded one of those apps where you count calories, adding your workouts to offset what you’ve eaten. It did really well, too. I lost 15 pounds and kept it off until some stress caused me to fall off the diet wagon and gain it back.

What I have managed to admit to myself this week is that even though I hate that number on the scale and the number on the tag of my pants, my problem is not so much a body image/weight issue as it is a food issue. When I look in the mirror, I feel confident. Thanks to an amazing husband, I know I am loved just as I am. God loves me and can do good things through me at any weight. When I look at a plate, I see problem solving (that isn’t real). I see food that makes me feel good because it tastes good. I see guilt at the bottom when the food is gone, especially when I’ve over eaten. For some reason I eat like someone is going to take it away from me. I have a dog who does that as a result of abuse. Through inference, maybe there’s something deeper I need to figure out.

My taking this deeper is this year’s Lenten journey. I’ve done the give up soda, give up alcohol, add a devotional thing. But, for the first time, this Lent is really going deeper for me and for my relationship with God. I use food for emotional reasons. When I’m stressed I over eat. When I’m happy I over eat. For some reasons my brain has been wired over time to seek calm or celebrate with a full plate that becomes a full belly.

In order to move forward on this journey, I’ve discovered MINDFUL EATING. It’s almost like learning to eat all over again. Here a few of my lessons learned and suggestions to follow. (All are from www.tcme.org.)

First: Ask yourself, “What do I want this food to do?" before eating.

Second: Approach eating something as if you’ve never had it before.

Third: Eat with all 5 senses - smell, see, hear, touch (what does it feel like in your mouth), and of course taste.

Here we go, friends. Let’s see where this journey of mindful eating takes me through Lent. Maybe I’ll lose some weight, but that’s not the goal. The goal is to love food for the right reasons, and get the obstacles out of the way to being the better self that God has in store for me and each of us.

More than meets the eye or hand

My friend Amy and I are taking a pottery class together. For me, it’s a chance to get back into something I did in college. For her, it’s a mostly new adventure. Last night I had a super-preacher-dork moment realizing the lessons God was giving in the midst of working with clay. Here are a couple:

The clay has to start out where it is supposed to be. This is called centering. With a great deal of physical effort the potter makes sure the clay is centered on the wheel so that the creation process can begin. In the same way, we need to start our days (jobs/relationships/life) with intentional centering. We need to start anything with as much effort and purpose as we can muster. This is no easy feat. With all the distractions life can throw in our way, putting our full selves into anything can seem almost impossible. However, it is only when we are fully present and centered at what we are doing the formation of something special can begin.

How do we begin, then? It is different for each of us. My mornings start out with time with our dogs. In events where I feel like lots of energy will be used, my heart lifts up a prayer for guidance and calm. On days where difficulty is a given, I wear a bold lipstick. Yeah, it may seem silly, but it works for me. We each are responsible for finding those ways to put our hearts where they are supposed to be so that we can be who God needs us to be in the world. Now, there are those days where all our efforts aren’t enough. That brings me to lesson number two.

Know when to stop. When you are working the clay, there comes a point where it gets tired. Sometimes, we finish a work before the clay tires out. For beginners and those getting back into pottery, it is difficult to notice when the clay is done. If you keep working with it past that point, the clay will collapse. In our work with the clay, as your hands and eyes and body learn more, it is usually clear when the clay is tired. In life it takes experience as well to know when to stop. It takes the walls falling in on your pot-of-a-life to recognize all the signs that were there before but we couldn’t see. You and I must learn from those moments. We must teach ourselves when to stop, let go, and admit things about a situation.

Sometimes, the pot is perfect. We stop working the clay before it ever gets tired. As experience is gained, this happens more and more. Most of the time, though, with throwing pots and with life, the skill of noticing the little changes in the clay and seeing when to work a little more and when to stop is where we find ourselves. It takes the work of the Holy Spirit and our own open hearts to see how to live this lesson out. There have been times when it is obvious: a conversation takes a turn that is at best inappropriate or at worst outright sinful. More often than not it is more subtle. My failures at stopping at the right time are usually because I think if I work a little harder, everything will be alright. The reality is that my work alone is never going to make something better. It is listening to God’s Spirit and the cues of the “clay” that will move us forward into creating the Kingdom.

Thanks to Amy for being my partner in this adventure! Look soon for the next lesson. Chaos into creation. Oh, yeah, this clay thing is getting my God-thought (theology) juices flowing. (Oh, and Amy may have told me I need to write more!)

The Joy of Giving a Gift

Nick came home recently and the first thing I said to him was, “I think you should open one of your Christmas presents.” His response was something like this, “I just walked in the door. Can it wait until I take my shoes off and change out of my suit?” I wanted to say no, but I responded “of course” and the gift opening ended up later. The longer I waited, my heart beat faster until I suggested again that he should open one present early. As Nick went for the wrong package, I smiled and pointed to the one I really, really wanted him to open. His reaction was everything I hoped it would be! He was surprised and excited that I had gotten him the pea coat he had mentioned in passing that he wanted. We both were grinning ear to ear. Nick got his new coat and I got to see the sparkle in his eye of being surprised with something he wanted and needed!

It’s clear to me now that I am not the only person who gets so incredibly excited about giving a gift. Others have told me that they, too, love and encourage early present opening for exactly the same reason. As we dive deep into Advent and are almost to Christmas, I can’t help but imagine the emotions that God would have as we are readying to receive the gift of the Christ child.

What was it like for God on that first Christmas night? Was God giggling with excitement? Were the angels pacing back and forth wondering how the shepherds would react? What level of anticipation was heaven swimming in as the Word became flesh? All the excitement of giving a gift must still be there each time someone celebrates that God has reached them through the life-changing love of Jesus. God, the angels, and all of heaven smile from ear to ear.

At this Christmas, remember your baptism, your confirmation, or accepting Christ, and imagine a giggling God, overflowing with joy. Imagine angels singing and heaven filled with celebration. Each one of us, as we accept the gift of Christ, have given God another reason to ask the angels to sing!

I'll take the first hwy to the Suburbs, please

I have been to 5 doctors appointments in the past 7 weeks. Two to my new primary care doctor and three to my new allergist. After 4 years of unsatisfactory experiences with doctors in Kansas City, I finally got a good recommendation for a primary care doctor and from there an allergist. In those 7 weeks I have gotten further along my medical care journey than I have in 4 years. My allergies will soon be better and my newly diagnosed tension headaches are starting to get under control. Wow. This is seriously exciting when you've had a headache (mild to terrible) almost everyday for 2 years. (You should see the smile on my face!)

My thankfulness was spewing forth like a gusher, even when I was told I am allergic to my dogs. I was so happy to have answers and solutions to follow. Then, my friend and co-worker Lara posted this article from NPR. It basically says we spend the most money on health care and gets the least return. I thought about the money I've been shelling out for co-pays and prescriptions and was glad I have the money to do that. Then, it hit me that besides spending the money on those, I have been driving way out to the suburbs to get that great care.

In the 4 years before, I have focused on medical care near me, in the core of the city and was disappointed every time. (I even received the wrong shot once from a nurse. Thankfully I wasn't allergic.) This time, I went out to the burbs and have found excellent doctors with excellent staff. It occurred to me that even if someone has insurance and has the money to pay co-pays, how can they find great care in the core of the city? I can make it out the suburbs to go to the doctor because I have a car and a flexible work environment. If you rely only on public transit, you can only go where it goes. And it does not go out to 435 and Nall where my doctors are located.

I am not saying there aren't great doctors out there who practice in the core, but my experiences say they have overworked staffs, overloaded patient rosters and little time to get to know their patients. My new doctors and their offices are staffed well, take time to get to know me and my medical history, and pay attention to the little things. Everyone deserves that kind of care. Everyone. That is my prayer today.

Into the Mystery or Chaos, Schmaos

I've been an avid LOST watcher since it first came on and watched the finale Sunday with joy and sadness. It's ending was beautiful and perfect. I've read lots of comments and blogs that want answers to things like: "were they in purgatory?"; "were they really dead in the first place?"; "would the world end if Jack hadn't put the stone back?" My answers are no, no, and yes. The most important thing about this show for me is that those are my answers. Those are my interpretations of what happened based on my experience of watching the show and reading each week a great blog by a friend of mine. Do my answers matter? NO. No one's answers matter. And, there is part of the truth and mystery I am living into lately. We don't have to have a label and structure for everything. Sometimes there is just chaos, or what we see/label as chaos. Admitting we lack the ability to give label and structure to everything if freeing! If we don't, we drive ourselves crazy trying to do so. It's not the structure that matters. Like on LOST, it is those deep relationships and true purposes that we discover that matter, not our ability to control things. I watched the pre-show Sunday and saw the writers and actors relaying that knowledge in their description of the experience of making LOST.

This week, I step into the mystery of officially searching for my next call. The process in the denomination is beyond broken, but it's what we have. (And, I have ideas for a new one, but that's another post.) I step into the chaos not to find the next place I will label and structure, but the next place where deep relationships with God's people will develop and we will work together to further know our purpose(s) in this world that God has created and asked us to love.

So Bad. So Good.

I am a minister and sometimes I think also the worst at praying and bible study. I started a prayer blog for Hillside and it is genuinely helping me get better at that praying part. Everyday, there is a new post of one of these: scripture, global prayer emphasis, art, music, community prayer emphasis, or a short reflection. In preparing these entries I find myself praying for those who will use the blog, praying for my own stuff, and praying through the suggestions I place on the blog. In creating the blog for others, I have given myself a spiritual discipline. What a gift it is to serve others. It's nice that it usually helps us too.

If you would like to check out the blog, you can view it here.

Just call us Abraham and Sarah

Ok, so maybe we'll stick with Nick and Kelli. But, I realized yesterday who should be our current Biblical models: Abraham and Sarah. (See Genesis 12) Their journey from place to place in the desert connects with our story as a couple and today's younger adults in general. Movement between jobs and cities is more than commonplace. It is almost the story of my generation.

Nick and I realized recently that since we met at the end November 2006, that one or both of us have been unemployed, underemployed and/or seeking a place. Nick was in law school, graduated, searched for employment then worked a government job that was terrible, worked an attorney doc review job (which if you know anything about that...ugh!), and finally found stable employment as an attorney with a firm that does employment law and insurance defense. (His two year mark there is this summer.) I, on the other hand, was working at Community Christian as a part of a two-year program, left there with intentions to start a church, worked last season for the IRS, did some temp work, and finally was offered a wonderful part-time position with Hillside Christian Church doing mostly administrative stuff.

In that time, counting my move from Texas, we have moved 6 times between the two of us, just in Kansas City! (I personally have lived in 3 places: Louisiana, Texas and Missouri. Nick has lived in 6: Oklahoma, Kansas, Scotland, Australia, South Carolina, and Missouri.) Movement and flux seems to be part of our identity. Our place or home became each other. And, that, my friends has been my constant and my truth since we first fell in love.

Although I am the one of us who was given a "call" to serve in ministry. We are in this journey of life and living faith together. We've certainly seen the desert and known moving from place to place. I also know that we have left altars to what God has given us in each of the places we have been. The friendships, experiences, and journeys we have made together and before we met each hold a spiritual ebenezer (altar, it's just a way more fun word to use), lifted up to God in thankfulness. I look forward to where we will next build up those stones of hope.

So, call us Abraham and Sarah if you like. But, I am pretty sure you won't find Nick pretending I'm his sister. : )

Angry and Incredible

I’m angry today. Oh, yeah, angry. Angry in that way where someone else incites you only to realize that the anger you feel is barely about what he/she did and more about what else is going on inside, that which the person’s actions connected. (Dude, I’ve had a lot of counseling to get to that place of self realization. And, one of my professors in seminary always said “The problem is not the problem.” Turns out pastoral care/church dynamics resolutions are closely related to the resolutions of one’s own cognitive dissonance.)

This morning a very sweet little old lady reminded me of the tension between a being a fully female human and a fully called pastor. If I am honest with you and me, I am not angry at her. My pastoral identity is way past asking the question, “Can I be a women and a pastor?” Yes, yes I can. Get over it world. A pastor can have boobs.

Now, for the meat of what I am really angry about -- this question: what is God doing with me?*

Since the moment I left my last full-time ministry position I have been asking that question. For a great deal of time, I thought that was starting a new church. Obviously, that isn’t exactly what I think is happening. (Read my last post to get some perspective on that.) I no longer know what my pastoral identity specifically is, or where my place is. Undoubtedly, I am a pastor. My passion is being with people and reminding them or introducing them to a God who loves them without fail. The question is with whom and where that should happen next? I am trying to pray my way through this, but there is an underlying angst that is eating away at me in negative ways. It’s easy to feel sorry for yourself if you live in a vacuum. I don’t. So Nick keeps me honest and patient along the way. And, conversations with most younger adults finds other people saying, “yeah, this is not exactly where I thought I’d be right now.”

So, for those of us who are “on fire for the answer”, covering ourselves with “the sweat I sweat in battles with myself” I ask you to “stop inviting these walls into wide open spaces” because “even at your worst” (even at my worst, even at our worst) “you are …incredible.” (Listen to the poem below by Buddy Wakefield to get the full effect of those quotes. Be forewarned there are some expletives.) We are incredible people, made in the image of God, meant to find our calling (whether pastoral or not), our calling’s places, and the incredible people who will walk our journey with us.

* For those of you who have screwed up understanding of anger... Anger is the emotion we have when something we value is threatened. What is that I feel has been threatened? My knowledge of place. This process of finding place will make me stronger and better. But as far as those who think anger is a bad thing...you need some good counseling and an unwinding of bad theology that keeps you from being all that God has made you to be. It's not the anger that's bad; it's our actions that come forth. Just like it's not sex that is bad; it's how we use it.

Change, Oh Change

The past few months have been filled with change: some amazing, some heartbreaking. We'll start with the amazing.

Nick and I bought our first home! One day, we stumbled on a HUD listing for a huge multi-family home in Columbus Park, a historic neighborhood basically in downtown KC. It started us thinking and dreaming. After looking around the neighborhood more, we ended up getting connected with an awesome realtor, Amy Antrim. She walked us through the process, helped us discern our priorities, and made the experience positive. We knew we wanted to be in the urban core in an old home. We looked inside about a dozen houses and I cannot say how many I drove by or looked at online. We ended up in Hyde Park South. Our house is near the Nelson Atkin art museum and not too far from where we lived before our stint downtown. The house is a fantastic 100 year-old, two bedroom bungalow with a full, use-able (dry) basement. The square footage is not much more than the loft, but with the basement we have all the room we need. My office will be down there. The stone walls remind me of old monastery which is good because I have a lot of discerning to do. (That's the next part of this post, though.)Did I mention we have a yard? I thought we should open a bottle of champagne the first time all we had to do was open the door to let the dogs out. We are across the street from a big park too! Those silly bird dogs of ours have plenty room to run and many squirrels to chase!

So far, we've built and upholstered a headboard, painted our bedroom and the bathroom, got the guest bedroom set up and even had one guest! In the bathroom, we replaced the original pedestal sink. Nick is 6'3" and that sink was made for use mainly by children. :) We found a cottage-style vanity and sink combo replacement that looks great! Now we are functional as well as quaint in the bathroom. We have plans to tile the tub surround and one day gut the kitchen. It works just fine, but the cabinets are at least from the 50's and lost their luster many decades ago. Suffice it to say, we are making that to-do list and checking stuff off, becoming the proverbial "weekend warriors."

A couple weekends ago, Amy threw us a housewarming party. On one of the coldest days yet we had over 20 people come check out the new place, eat bbq, and share in our joy! Thanks to Amy for hosting and to everyone who came.

Nick and I learned a great deal in the process of finding a home. First, find a realtor who is awesome. He or she can help you figure out what you want. Second, the stupid financial decisions you've made in the past will come out. (This really didn't apply to Nick, just me.) Be prepared to put your big-girl pants on and deal with it. Third, it really is a chance to get to know your partner better if you are buying with someone else. Nick and I came out stronger and more deeply connected. Finally, if you can help it at all, try not to have other crazy things going on like a car repair fiasco that you could make a short film about. If you haven't heard me rage about it in person, just trust that it was 2 months of bad luck and bad timing.

It's a good thing that we are grounded and strong. The other change that has been coming is the ending (for now) of my efforts to start a church in downtown Kansas City. I spent nearly two years trying to gather a critical mass of people and support for the project called The River. We had a prayer group that met regularly for 9 months. Just before launch, the place where we were going to worship closed unexpectedly. Since that time, the momentum and support fell apart. I take responsibility for that and hope one day reorganize with the full range of support needed to launch something new. The region has been amazingly supportive of the project. However, the congregations who are best able support with "missionaries" have been reluctant at best and dismissive at worst. I am not pointing fingers, but noting a problem with our ability as a denomination to share vision among churches. Sometimes our independence as congregations is a good thing. Sometimes it creates a myopic view of church. The reality is that maybe I am not the one called to this, or called to this planting right now. Whatever the situation may truly be, my heart is cracked but my call to ministry is not frazzled. It is strengthened. I know that I was made to be a minister. We shall see where and how that will be next. God only knows for sure.

In this process, Nick is constantly my biggest advocate and truest confidant. No one could ask for a better partner in life, love and ministry. That basement office with its stone walls will be a place of discernment for now as well as every other place I am. God has use for this pastor and my heart is open to hear what is next. We are ready and praying, o Lord!

Thank you to House.

Thank you House. Yes, thank you to the show House. To the writers, the actors, the producers, the directors, everyone involved from the sound guy to the costumer, I say thank you.

The season opening episode dealt seriously, frankly, and openly about depression and mental illness in general. It was set in the silly, crazy elements of House, the main character of the show, dealing with his drug addiction and depression.

As someone whose dealt with depression (undiagnosed and diagnosed) my whole life, I want to say thank you for more than a brush over mentioning of a side character’s illness. An honest conversation about mental health is necessary for more and more people to get the help they need. Thanks again.

Welcome Morning

I've never been a morning person or a bird person. I like to sleep in late and could do without the "gifts" birds leave behind on our cars, sidewalks, etc. Since moving downtown I have found birds more and more tolerable, even enjoyable! My bird dogs have countlessly brought them to my attention. I've started learning the difference between and finch, dove, and pigeon. Oddly enough, white pigeons are some of the most beautiful birds I've ever seen. Besides the interest in birds, I have started coming out of my morning-hating to find that the calm of a morning can center a day beautifully.

For the past week, I have seen a bird outside my fifth floor window. Her song brought her to my attention. I was in our bedroom and heard what I thought was a pigeon fight. Upon looking at the living room window, I found an unfamiliar (to me) bird who slowed it's song into something beautiful. It's almost like she was calling me to come!

Everyday since then, she's greeted me. She's sung to me. Today, she turned around and looked at me. And I discovered what she is. A Starling. So, here's to the morning and a bird to greet you too.