Friday Five: My Name Spells Gratitude

A wise person once told me to make an ABC list of things I am grateful for any time I feel sad or depressed. It is a good practice when one is feeling happier than that, too. So for this Friday Five, I suggest that you use your name or nickname of about five letters and express your gratitude about something that starts with each letter. Some people have longer names, so you decide how you will go about this! (Last names, middle names, and nicknames count!)


Oy vey! If you knew my name you might suggest something else! LOL! Oh well, here goes:

Y: youthfulness. The calendar may disagree but I am thankful for the playfulness and fun of youth that I have carried into these middle years.

V: vibrancy. It goes with the youthful attitude...life can be fun and God wants us to live it to the fullest! I thoroughly enjoy the richness of life and am grateful for each and every day.

O: ornery. I can be stubborn. And sometimes, that stubborn, "orneriness" is a gift! I can dig in when I believe stongly in something and credit God with the strength to stand firm.

N: not normal. A wise person once said that "normal" was a setting on the dryer. I don't fit my image of a middle-aged clergy person ergo, I am not normal...and I'm ok with that!

N: I've got two "N's" so I'll simply refer you to the one above...

E: enthusiastic? extraordinary? eccentric? elated? Yes, elated. I am elated with the way my life has shaped up, especially after some really tough years. God is good, all the time!

I've been gone from the RevGals group for some time and am glad to be returning! Another example of God working things out in my life...

First, you need that all-important number...

I’m not always really good at being told what to do but I do have a healthy respect for authority. So, when the judge presiding over my divorce (and name change) told me to go to the Social Security Administration first in the process of changing my name everywhere, I listened. Today was the day I went to their offices in Fort Worth…

If you’ve been, you know what it’s like. If not…well, it’s an experience. First of all, there is no receptionist to guide you. Instead, you “check in” at a kiosk (very high-tech touchscreen terminal with a large poster above saying “Check In Here”). A nifty little printer spits out a receipt with your all-important number on it. At this point, you simply need to hang on to your number and find a seat among the rows of seats in the waiting area.

I have a fascination with people, so I took the opportunity to look around at folks in various stages of conversation with those who journeyed with them as well as those who wore a blank mask of boredom on their face. Luckily, someone had left the sports section out of today’s USA Today newspaper. I can’t say it’s the first section I read but it gave me something else to do while I waited for my all-important number to be called out.

I was fairly engrossed in a story about the potential first-round draft pick in the NFL when she came in. I didn’t look up until the strange noises continued…intermittent grunts, unusual utterances. She sat along the wall across from me. The noises erupted sporadically, not really words most of the time, though occasionally a word would come out, but mostly these odd noises. Her clothing was well worn and she didn’t appear to have taken time to groom her hair or adorn her face with cosmetics. She was a rather sad looking older African-American woman.

My first thought, and this is a rather embarrassing stereotype, was that she was homeless and simply looking for a comfortable place to sit. I can’t verify that but I don’t think I was too far off the mark.

It was odd, to me anyway, but two other, separate African-American women became annoyed with her. Perhaps they understood her utterances better than I did. The younger one approached her and asked if she had the ticket with the all-important number on it. The older woman became slightly agitated and said she “didn’t want to talk to no one.” Rather than take her seat and let her be, the younger woman approached one of the workers who came out to call one of the all-important numbers and pointed her out. The worker informed her that the older woman was there every day. Not satisfied, the younger woman went out into the hall to summons security (keep in mind we are in a federal building). In a few minutes, 3 security guards came in to check out the situation and the younger woman (who had moved clear across the room) pointed her out. They approached her, questioned her, and finally demanded that she get a ticket (with the all-important number on it) in order to remain in the waiting room. She did. And they left.

Meanwhile, a middle-aged African American woman, sitting halfway between me and the older woman, who had watched all of this as intently as I had, started fussing. Just a little, not real loud, not really trying to make a scene but just enough so the older woman would hear her. One of the comments she made to her was, “Jesus knows what you’re doing and it isn’t right.”

Hmmm. I wonder. I mean, I don’t doubt that Jesus knew what was happening, what was going on with that older woman as well as the rest of us. But what part wasn’t “right”? Was it that the older woman found a safe, comfortable place to sit or was it that she in some ways disturbed the other people waiting their turn? Or was it the lack of mercy shown her by those who would rather have her tossed out? Or was it me, for sitting there and watching and keeping my mouth shut and not stepping in to stand by someone who very likely counted as “the least of these.”

My all-important number was called. I got my name changed. And then I left. I’m afraid Jesus knew what I was doing and it wasn’t right…

God is in the House...and everywhere else, too

I have a confession to make. I rarely watch television. I mean, I don’t even watch the news. It’s been years since there was a series I just had to watch on tv. Somehow, my son got me hooked on House. And that was great…until it just stopped. In October.  Then, said child gleefully announced it would be back. In February. I was just…disgusted is a good word.

But, alas, the wait was shortened and House returned tonight…January 16. I could hardly wait…and that in and of itself was rather pitiful. A few minutes before 7pm, I turned on the television and tuned in, ready for Hugh Laurie to solve the strange medical case as only he could do, vicodon and all. I was not disappointed.

Part of watching a television series means you also get to watch the commercials. (I know, I can wait 8 days and watch it on hulu, almost commercial free; or dvr it, if I had a dvr, and fast forward through them). Tonight, a large chunk of the commercials were for other shows on that particular network. It got me to wondering…

Are we really that pitiful? I mean…we actually enjoy watching shows that pit people against each other (American Idol, Money Drop)? And there are certainly others that weren’t advertised on said network….the Bachelor, the Biggest Loser, Survivor, etc. What does that really say about us, who tune in week after week just to see who gets booted off the island or otherwise kicked in the teeth?

And then there’s House.  No one, and I mean no one, else can solve the mysterious medical case except House. He has a team of brilliant doctors who, week after week (except when they take breaks for months at a time) who run tests and guess but never…not even once…get it right. He’s like a god or something.

Ever think of God like that? Always dangling a carrot in front of us, sending us on wild goose chases as we frantically search for THE answer?  I can say yes to that, sometimes. I have to admit there have been times when I felt like I was running around in divine circles…or maybe they were circles I chose.

What I really like about House is both the arrogance of Hugh Laurie’s character and the fact that no matter how smart he is, he never comes up with the right solution without the help of someone else. Even if they don’t know they are helping him. Unlikely people and off-hand comments typically trigger an “aha” moment that solves everything. At least for that week.

Sometimes, I do think God allows us to chase our tails and follow our logical, reasonable ideas. And when we get so far down the rabbit hole, God sends someone to speak a word of truth…to bring us back to the situation at hand and deal with it.

So what does that say about us? I think it says we need to speak up…we never know when we might trigger the “aha” for someone else. I think it says we need to listen…we never know what might open the way for an “aha” within us. I also think it says we need to recognize and embrace that we are not alone….God is with us, even through the most unlikely people.

Free will...choices, consequences and faith

One of the greatest – and most difficult to manage – gifts God granted us was free will. Oh, you and I enjoy this gift tremendously. This gift allows us to choose for or against a host of things to do, act, think, and be. Sometimes, though, it would be so nice to not have the choice.

I recently had a conversation with a woman struggling with this very thing. She had a vision for how things should be, her will, you might say. And, as these stories often go, she lacked the influence to impose her will so that things could, perhaps, turn out as she had planned.

I am thankful for the gift of childhood, as I think on this. I am thankful for boundaries set and maintained, for efforts made in these early years to help me choose the better path. The problem, if it can be called that, is that childhood ends much too soon. Adulthood sets in way before we are ready, way before we can understand our actions and their sometimes opposing re-actions…or consequences. I do appreciate deeply the steps my own parents took to minimize the false steps that would tempt me in adulthood.

And yet…it didn’t quite work out the way my fairy-tale inspired thoughts led me. And, once again, I find myself faced with the choice….my imposed will or acceptance that all is as it will be. I’m truly not happy at the options, especially those available through the latter. At the same time, I recognize that my will is often discarded and not followed by any other than my ownself.

I’m fine with free will as it applies to me. I struggle with it when I have to rely on someone else. After all, they may choose a different path, a different direction, a different outcome. Just ask anyone who has ever lived into their adult years and tried to be an adult before their family. Or, ask anyone who has experienced life, the ups and downs, to describe how they felt when their perspectives weren’t considered as the free will of another was imposed.

What we do…or don’t do, does indeed impact others. I’ve learned this lesson the hard way, as someone who has had to deal with the ramifications of someone else’s choices. It sucks, to use the modern vernacular.

My vocation, that as a pastor in the United Methodist Church, by definition implies implicitly if not explicitly, that I am held to a higher moral, ethical, spiritual standard. Our Scriptures point to the need to have control over our family as we strive, rather desperately I might add, to achieve this lofty goal. But what to do when life implodes and the ashes, caused by another, are clogging your throat?

It goes back to that free will stuff. Will I allow myself to be governed by an emotional reaction to someone else? Many of us are strong and independent, eager to scream, “No!” when presented with such an option. I count myself among this strong, independent group. Which, of course, makes it harder to handle the emotions of “now what?” when all my ideals and thoughts and plans have been overshadowed by something larger…something more evil than benign.

Bottom line…no. No to letting someone else dictate my emotional responses. No, to letting someone else dig and strike until I bleed, either from protection or pride.  No. And yes, it is that simple.

I am grateful for the gift of free will. For the ability to choose to follow God, as a disciple of Jesus Christ. I am grateful that others possess this free will and can choose a path other than the one I think is most appropriate.

The downside to free will – and there’s always a downside, right? – is that I cannot hold someone else to my expectation. I cannot enforce my vision of the future, of right or wrong, on another.

Free will is what allows us to meet others, and ourselves, wherever they (we, us) are. Free will tells us that God wants an honest, chosen relationship with us. Free will holds us to our choices and either strengthens or weakens us.

And then faith takes over. At least, it does for me. Thank you, God, for loving me enough to allow me free will. And thank you for holding me when I face the impact of my own, or someone else’s, choices.

Just Do It...or something like that

I may have lost my mind…or perhaps this is just part of finding it. What I’ve done is so clichéd, its almost embarrassing to bring up. I joined a gym. And then I worked out.

If you can call it that. The room at this gym is filled with all kinds of ridiculous looking equipment. Torture-looking equipment. Why we pay to do things that make us hurt and sweat, I can’t explain.

It started so innocently. Join now for $1. Yeah, right. But no, I was lured in. Everyone (these are second cousins to the infamous "they"), everyone says if you exercise, you’ll feel better, have more energy, blah, blah, blah. So, in I walk with the oversized mailer I received in the mail. What are your goals, they ask me…um. I just want to feel better, and have more energy, blah, blah, blah. Excellent, they say. (Whew, it’s so nice when you get the right answer!). Let me just show you around.

I walk past the machines…back, legs, arms, glutes, and God knows what else. The treadmills, the ellipticals, the bikes…the free weights and the machines that use free weights. I’m shown the showers – ok, I walk through here on my own…my male guide does not enter the female area. I take a quick peek in the room used for Pilates and Kickboxing and whatever else they can think of to put to music. And then I sign up. Come soon, he says. We’ll call and set a time to show you each machine. But in the meantime…come in, and start with some cardio, say 30-45 minutes, on the treadmills or elliptical machines.

I returned today. I approached the first elliptical and could not make the buttons do anything. Hmmm. The few folks around me were already sweating it up on machines that lit up and measured this and that. Must be the machine. I should move to a different one. And, yes, I feel stupid not knowing how to get the blasted thing to work. Yet, I channel some unknown store of testosterone and refuse to ask for directions… er, help.

Moving to the adjacent machine did the trick. Or maybe pedaling backwards until lights flashed and all but the sounds of hitting the jackpot in Vegas erupted. Regardless, the machine likes me. I think it laughed. Or sneered. And so I begin. Water bottle in place, cell phone balanced, keys in one pocket, and…oh, yeah, my Ipod. After digging it out of the pocket of my sweat pants, I finally get the plugs in my ears and the thing playing. Off I go, calories a burning, steps accumulating, time is being kept. I have to be careful not to sing out loud.

Five minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, my legs are burning. A fine line of sweat has formed above my lip…perhaps in other places, too. My breathing is…not comfortable. I really am THIS out of shape. Will I make it to 30 minutes, much less 45?

I did. At least, I did 30 minutes. I’m not sure there is a graceful way to step down from this beast of a machine and walk to my car. I did the best I could…with legs that were as wobbly as a newborn colt. I hoped…and prayed, no one was watching my exit. I don’t know how long I sat in my car before I finally found the strength to drive home.

I did it, though. The key will be in making myself go back again…and again. I will, because for some weird, inexplicable reason, I have decided this WILL make me feel better, this WILL give me energy, this WILL blah, blah, blah.

Is it bedtime yet?

Pffffftttt on negative voices

Occasionally – or more often than I like to admit – I find myself dealing with things I thought I had already dealt with…but I guess some things are like laundry, never really finished. I don’t think it’s just me, either. Too many conversations give me reason to believe it’s a pretty widespread thing.

Once again, I find myself realizing how much I have listened to negative voices and allowed those voices to dictate how I see myself. Not sure what I mean? I’m talking about the people in our lives who have influence over us and either tell us up front or slyly communicate that we are less than their expectations.

My dad reads this so I feel compelled to point out that I am not referring to my family. I’ve been blessed with parents, children, and a sister and brother-in-law who do everything they can to tell me how wonderful I am. Even when I’m not.

There are many others in our lives, though, who wield influence over us. We want them to approve and be satisfied with who we are…or maybe even be more than satisfied. Delighted would be nice. To be fair, I probably interpret things incorrectly. But not always.

God has typically used irony and humor to get through to me…and such was the case with this revelation today. God sent an unexpected messenger to affirm my shaky understandings. As I walked my walk-deprived dog this evening, I began to realize how God used this messenger to clear out some of the fog in my vision.

• I’m not perfect…I’m too human. And…I’m ok with that because it means I can still grow and learn and become. The growing and learning and becoming that has already happened has value, too. I’m so much more than I used to be and not nearly what I will become. That's exciting, not negative.
• My gut isn’t always right but it is mostly trustworthy. Especially when I am aware and responsive to what my gut is telling me. If you get a gut-check from someone else, then you’re even more likely to be on the right path. Just sayin…
• And finally…negative voices do not add value. Sure, there are tons of things most of us probably need to “work on,” but, for the most part, we aren’t nearly as lowly as some would have us believe. God made each one of us uniquely and purposefully…God does not screw up. We all have value…even those whose native tongue is Negative.

For now, I am freed of these voices. Even if I do still have laundry to do…

Bloom Where You Are Planted

This is a note I sent out today on our church's e-news...would love your feedback!

In preparing for this week’s message, I keep running into this phrase: “Bloom where you are planted.” It’s a cutesy phrase, to be sure…but it also encourages some deeper reflection on what that might mean were we to really live out that concept.

Many of us have been uprooted. We live some distance from where we began our lives as infants and children. We may no longer live in our childhood homes. Or neighborhoods. Or cities. Or states. Or country. We have likely been transplanted, whether by our own choice or that of spouse or parents or children.

This cutesy little phrase challenges us to not just accept the soil we find ourselves in but to open up, to bloom and share our very selves in this new and uncertain environment. The scripture passage that led me to this phrase comes from a letter Jeremiah writes to those who are now in exile in Babylon…uprooted and transplanted:

Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. (Jeremiah 29:4-7, NRSV)

I invite you to pray over and ponder this passage as we make our way to Sunday. Spend some time imagining what it would look like for you to bloom where you are planted, especially in your place of exile. As a newly planted and grafted church, how can we, collectively, bloom where we now find ourselves?

I’d love to hear your thoughts and reflections on this passage and idea of blooming. Please feel free comment below or email me (ygillar@gmail.com) …we grow together through our sharing and support of one another so water me with your wisdom!