Church Is Not a Number

We work in a mission field. We knew that when we took the job. It's the reason that, when originally asked where we'd consider moving, we listed all the states surrounding this one. Utah was the black hole we never considered. Mission fields are hard. Domestic mission fields get the added bonus of people forgetting it's a mission at all.

It's incredibly difficult to grow a church here. Especially difficult if you stick to the truth of the Word of God. If you don't water down your theology, if you call sin by its name, and if your church isn't located in the hippest or richest part of town, church growth is slow and challenging.

Our ministry is eight and half years old. In those years, we have watched as amazing, godly family after amazing, godly family has been called away from this mission field. Leadership. Sunday school teachers. Ministry team members. Board members. If we could round them all up from their new homes in southern Utah, northern Utah, Washington, Oregon, Texas and the like, and put them back together under our roof, our church would be thriving--numerically. They, coupled with our newer families, would create a dynamic that would be an encouragement to both our community and my heart, alike.

The concern, though, is that when families leave for employment or retirement or health issues, they need to be replaced by another family. If another family doesn't join the church in their place, the numbers decrease and this becomes a great burden over time. Refer back to how difficult it is to grow a church in Utah.

Last summer, our attendance was up. Our giving was up. I was swimming through personal grief and the encouragement I received at church was incredible. And then a few families moved. Our numbers are down. It is not about a number. I know that. But eventually, decisions have to be made. Tough choices. How to balance the budget. What ministries to do away with if you don't have the manpower to run them.

We have enough regular attenders that if they all came on the same Sunday, our church would be full--or, at least, more full. So I've started to pray that our "regular attenders" would be convicted to get out of bed. Perhaps they'll put on clothes and drive to church and come and worship with us. "Lord, let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much more as we see the Day approaching (Hebrews 10:24-25). Lord, bring our regular attenders and bring new faces, that we might impact this community, this valley, this mission field, for your kingdom."

This morning was the same as many Sundays since the fall. I had great joy in looking out and seeing the familiar faces that I love. But I missed those who have gone and I missed those who have not yet come. I looked out over the congregation as I sang with the worship team. A curious thing happened. If I opened my eyes, all I saw were the empty chairs. The empty chairs felt like wind and waves. I saw ministries cut and needs not being met for lack of volunteers. Panic began to rise. Anxiety gripped my chest. If I closed my eyes and focused on worship, I felt the presence of the Lord and everything else faded away.

Matthew 14:25-31
Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. "It's a ghost," they said, and cried out in fear. 

But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."

"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."

"Come," he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?"

My Lord does not need me. He does not need my husband. He graciously allows us to be used. When I am afraid that somehow God doesn't see our need, He asks me why I have such little faith. We will offer ourselves as living sacrifices. We will not be conformed. We will endeavor to prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God (Romans 12). We long to reach this land with the gospel of Christ. We desire filled seats because it means that more are walking in the ways of the Lord with weekly conviction. But we know that where two or three are gathered together in His name, He is there in the midst of them (Matthew 18:20). We will continue to be a church that preaches the truth whether there are 500 people or 5 people.

To the amazing and godly men and women who were called out of this valley and into other ministries, we miss you more than we can adequately express. To the regular attenders and members of our church, we love you and your faithful service. Thank you for your partnership with us.

Falling in Love is the Easy Part...

Church leadership is a funny sort of business. You meet and fall in love with people. They move. Or you move. You meet and fall in love with more people. They move. Or you move. Pretty soon, you have an incredible database of friends that feel more like family. Older folks who feel like honorary grandparents, people who are more like aunts and uncles than just friends, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews. The body of Christ really is like a big extended family. For better or worse.

Some will always be just friends or acquaintances or people you say hi to on Sunday morning. But some people cry together, laugh together, hug tight, anticipate life and overlap lives so often that it really, truly does feel like whatever happens to them will greatly impact your own life. Some people, you really just love a lot.

It is a blessing to love like that.

But when they hurt, we hurt. When they're anxious, we're anxious. When they need prayer we step in and say, "Lord, we will still be worshiping you tonight, even if this doesn't go the way we want it to. You will still be on the throne. But, please, Lord, can you answer this prayer the way we're all hoping?" And maybe we don't think about it as much as they do but we sure think about it an awful lot.

We are praying today for a family we love big. Maybe they don't even know how much we love them. But we do. So much so that we are going before the Lord constantly and begging, "Oh Lord, hear our prayer..."

Please pray with me. You might not know them but trust me, they are worth your time. One day they will move. Or we will move. But for now, we share this space, this town, this church building. I am honored to know them and to partner with them in ministry. They need our prayers.

"Lord, bless this family's sacrifice. Accept what they have done. Allow it to come to pass as we hope and desire that it will. Amen."

Pastor's Wives

It wasn't long ago when I came across the following Internet article. It can be found in its entirety here. Now, I'm not here to say that all of these apply to me...they don't. But some of them do.

1) “I wish people knew that we struggle to have family time.”

There was one common response that I received from every single pastor’s wife. Every. Single. One.  Over and over again, many pastors’ wives shared numerous occasions where planned vacations had been cut short (wouldn’t that be hard?). They told me tales of family evenings being rearranged for crises of church members, middle of the night emergencies and regular interruptions. A true day off is rare; even on scheduled days off their husbands are essentially on call 24/7.

2) “Almost every day I’m afraid of screwing it all up.”

They don’t have it all together. They battle many of the same issues every other woman battles: marriage issues, extended family difficulties, sickness, finances, children who make poor decisions, fear and insecurities. Some seasons of life are obviously harder than others; but remember, ministry wives are not Wonder Woman with special powers. Please have a little mercy and extend grace.

3) “Being a pastor’s wife is THE loneliest thing I’ve ever done and for so many reasons.”

Personally, I think this is surprising to many (it was to me). Several ladies shared the difficulties of finding friendships that are safe, being looked at (or treated) differently and even the desire to be invited for an occasional ladies night out. One woman shared, “Invite us to something just to get to know us. We like being known.” People in the church often assume that the pastor’s wife is always invited and popular. In reality, for whatever reason, many ladies fear befriending them. On Sunday mornings pastors’ wives are often sitting solo and those with children are essentially single parenting.

4) “It is okay and welcomed to have conversations with me about things that do not pertain to church, or even Jesus. There I said it!”

They have a variety of interests. Believe it or not, many pastor’s wives went to college and had full time careers before becoming “Mrs. Pastor’s wife.” They have hobbies, likes and dislikes, and though they often serve beside their husband, they are individuals with their own unique gifts.  Do not make the mistake of assuming your pastor’s wife has the same personality as their husband. One wife shared that as newly weds when they announced their engagement people regularly commented on how good of a singer she must be (because her husband to be was a music minister). When she shared that she sounded more like a dying cat than an elegant song bird the shock on their faces was evident.

5) “Sundays are sometimes my least favorite day. Wait– am I allowed to say that?”

Sundays are hard. And long. And there is no rest. To a pastor’s wife, Sunday means an early morning of rushing around to have the family ready in their “Sunday Best.” Although you may not see your pastor’s wife on the platform, rest assured, Sunday is equally tiring for most (all) of them.

6) “It’s hard to not harbor resentment or to allow your flesh to lash out at members who openly criticize his ministry.”

They hate church criticism more then anything. It’s hurtful. Offensive, and yes, it’s very hard not to take it personally.  It is one of the most damaging things they witness regularly inside the church whether it be through emails, social media or gossip. They wish people understood how serious God’s word speaks on the danger and power of our words. And how much it injures the pastor’s family.

7) “Please don’t look down on me or assume I don’t support my husband just because you don’t see me every time the churches doors are open.”

Most wives are not paid staff. They are wives, mothers, and some are employed outside the home and need to be allowed the freedom to pray and choose ministries they feel called to.

8) “I wish people knew that we taught our children to make good choices, but sometimes, they don’t.”

Jokes about pastor’s kids should be avoided at all costs. The risk of rebellion in a “preacher’s kid” is no secret. They aren’t perfect, and never will be (are yours?). They have to learn to walk in their faith just like other children and need encouragement and love to do so. Again, extend grace.

9) “What I can tell you is I have been blessed beyond measure, I have been given gifts, money, love and prayer, so much prayer… by so many.”

They love their church and understand the role comes with special challenges and special blessings; it is fulfilling and brings them great joy.

Like I said, some of these apply to me and some don't. It doesn't matter which ones I struggle with. I just thought that, if you attend church, showing you what pastor's wives deal with might be helpful as you build relationship with them.

I'm Broken and Busy!

My life is kerAz right now. In fact, I had to put Physical Therapy on my to-do list just for the pleasure of crossing it off. Which I haven't done yet. Because it's not until tomorrow. By the way, I'm going to physical therapy because once upon a time I was a swimmer and apparently this is a death trap for shoulders. It's entirely possible that I have a labral tear that could require surgery. Or maybe not. Only time and a possible MRI that may or may not offer conclusive results will tell. The real kicker is that I don't even remember doing anything to it this time. I just woke up about a month ago in immense and intense pain. Word on the street--and by street I mean physical therapy office--is that swimmer's develop tight muscles across their backs and around the shoulder blade area but the front of the shoulder becomes loose and sloppy after years of repetitive motion. Thus, it is prone to injury. Especially when the (ex)swimmer gets old. And, apparently, in this case, old means 32.

But that's not why my life is crazy (kerAz!).

I'm trying to get ready to host a women's retreat for 46!

That's a lot of estrogen in one place.

So I'm remembering details and cleaning my house (which is ridiculous because I have three males in the house and when I say, "Women's retreat!" they hear, "Pizza on the carpet during Sports Center!" and "We don't have to make our beds!" and "Showering optional!") and still working, volunteering, teaching Bible study, and preparing to speak at another retreat the following weekend.

And that is why my blogging has been bad.

Bad. Bad blogger. Right here.

I, like, totally get it if you're moving on to someone who posts with regularity. Although, I do promise to be back more regularly in a week or two.

In Which I Behave Like Dream Lori

You know those dreams where you're charged with some sort of mundane task and, for the life of you, you simply cannot get it done? Like, you're just supposed to get out the front door but, for some reason, dream you is just standing there worrying about getting out the door and not actually doing anything to accomplish that action?

I totally had one of those two nights ago.

And then I lived it out yesterday.

Not like the dream, mind you. In the dream I woke up two hours late and both my kids had missed important things at school. I was frantically trying to get them out the door and to their respective activities as if I could somehow reverse time and if I just got them there late everything would be fine.

Thankfully that level of completely irrational thinking didn't really happen.

Today is our Women's Spring Tea at church. Yesterday, I left my house at 5:00 pm to help decorate the venue. On my way over, via phone call, I found out that one of our hostesses--who was actually doing two of the five tables and bringing a large portion of the food--was unable to make it because of a personal issue. We went into scramble mode and ended up with me and another team member deciding to hostess tables. I needed to run an errand and decided to just get mini muffins and finger sandwiches while I was out.

The errand was supposed to take roughly 20 minutes. 

Two and a half hours later, I finally made it back to the church.

Because nothing went my way and it was like God spoke down from the heavens, "Hang on, sister. This is going to be one huge test in patience!" For your information, I did not pass the exam. At one point I very nearly burst into frustrated tears. There also might have been a bad word muttered under the breath. I am a pastor's wife. I will neither confirm or deny.

I started out at Harmon's where I waited for approximately twelve minutes to ask if they had other bubble balloons because all they had out were for birthdays or baby showers. They did not have others. They also did not have mini muffins or small sandwiches.

I hopped into the car--headed for another Harmon's--and realized I was in desperate need of gas. This is where I made the horrible decision to go to Costco. I figured I could get the gas and the food in one stop, adding only a few minutes to my trip. It was this decision that really derailed the entire evening. Costco was a zoo. It took me about ten minutes to get gas. Then, I wandered the store for ten more thinking that, for sure, I'd seen mini muffins there before. The tray of pinwheel sandwiches was $29.99 and, while this was way too much for what I actually needed, I didn't care. I was getting something for my extra trip. I grabbed the pinwheels and walked to the front where I discovered that each line had approximately 411 people in it. I spun on my heels and put the sandwiches back.

I drove to the Harmon's by my house. On my way, I had another team member call someone else and ask if she could bring more sandwiches. She was able to and I felt my very first measure of success. They had the correct balloons but the line had a zillion people in it. I stood. And waited. And waited. When I got to the front of the line, the lady told me it would take her about ten minutes to get them ready for me. This seemed strange to me but my degree is in Theatre, not Balloon Filling so who am I to judge? She told me to browse the store for awhile. 

So I found mini muffins.

Then I went back. The woman behind the counter stared at me blankly. "I...had...the...balloons," I said, hoping to trigger a response.

"Oh. Yes. I've been waiting to ask you if you need them tied together or tied separately?" So right then I almost spontaneously combusted because of all the LET'S NOT SEND SOMEONE AWAY UNTIL WE KNOW THAT WE KNOW WHAT WE NEED TO KNOW, YOU KNOW?

But I didn't. I held my pieces together. Barely.

By the time I left second Harmon's with the balloons and the muffins I was feeling horrible for how long I'd been gone. I had absolutely not helped get the church set up in any way, shape or form. While in Harmon's, I'd talked to someone at the church who said they were all leaving and finishing up tomorrow. I'd completely missed everything which is bad form. Especially when you're the head of the team.

At this point I was less than five minutes from my house so I just decided to go home and get all the stuff I'd need to decorate my table. Also, I discovered that my dog is going deaf because I got right up to him, thinking he'd died, and had to yell his name before he ever knew I was there. Gathering my things looked a little something like this...

"I need a centerpiece." Turn frantically in all directions before scooping up what was already serving as the centerpiece for my own table. "I need a small gift for each person." Run upstairs and improvise with a bunch of votive candles I was planning on burning for my ownself but what the heck, there were eight of them. Well, actually, there were seven, but I had another one that looked enough like the others to pass as the weird cousin that no one likes to claim. I had seven tea cups and seven salad plates in the cupboard.

Not three days ago, Garrett broke the eighth tea cup. He was holding it in his hand and, quite suddenly, the cup just sort of fell off the handle. I was standing right there. We were both completely bewildered. As for the eighth salad plate, I have no idea what became of it. Thankfully, the set we have services twelve. We just keep a fourth of it in the garage because our dinner table seats six so we've never had a dinner party for twelve. I ran into the garage. I'd just cleaned out the garage THAT VERY DAY and had not remembered seeing my spare dishes. Where were they?

I'd been gone forever at this point. 

This was getting ridiculous. Thinking about all the RIDICULOUS made me go into some kind of shock where I couldn't think properly or move correctly and I realized that, HEY! This is JUST like my dream. I am having a total failure to respond.

Finally I found them.

I headed back to the church, threw everything on my table, lamented that it is, by far, the least exciting table, attached all the balloons, and headed to my husband's softball game. Two and a half hours had passed since I first left the church.

Not a whole lot was accomplished.

At one point I thought to myself, "This is just another dream. Right? I'm going to wake up and the hostess will still be hostessing and I'll be decorating the church and all will be well. WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" But, no such luck. It was really happening. Everything I tried to do took approximately twenty minutes longer than it was supposed to.

So I'm going to put the final period on this post, dress up in my tea attire, and head to the church. Probably all the balloons will have floated to the roof, all the food will have somehow spoiled, and all the tables will have inexplicably fallen over, shattering all the dishes. Because nothing would surprise me at this point.

Speaking

I don't know where this speaking thing is going. I don't know if God will cultivate it into a full blown speaking schedule someday or if I'll never again have another church ask me to share. But I know that I am so thankful for the opportunities I've been given so far.

Today I had the chance to share the word of God at a church in Brigham City. I spoke mainly on Philippians 2:1-8 about making connections and how Christ came down and humbled Himself to the point of death on the cross. I talked about David and Jonathan and their incredible friendship. I talked about the baby Savior in a manger. And I plugged in Christmas lights and made an example out of them. Even though all these things sound like they're all over the place, I'm pretty sure it's what God wanted me to say. I'm pretty sure He blessed it. I'm pretty sure it worked.

I love (read: LOVE) the opportunity to meet and fellowship with like-minded, Jesus loving believers. I love the preparation that goes into a session and the journey the Lord takes me on while I'm writing, rewriting, practicing, and praying. I love to share my passion for my Savior.

I am so thankful that God led me to an event at a little church in Brigham City this morning and (hopefully) spoke through me.

How To Be A Preacher's Wife And Like It: Part Three

"Be it ever so humble, your parsonage can be clean. A broom, mop, pail and box of detergent, plus an ample supply of elbow grease, can transform any dingy parsonage into a sparkling set of rooms. Keeping the woodwork and windows clean, the furniture in order and the toys picked up is a matter of bodily exercise, which the Apostle Paul says is profitable.

The habitual appearance of dirty dishes in the midst of an unkept kitchen is inexcusable. Parish duties should never come ahead of parsonage obligations. Your first responsibility is to provide a clean, well-ordered home for your pastor-husband and your family." Lora Lee Parrott

Oh. My. Goodness. I'm so far off the mark it just isn't even funny. I mean, there isn't anything generationally hilarious about this particular passage. Well, except for maybe the bit about dirty dishes being inexcusable. You don't want to see my kitchen on Sunday mornings.

On Sunday mornings I really believe that Satan sends his minions to thwart all of our plans to get out the door. Dishes are thrown in the sink to be tended to later--usually I'm just glad that the children have eaten anything at all. Cups, jackets, hair gel, Christmas play scripts, and tooth brushes are here, there and everywhere. Troy throws the kids in the car. I pat myself down to make sure I'm not missing any vital piece of clothing and run back in to grab somethingorother important thing that I totally need but darn near forgot. As Troy slowly drives down the street, Garrett yells, "Hurry mom!" and I dive in before my pastor-husband gets up to 25 mph. Okay, so that last part is an exaggeration...but not by much.

I would have failed miserably as a 1950's pastor's wife. I doubt I'm having much success as a 21st century pastor's wife but I have to believe I'm better than I would have been 60 years ago.

And, keeping the toys picked up, well, that task is simply futile.

How To Be A Preacher's Wife And Like It: Part Two

Under the section titled, Causes for Conflict, Mrs. Parrott writes, "Difference in I.Q. must be considered. Theoretically, the husband and wife have the same native intelligence. However, in actual cases this is not true. Marriage counselors say that greater happiness is often achieved in homes where the husband has a slightly higher I.Q. than his wife."

I read this part to my husband and, with a twisted grin, he said, "That's why we work so well." I shot him a dirty look and he laughed.

It continues, "However, in numerous parsonages, the wife is smarter than her husband. Unless a proper adjustment is made by both the husband and the wife, this can cause serious conflict in the parsonage."

"Oh," I said, "that explains any conflict we have. I'm actually smarter than you."

Later, in the same section, I read, "There are differences in learning. Obviously, there is a vast difference between the serious-minded young man who took advanced training to prepare himself for the ministry, and his young wife whose main interests in college were social."

Oh. Obviously.

Obviously my husband was a serious-minded young man. Obviously my main interests in college were social. Now you're all making snarky comments about how I majored in Theatre and my husband has a Master's in Exegetical Theology, aren't you.

What strikes me about this particular passage is the fact that my research revealed that Mrs. Parrott had, herself, a Master's in Religion. Maybe she went to graduate school for purely social reasons.

Don't think I'm going to leave you without a wise gem. "Even if the pastor is not able to be gone week ends it is good for his family to be away from the parsonage for at least four consecutive weeks once each year. The new perspective, the complete rest, the change of environment can make an appreciable impact for good on the parsonage household. However, I only suggest this an an ideal, for as yet I have never been away from the parsonage for more than two weeks at a time."

This is very wise advice! I sincerely hope that, as time went by, Mrs. Parrott was blessed with the opportunity to be away for a four week stint. I hope Hawaii was involved. Or the Bahamas. I, myself, would be perfectly okay with four weeks of new perspective, complete rest, and a change of environment involving tropical sand, trade winds, and pineapple. Wait, did she not include that last bit in her original paragraph? Huh. Must have been an oversight.