Pastor Mom

My Favorite Pictures from 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 00:34:00 +0000

A Year in Review

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 13:25:00 +0000

January: A year of hair evolution

February: Happy Valentine's Day!

March: A Spring Break trip to Chattanooga

April: Happy Easter!

May: A new playroom!

June: A trip in a hot air balloon and swimming lessons

July: A trip to Germany and to Oshkosh. We were tired.

August: Joshua started Sunday School and Clare turned 2

September: Stopped in St. Louis on the way to the 50th anniversary celebration of Hope UMC in Joliet

October: My princesses

November: Joshua turns four and celebrates with his friends!

December: Merry Christmas!

Miss Morgan

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 03:22:00 +0000

This past Monday I lost a wonderful young friend. Her name is Morgan. Morgan was the president of the the Lambuth University chapter of AOII where I serve as the Chapter Advisor. That means that Morgan and I talked a lot. And because college students can apparently only meet at ungodly hours of the night, it means that I spent a lot of late nights hanging out with her and the rest of the women. Usually by the time the meeting was over I was too tired to actually get up and walk to my car, so I'd sit on the big red couch and listen to the girls talk and laugh. Morgan was always there.

Morgan was born with a broken heart. I don't know the details, but it wasn't in good shape, and required surgery through the years to rebuild as she grew. Last Monday she had another open-heart surgery to replace the aorta. But when the surgery was over and she was back in her room, they realized that the aorta had burst and she was losing blood. There was a second surgery to stop the bleeding, but it was too late.

I was telling the story of Morgan the other day and someone asked what her life expectancy was, and I realized that I had never thought about it. And I never thought about it because I would have never known she was sick if she hadn't told me. She was bright and shiny and passionate and funny--immortal, really. Just like the other girls in the sorority who are just exploding with potential. I never considered her life expectancy because she was just so full of, well, life. How could someone with that much life ever be defined by "life expectancy"? She couldn't. Life expectancy was irrelevant when it came to Morgan.

So you know how you say really nice things about people when they die? Well, they're all true. She was wet-your-pants funny and generous, and smart and beautiful. She loved people and she embraced her life with every ounce of energy she could muster. And she was so unassuming. I imagine she has no idea just how amazing she is...how beautiful, how good, how she exemplified everything that every young woman wants to be.

Her mother came over to the house last night to hang out with the girls--we initiated her mother last semester--and I was watching her. She's been crying for three days and she's obviously exhausted, but I watched her alternate between laughing and crying with those girls and she looked so young and so fresh....despite what she's gone through. And I think about how proud Morgan would be of her for just putting one foot in front of the other, for being willing to spend an evening with the women who shared Morgan's life even though it must feel so raw and painful. Morgan's mother says that Morgan was her strength. If that's the case, I have no doubt where Morgan got that strength in the first place.

There's no visitation because Morgan wouldn't want a somber procession of sad people around, so there'll be a memorial service tomorrow at Lambuth and a funeral service at Morgan's church on Saturday. It will be hard but healing.

I miss her so much.

It is Finished!

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 04:04:00 +0000

Before I forget, I must post my final post for NaBloPoMo! Maybe I'll get a prize! You'll be the first to know!

One Day More

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 02:56:00 +0000

Hooray for the next to the last day of NaBloPoMo! What have I learned from this? Mainly that I don't have enough interesting things to say to last a whole month. There were some things that I definitely wanted to share, and there were some things that I shared simply because I needed to check off the "I posted today" box. I'm really glad that I finally got to write about my early church experiences, and I'm grateful for the alliteration in "Friday Flashback," because the jazzy alliteration itself seems to justify a whole post dedicated to photos. But really, this hasn't been a life-changing discipline for me. Not that I thought it would be, but mostly I just like discipline for the sake of discipline. Maybe that's why I'm such a good Methodist.

So, yeah, I've learned that blogging is a good way to talk about things that I really need to get out of my system, and a really good way to remember the cute/funny/interesting things my kids say and do, but as a daily discipline it's really not my cup of tea.

My First Advent

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 01:59:00 +0000

Since I was on maternity leave during Advent 2005, this is actually my first time to journey through Advent as a pastor. That's not exactly earth-shattering, I realize, but I feel like I'm finally getting to catch up on something I missed out on before. I did have to preach one week of Advent while on leave as it was required for my ordination process, but it still didn't feel very Advent-y to me. So I'm looking forward to it. That, and an early bedtime tonight.

Flashback Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 04:44:00 +0000

Two years ago at this time my dad was retiring from his lifelong job at the US Army Corps of Engineers and had a great bash.

We had an almost new baby in our house.

And because that wasn't challenging enough, we also brought home 18 more babies, too.

The Girl Child

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 01:41:00 +0000

Whoever said that girls are easier than boys either never had girls or never had Clare. We've reached a new peak of independence. Tonight when I asked her to go get the green comb from my bathroom so that I could comb her hair, her brother got to it before she did and brought it to me. She squealed, whined, took it from him and RAN BACK TO MY BATHROOM WITH IT so that she could bring it from the bathroom. Later, when I picked out some socks from the pile of clean laundry in the middle of the hall, she squealed, "I DO IT!", took them from me, put them back in the pile, and retrieved them again on her own.

And to think that we're actually trying to potty train this child. There's a way to use this to our advantage, but I haven't figured it out yet.

What Am I Thankful For?

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 03:26:00 +0000

Well, in no particular order, there's him:

And him:

And definitely her:

And him:

And them (and their families...turn around, Gina). That's my momma on the far left.

And her and all of her people:

And them:

And this:

And them:

And lots and lots of that:

And so, so, so much more. Happy Thanksgiving to All!

My Love's Liver

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 04:19:00 +0000

Jay had his every-six-months appointment at Vanderbilt today. The good news is that he hasn't gotten worse. The bad--or maybe expected--news is that he hasn't miraculously recovered. He and his doctor talked about statistics and waiting times and survival rates--what fun! But other than that nothing was new. He's supposed to go back in another six months unless his lab results show something unexpected.

I don't know that either of us would have expected this Thanksgiving to be so normal. Last Thanksgiving we had a houseful of family and friends who came to celebrate with us because, as far as we knew, that Thanksgiving might have been his last. We were still waiting to get an appointment at Vanderbilt, and none of Jay's other doctors were willing to hazard a guess as to how long Jay would make it before needing a liver. So we all crammed in our little house and ate and played and stayed up too late and made the best of everything.

This year our crowd will not be so crowded, and that's OK. It means that, as of right now, we aren't preparing for the worst. And for that I am thankful.

My Little Man

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 04:05:00 +0000

Joshua, Clare, and I went to the doctor today for Joshua's four-year-old checkup. He weighs 38 pounds and is over three feet tall (I don't remember exactly). And while height and weight and head circumference used to be the focal point of these checkups, today I was taken by Joshua's interactions with doctors and nurses. He was cooperative and helpful, and he the tear that was forming in the corner of his eye when the nurse took a little blood from his thumb never made it past his eyelid.

He answered most of the questions this time. I just watched him interact. I know I'm his mom, but I was pretty impressed. I guess this is what it's like when your little boy grows up!

300!

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 04:58:00 +0000

Because I have nothing else interesting to say, and because it is almost midnight, I will simply celebrate that this is my 300th post!

Flashback Friday...on Saturday

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 18:38:00 +0000

Three years ago we were just getting settled into our new house. We planted a garden and, soon after, found out that I was pregnant with Clare.

These are our greens.

Joshua hanging out while I picked greens for supper.

Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 03:02:00 +0000

Jay and I are working on the old Thanksgiving menu. We feel like we've covered just about every option in the book and are going back to good old turkey, dressing, gravy, rolls, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole (because what good is an eat-everything holiday if you can't somehow incorporate processed junk from a can?), and sweet potatoes. Oh, and pumpkin pie and apple cobbler, of course

So what are the Thanksgiving staples you can't live without?

Three Reasons Why My Son Lived to See Another Day

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 03:15:00 +0000

Joshua has been, shall we say, nap resistant for the past little while. I put him down for a nap and, regardless of how exhausted he obviously is, he gets back up and visits me in my office while I'm working. I discovered today that he actually enjoys the part where I chase him back to his room, even though I'm usually yelling at him all the way. This time I toned down the yelling--like I didn't at all--but I took my anger out on his door when I slammed it shut. But, of course, back he came. It's a wonder he lived, but he did. Here's why:

I put myself in time out. Oh yes I did. I locked the door to my room and decided I didn't care what he did. Turns out he played with Legos. And I calmed down.
When I finally opened the door, he came in my room, folded his clean underwear, and put it in his drawer. All without being asked to do so. And I smiled a little bit.
He came back, stood in front of me, and indicated that he needed to use the potty. I said, "Do you need to use the potty?" And he said, "Nope. I'm just touchin' my penis." Except that he said with drawl, so it sounded like, "Nope. I'm just touchin' mah pay-nis." And I laughed.

And he lived.

Church-Related Injury

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 02:11:00 +0000

Without sounding too much like Pollyanna, there is part of me that is grateful for my experience in this particular church, even the bad stuff. I imagine that there are plenty of Christians who have wonderful, formative, and transformative church experiences without ever feeling rejected or unwelcome, and that is, of course, wonderful.

But part of me is grateful that I know what it feels like to be rejected by the church. I think that it can enhance my own ministry and make me better able to sit with people who have been shown the door like I was. And it also helps me remember that people can do the most damaging things with the best of intentions.

Are there any other church-related injury stories out there that anyone wants to share?

Then the Bitter

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 03:22:00 +0000

I didn't go to church much while I was away at college, but I always went back to my this church when I was home during breaks. One of the very last times I went was the Sunday after I graduated from college. I had decided to go to seminary to get an MDiv with a specialization in Pastoral Counseling, and I was so excited to tell my church family my plans. Jay was with me. It was one of the first times--if not THE first time--that he had ever been to my church. He didn't grow up going to church and might have been a little leery of the whole thing, but he went with me because he's a good sport.

All was well until the service was over. I had told a couple of people about my plans before the service had started, and apparently word had spread. Jay and I were standing up, getting ready to leave our pew, and I was sharing my news with a few other people. As we headed toward the door, a group of four or five church elders came toward me. They literally back me up against a pew and formed an arc around me. I don't remember their exact words, but it was clear that not only were they not pleased about my decision to go to seminary, but they were also very concerned that I was a) going to a Methodist seminary, and b) going north of the Mason-Dixon line to do so. In fact, I've never been clear about their primary concern because I've only ever been able to hear the sound bytes in my head:

"They'll just tear your faith down and leave you with nothing."

"How can you think this is a good idea?"

Mostly I just remember the panic. And, of course, the fabulous impression this was making on my soon-to-be-fiance whom I wanted so badly to love these people as much as I did.

I laughed it off and went home. That afternoon I got a phone call from one of the women in the church telling me that there was going to be reception after church that night for high school and college graduates. Since I was, in fact, a graduate, she invited me to come. Big mistake.

Jay and I went back to church that night. We were eating some cake, visiting with some folks, not worried about much, when the pastor came over to "talk." He asked me by what authority I had made the decision to go to seminary (I'm still not sure what that means), if I was familiar with the seminary's statement of faith, and if I had done enough research about the school to make a good decision. This line of questioning was not pastoral; it was accusatory and humiliating and demeaning. And it still makes me question whether he took issue with my choice of school or my choice to go to seminary as a woman. I'll never know.

I cried. I sat in my chair and bawled. Jay sat in his chair and boiled. There were plenty of people who tried to be comforting, but the best offer anybody made was that maybe I should go to a more evangelical school in Boston, as though the draw of the school was its location and nothing else. Unable to stand anymore, we left. For the last time.

I went to a few Bible studies that summer, but I never again stepped foot in that church. The last Bible study I went to had the leader asking the rest of the group for suggestions of steps I could take if asked to, say, give answers on a Theology test, should the "correct" answers be at odds with "what I really believed." Yeah, I was done after that.

It has taken a long time for me to realize that those men who approached me were really doing so out of concern. Maybe not for me, but they were nonetheless concerned. Maybe they were concerned that my decision to stray from what they believed was right was somehow a reflection on the church, somehow an indication that they had failed to teach me the right thing. As a parent now, I get that. That doesn't make it right, but I get it.

And the twist of the knife came when Jay and I were living in California. I received a package in the mail from someone from that church, I don't even remember who anymore. It announced a retirement party for the pastor, and requested that everyone create a scrapbook page of sorts for him and his wife. It took every ounce of my being not to take that scrapbook page and pour all of my hatred and anger and hurt all over it in pictures and in words. It's hard to believe that someone there knew how to find me all the way in California, but never tried to make any other connection.

So it hurts to look at those pictures I mentioned a few days ago. It hurts because it's like looking at a family that stopped loving me, that made it clear that I wasn't welcome to come back until I decided to play by their rules. And yet, even that experience has clarified my call to pastoral ministry: My church had it right, to a point. Where they stopped loving, I want to continue. Where they were humiliating and demeaning, I want to be gracious.

That church showed me the very best of what a church should be, and the very worst of what a church can be.

First, the Sweet

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 03:44:00 +0000

When I was in 5th grade or so, my parents decided that we should start going to a new church. The church that we had been attending had no kids my age and it was about a 30 minute drive from our house. I was already attending AWANA at the church were we ended up, and it was only 5 minutes from home, so it seemed a logical choice.

I loved that place. I was there every time the doors opened, and if I wasn't there, I wanted to be. As I was looking at the pictures that I mentioned yesterday, I saw the faces of so many people who loved me and nurtured me and helped me become the person I am now (although I imagine some of them would be mighty concerned about the person I am now). They were funny and generous and kind and giving and warm, and most of them realized that they needed to be the village for the young people in the church. The adults in that church were our prayer support when we went on mission trips, many of them were our mentors, and they all sincerely cared about who we were and what we were up to. They wanted us to be the best people we could be, and they wanted us to live our faith. But they weren't single-minded about church. Many were just as interested in what we were learning in Algebra as whether we could recite Psalm 23. I felt at home there, and I knew that I could trust any one of those adults with anything I was feeling or thinking. If every kid could have a village like that, the world would be a much better place.

Our youth pastor was amazing. He was a single guy, but not in an immature, "I've got too much to do before I settle down"kind of way. He believed that he was called to singleness so that he could focus on serving others through the church. And he did. We went on amazing mission trips and we had great outreach activities. He didn't give us a pass because we were young. We were expected to serve the church and serve others and to be serious about it. He expected us to study the Bible and be able to articulate what it meant for our lives. And he loved us. It was clear that his whole heart was dedicated to making us disciples.

So I wanted to be at church when I was growing up. The people there were the very best of what we hope others think of when they think "Christian." In my ordination papers I talked a lot about my love of this church and their love for me, and how much that love influenced my decision to go into pastoral ministry. I wish that every person who ever darkened the door of a church could have (most of) the kind of experience I had there. And my hope as a pastor is both that I can be part of creating that kind of church, and that I can help churches learn how to be that kind of church.

But there is bitter with the sweet.

Memories

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 04:23:00 +0000

I just happened upon a collection of 150+ pictures from the 50th anniversary celebration of the church where I did a good bit of my growing up. So many of the faces are the same, albeit with a little more gray hair and a lot more kids. And I'm amazed that a place that caused so much pain for me can also hold so many sweet memories. I can't process much more today due to sheer exhaustion, but I imagine I'll have more to say soon.

A Birthday Party

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 04:42:00 +0000

Today was Joshua's fourth birthday party, and boy were we ever lucky. Joshua had invited four friends whose families would also be coming, of course, and the weather was unbelievable. The temperature was perfect, the sun was shining...it was great. That was a good thing since 24 people would have never fit into my house.

So we played outside, went on a scavenger hunt, ate good food, exchanged books, opened a few presents for Joshua, and had some cake. The best part was being surrounded by my village. The friends that Joshua chose were his friends whose parents are also good friends of Jay's and mine. They are the people whose children are precious to us and with whom we were trust our own children in a heartbeat. And of course my parents and Jay's parents were here too, which made everything as perfect as it could possibly be.

It was one of those days when I look around and wonder how I lucked out like this. How I got friends as good as these who love my children and whose children are precious to me. I trust them and love them, and their company is always good for whatever state my soul is in. I had a minute here and there to take it all in and it was good. And Joshua might've had some fun too.

This is the tree cake that Joshua requested, by the way. Why? We don't know. When asked what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday he said, "A tree cake." And there you have it.

The birthday boy's most treasured present.

Flashback Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 04:22:00 +0000

Joshua Christian Bernheisel, born November 13, 2005 at 10:18 a.m. 9 pounds, 5 ounces, 21.5 inches long. To read his birth story, go here.

Four Years Ago

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 03:31:00 +0000

My due date was November 8th, so I made my last Sunday of work November 6th. I made sure that the service would be covered by laypeople should I not be there on the 6th, but not to worry, Joshua had no intention of leaving. As the week wore on I stopped answering phone calls. I left the house only to eat spicy food and go on long walks. As far as I was concerned, Joshua was happy where he was and I was going to be pregnant forever, and I didn't really want to talk about it.

But there was that Tuesday, his due date. I was in desperate need of something to take my mind off the fact that I was going to be pregnant forever, so I got a haircut. When the girl who was cutting my hair asked me when the baby was due and I said, "Today," I thought she was going to drop a kidney right there on the floor. "Don't worry," I said. "He's not coming anytime soon."

Four years ago right now we were on our way to the hospital. I had been having contractions since about noon and they were getting worse, or so I thought. There would be another trip to the hospital this night, and I had no idea just how much my life was about to change.

Choose Your Own Adventure

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 02:32:00 +0000

So I took this interim position with the understanding that it would last until January 1, and I certainly trusted that the DS would do whatever she could do make a permanent appointment by that time. The contingency plan was that if she couldn't make a permanent appointment, the church would continue with an interim until July, and I would get right of first refusal if the church still wanted me around.

Rock. Meet hard place. I was distraught, realizing how much I love this church and how hard this has been on my family. I mean, we're not suffering, but Jay and I are two ships passing in the night and my house looks like a tornado has come through--even more than usual. But what would I say if they asked me to stay. This kept me up many a night.

But an appointment has been made. There is a new pastor ready to start in January and as far as I know everyone is thrilled with the arrangement. My heart broke just a tiny bit knowing that our pastor/parish relationship would definitely be ending at the beginning of the year, but it also meant that I didn't have to make any difficult decisions. Let's hear it for no difficult decisions.

A Job and a Calling (Part II)

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 03:24:00 +0000

So there I was, excited and not sure how it happened. Wondering how I could focus enough in the snippets of time I have here and there to write a sermon. Wondering how I, who hates to drive with a passion, was going to make the one-hour-each-way commute three times a week. But I was excited.

Our conversation took place on a Wednesday, and on that same day I also had a great conversation with the Chair of the Pastor-Parish Relations Committee. Between 9:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. the deal had been done and I was thrilled. Not lazy. Not lethargic. Not dread-filled. Thrilled. I decided not to start that Sunday but instead went the next Wednesday. I spent the afternoon with the PPR chair and enjoyed dinner with the congregation, who turned out en force for potluck dinner and Bible Study. By the time I got home I was worn out. And happy. What made me even happier was that Joshua and Clare couldn't have cared less that I wasn't around. Phew.

And as I maintained my energy and enthusiasm I realized the difference between a job and a calling. Everything else I've done--or considered doing--since we moved to Jackson (other than taking care of my children, of course) has been a job. This is a calling. This gives me energy. It inspires me like nothing else has. It allows me to use some gifts that I haven't visited in awhile.

I still don't know what this means for my future, when I'll go back, whether I'll go back full-time or part-time, what kind of appointment I'd like to have. I do know this: No other experience in my life has cemented for my understanding of "call" more than this has. It is part of my soul now. I will not forget.

A Job and a Calling (Part I)

noreply@blogger.com (Mary Beth) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 03:32:00 +0000

It only took several months after we moved here to realize just how much the change from two incomes to one would affect our monthly budget, so I decided to pursue some freelance editing work. I would never dare call myself an Editor because there are people out there who really are Editors and I am just a poser. But I found out soon enough that there was pocket change to be made from my self-honed skills. So I have been doing freelance editing--and some writing--since January 2007. Some of it is really fun and some is tedious, but the spare cash has always been enough of a motivator to stick with it. For example, right now I am working for an HR firm and have been editing research reports. And most recently I edited the script for an eLearning course that they're getting ready to release. Like I said, some of it is really interesting.

And as my Family Leave is drawing to a close (I have 1.5 years left) and I'm thinking about what my children's educational future will look like (home school? private school? public school?), my thoughts obviously turn to my future employment. Return to the local church part time? Full time? Find another job altogether where I can have summers off like Jay does? Stick with the freelance work and hope I can get enough business to make a significant impact on our household income? I've also thought about things like teaching Kindermusik or private piano lessons. Really, there's not much I haven't considered.

The thought of doing freelance editing forever makes me feel wilty and uninspired. Most other options remind me of how lazy I am and how willing I am to sit and do nothing as an alternative to doing something that would require lots of effort but that doesn't really interest me.

And then my District Superintendent left a voicemail message. When I first heard her I thought she might just be asking me to fill in for a pastor for one Sunday, but then she said she had an interim opportunity until January.

That's when I surprised even myself.

I considered it.

As I look back on it now, I realize how odd it was for me to want to know more. Even now I wonder why I didn't dismiss it outright, thinking that it wasn't the right time. That I was even interested in hearing more is still dumbfounding. And yet I didn't dismiss it. I even got a little flutter in my stomach. I wanted to call her back right then, but it was late, and I thought maybe I could wait until morning.

I planned to wait until early afternoon the next day, but when I got up I realized I couldn't wait. So I begged Joshua and Clare to play quietly together while I called her back. They did. I did. I got the details from my DS and got more and more excited. So what that it was a two-point charge? So what that it was an hour away? So what that it was in a town I couldn't even find on a map?

I called Jay and asked him to meet me while Joshua was at Kindermusik. In my mind it was a done deal. The only issue I needed to resolve for myself was whether it would require outside childcare. Outside childcare would be a deal-breaker, but if Jay and I could arrange our schedules so that it wasn't necessary, then I was ready to go.

I'm still amazed by the fact that I was so energized by the prospect when every other job prospect, real or potential, made me feel tired and lazy. I'm still surprised that I didn't immediately think, "No way." It still doesn't make sense.

More tomorrow.