Alive, I promise

So...

Yeah. It's been quiet around here.

It's not that I don't have a lot to say.

Really, for starters, let me be embarrassed that I didn't even stop in here to post something big and important (that you probably figured out, if you can do math, and that you probably figured out if you are on Facebook or have spent any time near me or my extended family in the last three months):

Welcome to the world, Samuel Tyler! 

(Err...welcome to having spent three months in this world already before your mom got around to posting anything about you here...)

Here is a quick photo timeline - brand new through three months:

Yeah. We think he's pretty adorable. I don't need to litter this blog with incessant baby talk; if you're curious about Sam, his birth story, and random tidbits month to month, feel free to get your baby fix over at Laughing with Sarah.

I'm a month into being back at work, and Sam hangs out here in the office with me every day. It makes for a very full existence. For good and for bad. :) For instance, I have a crying, angry baby on my lap right now, and he's full, and I just changed his diaper, so I really have no idea what is wrong. Which makes me frustrated. And crying baby does not equal amazing productivity. I spend most days alternating between entertaining him (and getting very little done), and then rejoicing when he falls asleep for a nap (and rushing to get as much done as possible in a one or two hour window).

Matt is teaching a course at Luther College this semester, in addition to his regular human resources consulting job out of Chicago, so he is just about as busy as I've ever seen him. Maybe as busy as he was in law school, even? But I hope that he's finding the opportunity fulfilling, and not just stressful. And maybe it will open new doors for the future!

Let's see. What else...

It's cold here. By "here," I don't think I mean Iowa. I think I mean the midwest. But either way, brr. Lots of days below zero. And lots of snow. Exactly what winter should be, in my estimation. But the icy roads and the inability to spend any time outside (lest my face fall off) are starting to get a little old. And so I've been drinking a lot of coffee and hot chocolate to keep warm. And cheating a little and wearing jeans to the office some weekdays, because it is just too cold for skirts or for flimsy dress pants.

I have all sorts of things I want to write about soon: thoughts on family, thoughts on community, thoughts about the spirituality of repetition and routine...so look for more writing on the horizon. Hopefully I can also find the time and energy and organization to start posting my sermons again, because it's nice to have them out and about beyond just the walls of the sanctuary.

Anyway, consider this post a re-entry. Life is busy, and finding uninterrupted time to write is tricky (Sam loves to be held, and I'm terrible at typing one-handed!), but writing is good for me. It is normalizing. It centers me. It keeps me connected.

So watch for more to come. I've missed it here.

Daylight Savings Time

I'm keeping warm with a scarf, a baby belly, and slippers.
My knitting sits on the coffee table, waiting patiently.
Emme claims the blanket on the end of the couch as her own.
This is what happens when the afternoon turns gray.

It is 3:34 p.m. here in Iowa.

I just turned on lights in the living room because it was getting dark. Hard to tell whether the darkness is due to last weekend's time change or whether it is due to a thick, gray mass of clouds that have settled in over the town.

It always takes me a few days to adjust to the time change in the fall. Mornings, instead of looking like dark nighttime, look instead like faintly-lit gray hazes that make you wonder whether it is morning or evening; early daytime or late-afternoon cloud cover. Afternoons turn dark sooner than expected, and night falls earlier, fooling you into thinking that the day has come and gone more quickly than you expected. It takes me a few days of this to settle into it, to get to a place where I don't feel so disoriented and unsure of the time and rhythm of the day.

And then, as I settle in, something switches in me, and I get it. I remember what winter is like, and I understand the new feel of the day, and I remember the parts of my own self that get tucked away when we spring our clocks forward in March.

In other lifetimes, I gave myself an October threshold for listening to Advent and Christmas music. These days, I hold out until at least the start of November. This year, for whatever reason, I didn't even start thinking about it until last week, when I started loading up playlists onto my iPod in preparation for labor and delivery later this month, and I programmed myself a copious amount of Christmas music for those forthcoming hours.

I forget that we've passed Halloween already, and that Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away. My usual rush to embrace autumn feelings and flavors has been a little slow this year.

Perhaps because while the seasons change around me, and the time changes, and the sun sets earlier in the afternoon, my mind is not on the seasons themselves, or on holidays or traditions or even the bits and pieces of nostalgia that late fall and early winter dig up in me.

For the whole span of time we've lived in Iowa, time has been pressing ahead toward only one thing: the birth of this much-loved, much-awaited hedgehog of a baby, whose due date is just two weeks away. Thanksgiving this year will either be a celebration of a very new newborn, or the last few days of a very very uncomfortable pregnant lady. Christmas feels like forever away, because something as big as HAVING A BABY needs to happen between now and then. The whole fall has been a time of talking about this eventual baby and making initial plans and preparations, except that we are now in the last days, and the things that needed to get done "sometime this fall" now need to get done today and this week and as soon as we can manage them.

Today, though, Daylight Savings Time finally caught up to me in a useful way. As I sat here on the couch, watching the grayness of the afternoon creep in through the windows, I felt this urge for something to happen. Tired of waiting, I felt ready for a holiday, or ready for some nostalgia. Ready to knit and make soup and do autumnal things. Ready to scoff a little less at the Thanksgiving and even Christmas commercials on TV. I am ready for something to happen. Ready to meet this baby, or to eat some stuffing, or to start sorting through the Christmas decorations that we might put up right after Thanksgiving with family members who will be coming to see us. I'm okay with the wind blowing outside, and with the fact that it might be time to pull out my winter coat, even if I can't zip it up right now. I am ready for something to happen. Babies, holidays, families, cozy nights, anything to reclaim a space for myself that is no longer a space of mere waiting, but a space of anticipation and joy and movement.

Maybe being nine months pregnant makes me a bit of a crazy-lady. Because I'm not sure how a gray afternoon can somehow make me excited rather than depressed. But maybe the weather just reminds me that the seasons are again changing, and that nothing actually stands still in life, and when the quiet of waiting starts to drive you a little nuts, even the world outside can remind you that change is always on the horizon, and those things that you've been waiting for will indeed come, and all the days that you've been counting will indeed lead to something new and interesting and beautiful.

Late August and heavy

My phone says that it is 86 degrees outside right now, creeping up to a high of 90. It is sunny and humid. The air feels hotter and heavier than 86, or even 90. Drive north or south two hours from here, and the temperature climbs to the mid-nineties. It does no matter that school has been in session for a week now. The weather does not care that our hearts and minds are in autumn. The weather, after being so mild for so many months, has decided to be SUMMER. The very week after the pool has closed for the season.

Thank goodness for a powerful - if noisy - window air conditioner that chills my office in five minutes flat. And thermal water bottles filled with ice water. I'm wearing one of the lightest, coolest dresses that still fits over my belly, and my skin is cool to the touch. But the heat is still making itself known. The sun and humidity, even on the outside of my cool windows, manage to seep into my body and destroy my energy levels. My body feels heavy and tired in that way specific to summer languor.

Meanwhile, the exhausting effects of summer heat are lost on dear little hedgehog, who seems to have spent all day yesterday and the day before resting up for a day full of action. Thumps and tumbles and twitches galore today. This is endlessly amusing. With every strong movement, I stop what I'm doing, put my hand on my belly, and try to feel what's going on from the outside. Once I've done that, I move my hands and smooth my dress tight over my belly, and watch with curiosity to see whether any of the movements are big enough to see from the outside. (In case you were wondering, yes. Mostly tremors right now. No particular movements or body parts. But plenty of ripples and shakes.)

Today, I am feeling late August in my head and heart and bones. I would love nothing more than to give into the summer heat, turn off my computer, head home to the couch for an air-conditioned nap, interrupted only by long, lazy gazes at my belly, intervals of knitting, and having no housework or dinner plans other than eating strawberries and drinking ice water.

I do not like the heat, please don't get me wrong. I have no nostalgia for humid, sunny, sweaty summer, nor do I have patience for the stifling thickness in the air. But I do know that the hot days of summer are the days that force you to slow down, and make peace, however much you can, with being completely unproductive. The hot days of summer invite you to combat heat with laziness, the heavy ooziness of sinking into a chair in a cool room, your limbs and memory alike feeling heavy and immoveable.

And maybe, right now, the desire to sit and be slow, to focus all my energy on self-care, is a heat-induced desire to save up the quiet moments before hedgehog arrives and all changes. As impatient as I am for his/her arrival, part of my brain knows that the quiet parts of life are about to disappear, and that the luxury of laziness will come to an end. I think that part of me fears losing control over my own destiny - the ability to put off doing the dishes because I don't feel like it, and the ability to sit on the couch and do nothing if I so choose, and the ability to procrastinate.

I suspect my languishing mood will snap once the heat wave snaps, and I know that excitement about this baby already trumps all fears of change. But for today, I really wish that someone would look at me and my drowsy eyes, and tell me to go home, to put my feet up, to take it easy...and that I wouldn't feel guilty for doing so.

Because even though they showed up late, the dog days of summer have yet arrived. It is late August and heavy. And maybe the world would do well to slow itself down, even just for a few days.

Let's talk about babies

For the last five years of my life, something has been happening in the background.

You've heard a lot in this space about my journey through seminary and internship, and my first years of being a pastor. You've heard about my family and some of my vacations, my love for baseball and knitting, my thoughts on dialogue and division, and my crazy idealism for the world we live in. Recently, because I've been busy, you've mostly gotten lots and lots of sermon transcripts.

But behind all of this, for the last five years, Matt and I have been on a long journey to try to start a family.

It has been quite a journey. A journey that has included frustration and tears, losses and medical interventions, countless needle-stabs and blood draws, surgeries (major and minor), and through it all, enough peace in our hearts to keep stepping forward, one day at a time, without counting up our fears or losses or heartbreaks. Which is not to say that there weren't bad days (there were plenty), or that we had the strength or gumption to keep pressing ahead indefinitely (there comes a point when you have to start thinking about stopping, for the sake of your sanity).

I wouldn't wish this journey on anyone. And yet, as I have come to learn, this journey is so very common, and nobody really knows it.

There have been lots of blessings to come out of this journey that wouldn't have happened otherwise. I have made new friends and built new relationships with others who have struggled, just like we have. Friends of mine have come out of the woodwork to share with me their own stories of infertility and pregnancy loss. I have been forced to think - deeply! - about what I hope my life will look like, and what pieces of my body and soul I am willing to make vulnerable in order to pursue those hopes and dreams. I would venture a guess that Matt and I are closer and better because of all of this, and that our relationship is in a deeper place than we could ever have expected it to be after 8.5 years of marriage. I've been forced to be emotionally vulnerable (in a good way), and to learn to ask for/accept help (which I'm terrible at). Spiritually, I've run the gamut from praying fervently with hope to shouting at God in absolute anger. I've connected to Bible stories in far different ways, especially stories of barren women, but also stories of finding peace in trial, and finding kindred spirits in all those in the Bible who felt they had no other option but to cry out to God and put themselves out there, because they had no other choice.

But don't be mistaken. These beautiful and unforeseen blessings do not, in any way, make this path easier. They don't make this journey "better." They don't redeem the pain and frustration of spending so much time, money, and energy trying to accomplish something that should be simple; something that biology has been making happen since the start of the human race. Infertility and pregnancy loss are HARD.

As we crossed over into 2013, there were lots of transitions on the horizon. I had just accepted a new call, which meant leaving a church I loved in order to follow God's call to a new church that I was excited to love. Goodbyes and hellos are hard. Even (especially!) the good ones. Also, this new church was in a new town in a new state...putting me five hours from most of my family and from the Chicagoland that is a HUGE part of who I am. Moving is my least favorite thing ever, because it involves packing, and so there was plenty of stress on the horizon as I packed both our apartment and my office, and as we went house-hunting in Decorah, and as we tried to make the most of our last weeks in Chicago before moving.

During this time of crazy transitions, we also decided to take one more (last?) shot at a round of IVF. We'd done a few cycles before, and still had a couple embryos frozen, and we decided (with the encouragement and blessing of my doctor), to try one last round before we moved away (and out of his care).

My official start date here at First Lutheran was March 1. I preached my first sermon here on Sunday, March 3. I spent Monday and Tuesday of that week trying to get my office unpacked and set up. And then on Wednesday, we drove back to Chicago, because that Thursday was my embryo transfer (the culmination of a month-plus cycle of medications and monitoring). The timing of the cycle and the transfer was certainly not ideal. It was just another thing to add to all the madness of moving and starting a new job and closing on a house.

But for some crazy reason, the absolute wrong time turned out to be the absolute right time. And so two weeks after starting my new job, we found out that one of those little embryos had stuck around, and we were pregnant. Thrilling news, and terrifying. Because once you've experienced a loss, it takes a long time for you to actually believe that the pregnancy is going to last. Between then and now, there have been plenty of anxious days. Plenty of worry and wonder. Plenty of huge sighs of relief every time blood draws showed my hormone levels going up, and every time my doctor has been able to easily find a heartbeat at our monthly appointments.

It took us until week 13 to start telling close family and friends. It took us until week 16 to share the news with the congregation. And it took us until week 17 to go public. For as much as your head knows that, statistically, chances of loss after 13, 16, 17 weeks are incredibly low, your heart still worries that you will (continue to) be the exception to the rule, the person who keeps defying the odds in the wrong way.

But it's getting harder and harder to worry, and easier and easier to believe that THIS IS HAPPENING. FOR REAL. We crossed the 20-week mark over the weekend (halfway there!), and had our big mid-pregnancy ultrasound yesterday. And yes. There's a baby in there. A baby with arms and legs that move and kick, a baby with a little heart beating away in its chest, a baby with teensy toes and little lips, who is just starting to get big enough for me to feel it when it tumbles and flips and kicks.

I can't completely shake my fears that things still might go wrong, but I am also learning, day by day, how to really enjoy this good news. I'm learning how to let other people be happy for me. I'm learning how to settle in and act and feel like your everyday, average pregnant lady. And honestly, I keep feeling a huge sense of relief to know that the news is now out there for all to know. I feel like I've been keeping huge secret after huge secret for these last five years. For so many good reasons, we've kept this whole journey pretty quiet. But now that we've crossed over in time to be closer to birth than to conception, I am really happy, not only to be talking about a BABY!, but also to be a little more candid about the road we've traveled to get to this point.

Wow. Lots of words in this post. Makes sense. There's a lot that's been bottled up for a long time. Feels good to put it all out there. As a reward for wading through all of this, how about a picture? Enjoy!

20-week ultrasound! We chose not to learn hedgehog's gender - we are into surprises. Still plenty amazing to look at this picture and see an obvious baby! This is starting to feel real. Also, see the arm up by the face? Hedgehog did NOT want their picture taken. Haha!

Four months

So here we are.

We've been living here in Iowa for four months.
We've been living in a small town for four months.
I've been at First Lutheran for four months.
We've owned a house for three and a half months.

Also...it's time to out myself as four-plus months pregnant (19 weeks)! Which is a huge surprise and joy and blessing. It has been an incredibly long, difficult journey to get here. Time and grief and doctors and loss and needles and so many expectations. There are probably plenty of words to be written about all of this at some other time.

Put all of this together, and you'll rightly conclude that these last four months have been a huge time of transition. Lots of life changes all at once. Lots of uncharted territory; lots of new. Lots of stuff up in the air all at once.

When I announced my departure from St. Timothy, I remember thinking to myself "The next few months are going to be chaos, and all I have to do is get to the other side of it." And between organizing a graceful and responsible departure, packing up an apartment, house-hunting, saying goodbyes, and fussing with paperwork for this new call, there was definitely a huge whirlwind of chaos that took place. I held on for the ride. I looked with hope to the far side, where I would be settled.

And so, in many ways, here we are. Settled, whatever that means. We have a house and all of our stuff is here. I have daily routines. I have favorite restaurants. I have responsibilities and projects at church. I have a doctor. I have entertained house guests.

But I sort of forget that being settled and feeling settled are different things. Patterns are surfacing. But I'm still learning how to be a part of this congregation and this town and this community. I am playing the part, but it doesn't feel like me yet.

And this is when I remember that four months isn't very much time. It's time enough to learn a lot. And to know a lot. Now I just need to settle into my own skin.

Arriving: Hospitality and home

"Arriving" is a continuation of the blog series "Leaving," which reflects upon my process of transitioning out of my first call and into a new call; leaving St. Timothy Lutheran (Naperville, IL) and moving to First Lutheran (Decorah, IA).
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Our new house, in the snow!

It has been a short few weeks here in my new call. And I've been thinking a lot about home and about hospitality.

On my very first Sunday here, I preached in worship, and afterwards I had three families offer to host me for brunch, lest I feel lonely or ignored. That evening, I visited the high school youth group, and afterwards, the youth and family director invited me to join him at a friend's house for board games and hanging out. And at the board-game-hangout, this friend of the youth director invited me to a birthday party for two of his kids the following weekend. I was blown away by the warmth, welcome, and hospitality of this new church home.

Two Sundays ago, I presided over the liturgy for the first time in this new church. As part of the presiding role, I began worship with a word of welcome. I heard myself say the words "Welcome to First Lutheran Church, and a special welcome to visitors." And I realized that I was extending the hospitality of someone else's home. I'm still in a place where I am being welcomed, and yet I have the privilege of welcoming others into God's space. It's beautiful. And confusing.

We are currently house-sitting for members of the congregation, which allowed us to "move" into town before we had a house of our own. We are getting more and more comfortable there, but it has yet to feel like home, no matter how much laundry is strewn about the bedroom floor. But we have grown accustomed to the wild turkeys gathering outside the window, and the cardinals who visit the bird-feeder outside the living room window, and the fridge is full of our own food.

Yesterday, we closed on our own house. All of our belongings are still living in Chicago until next week, so we're not living there yet. The rooms are empty and clean, full of potential. It won't feel like ours until we have our stuff there, and it won't feel like home until we've started building a real life here, full of our own patterns and habits.

Tonight, I ate dinner at the home of a wonderful couple from church - she is on the church council, he was on my call committee. It was absolutely lovely. Conversation and laughter with kindred spirits. How beautiful to be invited into someone's home, and how beautiful to spend time with people who help make this new place feel like home.

I'm not sure quite what the connecting thread is between all of these anecdotes, other than to say that even in transition, even while we're still working to put down roots and create a life here in this new place, it is hospitality that makes this new place feel like home. For someone like me, who thrives on patterns and habits and feels anxious without a place to call my own, I crave these moments of hospitality, and look forward to finding ways that I can extend it to those around me.

Where there is hospitality, there is home.

An Advent space

My nose is cold, my tea is lukewarm, my feet are toasty from the space heater I keep stashed under my desk. The sky is dull and gray, the grass is green from this weekend's rain, the air is damp and chilly, and if it would just get ten degrees cooler we might actually have some snow (a girl can hope).

I have a notepad on my desk where I am trying to make my Christmas shopping lists. I have a few items stored up on Amazon and ModCloth to purchase for family and friends, but I still need to come up with a few more ideas before I place my orders, and I know that each day that passes increases my shipping costs, but hey, why bother Christmas shopping for loved ones if you can't commit to doing it well?

I feel a little tired. The last week has been very full of wonderful things: baking with friends, family birthday and Christmas celebrations, making space to do favorite holiday traditions while still collecting thoughts for sermons yet to be written, and meeting people in the congregation for coffee to talk about life, and taking the high schoolers Christmas caroling, and standing in the center of a whirlwind of generous giving projects in the congregation.

My head is in a fog. The approaching end of another year digs up lots of self-checks, where I measure my life's satisfactions and expectations. I think about how I love the home we have crafted for ourselves, but wish that we owned a house, I wonder about children, I try not to worry about finances, I want to figure out whether I am who I should be at thirty-one and a half years old, I take stock of the things that are important to me, and feel like I owe it to myself to come up with a definitive answer about exactly how happy I am in life.

Right now, I should be starting a sermon, writing a few thank-you notes, eating veggies and dip instead of snack mix, sorting out financial information for tomorrow night's council meeting, making a few phone calls, answering a lot of emails, and trying to carve out time this afternoon for a long run and some piano practicing before tomorrow's lesson.

But as it is in life, the faster I need to move, the slower my feet pick themselves up. The more tasks to do, the more energy it takes to start them. The more I need to be in motion, the more I dig in and try to sit very still.

All of this is to say that I feel in an incredibly Advent place today. Not the beautiful, candles-in-the-dark sort of Advent, or the cheery, "Christmas is coming!" sort of Advent. But the linger-in-wait sort of Advent, where everything that has been waiting has been waiting for far too long, and yet not nearly long enough. The space where the darkness is not cozy, but it is familiar, and it isn't an unhappy space, but it is a quiet one, where I want to sit out under the sky and look up at the swirling stars, and let my heart be quiet even as the planets spin on and on.

My first coffee(s)

I walked out of Starbucks with my double tall nonfat iced latte, and in a feat of unhindered free association, I suddenly remembered my first experience with a "fancy" coffee drink.

Now, my first real acceptance of regular old black coffee came when I was an early teenager, hanging out with my older (cooler!) teenage cousins. They were in high school, old enough to determine their own fates on a weekend (because, you know, they could DRIVE), and living in a small enough town that one of the only places to go late in the evening was the truck stop, which had a 24-hour diner. And on one visit, for who knows what reason, I got invited along to one of these teenage truck stop hangouts, and since THEY were all drinking coffee, I did too. I come from a long line of coffee drinkers, so it really was only a matter of time. But the truck stop is my first memory of actually ordering a cup of coffee for myself.

But back to the "fancy" coffee drinks. Waaaaay before Starbucks was a thing, there was a little coffee bar in the downstairs entryway to the then-new Nordstrom's in the new wing of the Oak Brook shopping center. There was always a long line. And I don't remember the exact day or occasion - perhaps while doing some Christmas shopping, which is a very cold endeavor in an outdoor mall in Chicagoland - but we as a family stood in that long line, and ordered various milky, sweet, caffeinated drinks from this cramped coffee shop. I don't know exactly, but I'm guessing this was years before my teenage coffee-drinking days.

For my younger sisters, it was hot chocolate and not coffee. But my parents and I tried out different renditions of mochas - my mom got a raspberry mocha! - and fussed over the little shakers of chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg powders that we could sprinkle on top of our foamy drinks.

I'm not sure if this memory means anything in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it's a reminder of how things change, and how these special, almost-exotic coffee creations have become such a routine part of my days and weeks. Or maybe it's an excuse to think about all of the things - big AND small - that I've experienced with a family I love. Maybe it's just a memory; just nostalgia.

But on even a hot, muggy summer day like today, it is still good to feel warmed by an unexpected memory, an uninvited but more than welcome picture from the past, a small and simple nod to a good life and a great family.

Same but different

It is another Saturday morning. I am working on another sermon. I am sitting at another small table nursing a drink for inspiration.

But this time, instead of my usual local Starbucks, I am sitting at one of my favorite places to get a drink: Argo Tea. And if you know anything about Argo, then you know that it doesn't exist in the suburbs (as far as I know).

Yes, I am here in the city. Here in Chicago on a foggy morning, where the tops of building disappear into the clouds and where impending drizzle means that we all have our umbrellas at the ready.

In between writing paragraphs of my sermon, I look up and get a little giddy when I remember that I am sitting here at a little table on Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago, just inside the Tribune building, and right across the street from the Wrigley building.

Matt and I both had the day free yesterday, and we decided to spend it in the city. Yesterday was a big day for us...the day that we would hear whether our first IVF cycle was a success or not. Matt's beautiful idea was to spend the day downtown, and spend the night, and make it a special little getaway. If it was good news, then what a way to celebrate! And if it was bad news, what a nice way to distract ourselves and have some joy even in our disappointment. His plan was genius.

Unfortunately, the news came back negative, which puts us back at the drawing board. Pretty rough news. And yet...news that is much easier to swallow when you receive it while at the Shedd Aquarium, on your way to go see the penguins. That sounds glib, but it's so true.

This weekend has been quite the exercise in focusing on all of the joys and blessings in my life instead of the disappointment of the moment. I remember how much I love this city (a crazy amount, if you couldn't tell), and how I am such a city girl (if that city happens to be Chicago), and how amazing Matt is, and what a blessing our relationship is. Last night, it was a matter of appreciating the simple joy of ordering dessert after dinner in order to wait out a downpour, and then winding our way back to our hotel through wet city streets and bright lights reflecting off puddles. This morning, it is the joy of getting up early, and walking freely around a quiet city. It is watching the people walk by the window as I drink an iced coconut chai and work on a sermon.

Midnight for the restless soul

It took me a long time to fall asleep last night. I was exhausted, from Christmas, from traveling, from taking advantage of being on vacation to eat more and sleep less than I should. But despite my exhaustion, I didn't fall quickly into an easy sleep. I felt my mind moving and my heart beating, and recognized these feelings as a general sense of anxiety that sometimes moves over us, as is the human condition, I suppose.

By today, those feelings of anxiety - over what I might be working on, over what the new year will bring, over what I might have forgotten to do or say - have shifted into feelings of flat-out restlessness. Which is, perhaps, exactly what I should be feeling on New Year's Eve, if you think about it. The stroke of midnight is a pronounced metaphor for change, and carries with it both hope and fear as we anticipate the future, and the direction that our lives move.

On this New Year's Eve, I find myself quite ready to put 2011 to bed. There were more than my share of wonderful moments in 2011, don't get me wrong. Ten years of waiting finally gave way to my dream of traveling to Tanzania, and it was one of the best things I've done in my life, ever. I've spent lots of time with family and friends, survived the 30th birthday, witnessed plenty of miracles and blessings.

But 2011 has brought it's own set of challenges as well. Most notably my emergency surgery in September for an ectopic pregnancy, and the implications of that surgery for us going forward as we try to start a family. And plenty of challenges for friends and church members and colleagues.

And so I find myself feeling restless tonight.

I am deeply desiring something new. Matt is shopping for a new cell phone, and I find myself oddly envious of the "newness" of that venture. But it's not that I want a new phone, per se. And I'm typing this on a new (to me) computer, so it's not that I want new things. But I am craving the feeling that comes with newness. The rush that comes with new things, or new ideas, or new opportunities, or new discoveries about myself and others. I think this means that I am the sort of person that finds change rather invigorating, even though I am also the sort of person that relishes routine and tradition and being comfortable with the way things are.

And, perhaps, I have high hopes that 2012 could be a year of big changes. An IVF journey toward starting a family is first on the list, and so 2012 could be the year of the baby. Buying a house is on the radar, and if finances work out well enough, 2012 could also be the year of the house. I am excited for a new year of ministry, and new projects in ministry, and new opportunities for learning and service and exploration. I am looking forward to the first real snowfall of winter, which hasn't happened yet, so 2012 will hopefully be the year of the February blizzard.

But whatever form "newness" takes in 2012, I am craving it. And my restless heart beats steadily on toward midnight, when I will count down the seconds like everyone else, giving undue power to that silly little clock as we cross from one year to the next in one tick. Here is to 2012, to blessings and joys and curiosities and the hope for all good things, for me, for you, and for our world.

Keeping Christmas, day four

The yearly family photo shoot! (Taken 12/26/10)

Keeping Christmas, day three

When I look back at this Christmas, I imagine I will be able to figure out what I was to have learned from it, and what lessons life and God might have wanted to teach me. But for now, I'm still trying to process a Christmas that has been at once full of wonderful things and full of unusual things. It's been up and down.

Christmas Eve breakfast with the family (a tradition) was great. As usual. And Matt and I did last-minute shopping errands in the snow (beautiful!) before coming home to relax for a couple hours before I had to be at church.

Christmas Eve church was also wonderful. The high school guys who helped me with a silly skit during the family service were fantastic, and the youth who did the readings at the second service were equally as fantastic. All four services went well, and even though I was EXHAUSTED at the end, and my feet were sore from standing around in heels all afternoon and evening, I went home happy and excited. Matt had made the traditional post-Christmas-Eve-worship sloppy joes, and we ate and watched Christmas concerts on TV before hitting bed around 2am.

I got a text from my dad around 4:30 that said, "It's 4am and I am finally home from the ER. Several vials of blood and xrays proved a circulatory infection, lacking a better term, called vasculitis." Apparently he developed a fever and an ugly rash late in the evening, and went to the hospital after church. I was half-asleep and it was all very surreal, but more than once in our short exchange of bleary-eyed texts, he said "All is well."

I woke up exceedingly tired on Christmas Day, therefore. I went to church, preached, and then we headed to my parents' house. My dad was tired, and looking much like he was fighting some flu-like infection all day, but we had a lovely afternoon of opening presents, listening to Christmas music, and generally relaxing. We cooked together and played video games, and it was a a little unusual, but still enjoyable.

Yesterday, Dad was feeling good enough to come with the rest of the family to my church, to worship together and to hear me sing Dad's Christmas song (he writes one every year) in worship. Matt and I had lunch with friends of mine from high school, and then headed back over to my parents, because my sister and husband who live in Minneapolis were getting into town. We all went downtown Chicago for our yearly visit to the Marshall Fields (Macy's) Christmas tree, and again, Dad was tired, but generally fine. My older sister and family came over later, and we opened another round of presents and ate a late dinner together. I was feeling more exhausted than I really wanted to, and worried about Dad, but by the time we all went to bed, again, we were all tired but generally fine.

This morning, Matt was supposed to fly to NJ, and I was supposed to fly out tomorrow. But with all the crazy blizzards that the east coast has been hit with, his flight was canceled, and he's now not flying out until Wednesday. Meanwhile, my dad was feeling worse again today, went back to the ER, and was admitted to the hospital with what appears to be some unidentified infection. So now he's going to be there overnight, and I really don't want to fly out tomorrow, without Matt and with my dad still in the hospital, but it is impossible to get through to the airlines via phone to discuss changing my flight.

So in summary...Christmas thus far has been full of music and family (good things!), but I have been more exhausted than I had bargained for (seriously tired), flights to New Jersey have been complicated, and my Dad's been sick with two different hospital stints. This Christmas has definitely not gone as planned. I don't know yet whether to talk about it as either a "good" or a "bad" Christmas. It's been a mixed bag. And mostly, I'm just tired. Emotionally and physically.

As I said...when I have more time to process, I might be able to talk about what I've learned about myself, my family, or about Christmas. But for now, on this third day of Christmas, I think that I mostly need prayers for me and for my family. Prayers for strength and stamina, and prayers for patience, and prayers of thankfulness. There's been much good this season. But it hasn't been an easy Christmas.

Bethany and Nick - June 19, 2010

Congratulations, and may there be many blessed years ahead for the both of you!

Thanksgiving in Pictures

Beginning: Running the Naperville Turkey Trot 5k in the cold and rain!


Middle: Food and Family!










End: Downtown Chicago for hot chocolate and lots of lights!

Well, Lookie Here...

It's official. OFFICIAL official. I'm married to a lawyer! One who is now all sworn in and 100% allowed to dispense legal advice.

(Doesn't he look happy? Yay!)

Three insane years of law school, one horrible summer of studying for the bar exam, two loooong days of bar-exam-taking, two and a half months of waiting to hear results, one weekend of celebrating both his passing the bar and his birthday, and now, the official swearing-in. There's nothing left to do. He's officially a lawyer! The certificate says so:

Summer Adventure #1: Ordination

The last few weeks have been eventful, to say the least. This means that I have much to blog about....but it also means that I've had no time to blog about any of it! So let's do this methodically, starting from the beginning.

When last we left off, I had just spent a wonderful day at the zoo with Matt's family, and was gearing up for a night-before-ordination dinner that would include my family, including my sister and her fiance from Minneapolis, and all of Matt's family as well.

We went to one of my very favorite restaurants, McCormick and Schmick's, and proceeded to order (and eat!) an enormous amount of food. We divided ourselves up nicely into a "grown-ups" end of the table and a "kids" end of the table, and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. We took a long time eating and conversing over dinner, which is something that makes me truly happy. Happy because I love seeing my parents and Matt's parents enjoy themselves together. Happy because nothing compares to the simple joys of food, family, and laughter. Speaking of joy and laughter....



Sunday morning was normal, but full of nerves. I moved through our three worship services in a serious daze (it's a good thing I wasn't preaching!). After worship, Matt and I joined his family for quick brunch, and then I was off, ready to face the whirlwind that was the remainder of the afternoon.

I walked into church that afternoon, greeted by the sounds of the brass rehearsing. At that moment, listening to friends and family playing such beautiful music, the reality of everything hit me. Here I was, running around trying to help coordinate all of the pieces of the worship service, about to process into worship as a layperson, and recess as a pastor!

The lead-up to the service was crazy. Waiting on people to show up, corralling visiting clergy to the robing area, greeting family and friends, listening to my wonderful family and friends rehearse music, keeping track of my belongings...

And then, before I knew it, I was standing at the back of the church, ready to process in amidst a whole flock of clergy vested in red! The service itself was beautiful beyond my wildest imagination. I had tried to put together a service that was very churchy (in a good way!) while still being personal. I was surprised at the result! The music was amazing (I have wonderfully talented family and friends - I am blessed), the support of such a large number of clergy was overwhelming, and the enthusiasm with which the congregation worshiped together made me excited and hopeful to be entering into church leadership.

Bishop Miller preached a sermon that was at once hilarious (forcing me to read an eye chart in front of everyone!) and touching. The message that he preached - about ministry as the work of always pointing away from ourselves to God - was excellent, and (whether he knew it or not), it was a message very reflective of my own thoughts and concerns about ministry. It was exceedingly meaningful for me.

The rest of the service flew by - the ordination itself was a complete blur. Partly because of the adrenaline and excitement, partly because I was so hot and flushed that I was concentrating hard on not fainting! And by the way, if you're being ordained anytime in the near future, take note that during the laying on of hands, those involved inevitably tend to push down on you during the prayer. My back was struggling to hold myself up under the weight of all of those hands pressing down! :)

At some point I'll try to post video of the service, as well as a copy of the bulletin. But for now, just a few pictures of the day:

Good Omens?

Tomorrow is the day.

Tomorrow is when all of this seminary and candidacy stuff comes to a very real end. It is the day when I become an "official" pastor. It is my ordination day!

The days leading up to this have been busy but good. This last week was one full of meetings...tiring, but not bad. On Thursday afternoon, Matt's parents and grandma flew in from New Jersey, and I we had the chance to all eat dinner together before I had to be back at church for (another) meeting.

Yesterday, we went to the zoo! It was so much fun. I forget how much I love going to the zoo. We went to the butterfly exhibit, and took lots of time going through the monkey house. We also saw a kangaroo with a joey in her pouch, some beautiful snow leopards and polar bears, and some wonderfully awkward giraffes, amongst other things before heading to my parents' house for dinner (yum!).




Today, we met up with Matt's family again for an early lunch at Panera, and then ran some errands. I found everything I needed to get for next week's trip to New Orleans - work gloves, an extra pair of shorts, snacks for the bus - and then on my way out of Target, a guy from the Target Starbucks was handing out samples of caramel frappuccinos. Again...yum!

The weekend thus far has been fabulous, so I'm hoping it's a sign of things to come - dinner out tonight with the two families, including Beth and Nick (who are driving in from Minneapolis), and then all of tomorrow's festivities. I'll have more to say about ordination when it actually happens, but for now, suffice it to say that I'm a happy camper. :)

A Perfect Sunday

Yesterday was perfect.

It began, actually, Saturday night, when, on a whim, we answered a Craigslist ad for a bicycle and drove up to Skokie to check it out. I've been in the market for a bicycle for a little while now, and after getting frustrated with how expensive new bicycles are, I started browsing Craiglist. It turned out that the bike we went to see was absolutely perfect for me. It's a Giant Sedona that was originally purchased a couple years ago but was never ridden. Everything on the bike was in near-perfect condition, the frame size was perfect for my height, and I loved the feel of it as I rode it around the block to test it out. It even came with a brand new helmet! So I now am a proud bike-owner.

Yesterday morning, I awoke to a blissfully breezy and cool morning, a refreshing change from the 95 degree humid days we experienced for much of last week. I went off to our summertime early-morning worship in the woods, and then to church for our two regular Sunday services. It was my week to preach, and despite having severe writer's block last week while working on it, it went over quite well, much better than I would have ever expected.

I left church just before lunchtime, walking outside into the blue sky, the warm (but not too hot!) sun, and the wonderful breeze. Matt and I ate some lunch, watched some of the Cubs game, and then headed out on an inaugural bike ride along the paths near our apartment. We rode what felt like a significant distance (it wasn't), rode through parks we didn't know existed, and stopped for a break at a large park with a gorgeous disc golf course (Matt is excited to try it out someday soon!). On our way home, we grabbed an orange slurpee at a nearby 7-11 (one of my guilty pleasures), and sat under a tree, enjoying the weather and one another's company.

When we got home, we took quick showers and then headed to my parents' house for our traditional Sunday night pizza get-together. My family always had pizza on Sunday nights, and even after all of us kids left home, my parents continued the tradition. Now that Matt and I are in the area, we get together with them every week for pizza and for good family time!

As if my day of good church, bike-riding, and pizza with the family weren't enough, my dad recently purchased a firepit for the deck, and was itching to try it out with all of us. So after pizza, we all went outside into the wonderfully cool evening, sat around the fire, and yes, roasted marshmallows for s'mores. S'mores are one of my other guilty pleasures!

Sundays like this certainly help propel you into good Mondays....

It's been a productive Monday thus far, finalizing plans for our high school day trip into Chicago tomorrow (Yay! The city!!!) and finalizing ordination details. Truth be told, however, that as I finish sending off invitations and look at the various groups of people in my life who are represented by those invitations, I find myself in a "missing people" mood. It's not a bad mood, just a sentimental one. I miss my friends from high school and college and seminary who I don't see that often. I miss my church family from St. Paul, and I miss all of my Trinity friends from internship. I miss the people that I worked with this past fall/winter. It makes me feel so blessed to know what wonderful people have and continue to be a part of my life !

The only other major task for me today has been to start the process of gathering quotes from different car dealerships...yes, Matt and I are in the market for a new car. My trusty (if not quirky) car has finally hit the point where its necessary repairs cost far more than they are worth, given the car's age and mileage. It's exciting to think about a new car, but it's terrible at the same time. We don't exactly have any money to buy a car, and cars are expensive, and it's a pain to have to try to decide what we want, where we want to buy it, and how much we can spend. But in the end, it will be worth it!

I think it's the sugar from the s'mores that has helped me get through today so smoothly (thus far). They have magic powers, I swear...

The Way Thanksgiving Happened

My brain is struggling to wake up this morning, so I'll ease it back into alertness by posting about my Thanksgiving weekend, which was absolutely wonderful.

Matt picked me up after work on Wednesday, and we fought holiday rush hour traffic to get out to the suburbs in time for a quick bite of dinner with my family before Thanksgiving Eve worship. There was a surprisingly large crowd of people at church, who brought an amazing amount of food to donate to local food pantries, who heartily sang all the Thanksgiving hymns. I'm usually ambivalent about Thanksgiving worship - often it feels as if the church is just trying to keep up with the holiday rather than being truly connected to it - but this year, the service really set up the faith foundation of thanksgiving, and we worshiped in such a way that we exhibited and experienced the thanksgiving that we would be celebrating the next day. After eating some pie and catching up with church friends, we all headed home, and Steph, Beth, Matt, Nick (Beth's boyfriend), and I spent the rest of the evening relaxing together, playing the piano and playing lots of MarioKart and Guitar Hero.

On Thursday, we all got up early to help cook and clean up before more family came over - my mom's sister and husband, and one of my cousins. My whole family loves to cook, and so Thanksgiving is enormously fun for us! For us, the cooking is as much fun as the eating. Early in the afternoon, the Egan clan stopped by on their way to Patrick's parents' house so that my aunt and uncle could see the girls and meet new baby Cameron! Of particular amusement was the picture taken of Matt and Nick admiring the baby...turns out they look more like a couple in that picture than we had intended....




After the Egans continued onto their next destination, we all sat down and ate and ate and ate and ate. Yummy! Stuffed with food, we all spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and napping and watching football and doing homework (Matt). At one point, all of us "kids" settled in for a few rounds of Apples to Apples before dessert time. Later that night, after the rest of the family had gone, we piled into the van and drove downtown, to walk Michigan Avenue and enjoy the lights and the holiday feel. We were like little kids in the car, putting in a movie to watch on the way there (Horton Hears a Who, the cartoon version) and on the way back (How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the cartoon version). We didn't do much except wander around while we were there, enjoying the beauty and the walk and each others' company.




On Friday, Matt and I got up and met friends of mine from high school for breakfast. I can't believe that none of us remembered to bring a camera! But we talked about everything under the sun - weddings and church politics and durian (it seems we ALWAYS talk about durian when we're together) and Christmas trees and knitting. I am blessed to have these people in my life!

After breakfast, my sisters and I went on a brief excursion to get new cell phones (exciting, I know...) and then went home, where we spent the rest of the day with all of the Egans. The girls were enamored with Wii bowling, and Cameron was good-natured about being passed around all afternoon by adoring aunts and uncles and grandparents. Later in the afternoon, we pooled our efforts to build one amazing gingerbread house, and then after dinner, we all cozied up together to watch Elf (one of Steph's and Kristin's absolutely favorite movies).




Saturday morning, Beth and Nick headed back to Minnesota. The rest of us took the opportunity to sleep in a bit! Early in the afternoon, my parents and I headed over to church, where a few people were getting together to make advent wreaths. My mom and I ended up going with a couple other ladies from church to a bazaar at the mosque in our area. We spent a couple hours looking at the most amazing garments and jewelry and scarves - my mom and I bought some beautiful scarves and marveled at all of the traditional costumes. It is humbling to share someone's culture like that - entering a place of worship foreign to me and then ending up in a basement that felt like every other church basement I've ever been in, looking at garments and accessories that are new and interesting to me but commonplace to most everyone around me, knowing that my blond hair and blue eyes make me stick out like a sore thumb, but also experiencing the kindness and graciousness of a culture different than mine that so often gets pigeonholed and stereotyped and accused.

That night, we indulged the holiday spirit by making a fire and watching White Christmas after eating a whole bunch of Thanksgiving leftovers (still yummy!). Sunday was spent recovering from the holiday weekend - church and lunch, naps and football, coffee with Stephanie and pizza for dinner. To cap off this wonderful weekend, it snowed overnight (and is still snowing now!). I look back at last year and remember how I thought it had been the perfect Thanksgiving that could never be topped. Perhaps I was wrong. This year certainly fits the bill for a perfect holiday, and I can only hope that my Thanksgivings continue to be times filled with the same spirit of joy and family, food and simple pleasures.