As we celebrate Father’s Day, I am very blessed to have an incredible partner not only in life but also in ministry. Recently in the news, a couple in their 80′s was asked what was the secret to a long and happy marriage. They replied dressing alike. For the past 35 years, their outfits matched. While my husband and I won’t be dressing alike (at least on purpose) any time soon, I just want to recognize that he is a great pastor/father/husband a woman could ask for.

For me, the signs are a little different. It is watching my kids sprawled out on the chancel before worship playing with their toys. It is the fact that little “Evelyn” felt comfortable enough to ask for prayers for her hurt leg during Prayers of the People. It is knowing that members in the church will spontaneously rise up when they notice there are no ushers to pass the offering baskets. And it is hearing the little whispers of children, purrs of little babies, and the shuffle of walking toddlers during worship that also remind me I am not only blessed to work at this church but that this church is my home.

What are signs that you are home?

For one, it is common that I miss flights because I forgot I had one or book them at the wrong time, day, or destination. Today’s flight is a perfect example. I was supposed to book my flight leaving from and returning to Reno, where I dropped off my kids to stay with family. Instead I did what I normally did and booked it to and from San Francisco. This meant that I drove the three hours there and back within two days. Now before you say, “Theresa, why didn’t you just pay the extra to rebook your flight?” I should also say that I’m cheap. And before the gas prices went up, I would have saved probably $30. If you still think I should have rebooked then all I have to say is I blame it on my father’s cheapness which rubbed off on me.

Today, I took it to a whole new level. My theory is because I was already taken out of my normal routine. 1) today is Sunday and I’m not at church; 2) my kids aren’t home so I had a nice quiet evening with my husband; and 3) I’m still recovering from the long drive. So it is understandable that I woke up so late this morning that I had to jar my husband awake to rush me to the airport. I didn’t even have time to brush my teeth and hair, only to realize when we got to the airport that I printed the wrong itinerary for a later trip, different airline, different time and day. My real flight was just taking off.

Don’t worry, the story ends well. I was able to catch another flight. The only casualty was probably my husband who had to witness it all and drive me to the airport at 5 am. All this to say, pastor/mothers need routine or the illusion of one, otherwise they unravel.

Afterwards, we watched the movie “The Joy Luck Club.” If you haven’t watched it, the movie is about the relationship between four daughters and their respective mothers. In a previous blog, I shared my experience in watching this movie with my mother when it first came out:

There is a scene in the movie where June is in the kitchen with her mother.  They are cleaning up after a dinner party.  June’s mother looks over at her and asks, “Are you angry with me?” and June responds, “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.  I’m sorry I’m such a terrible daughter.”  Surprised by her response, her mother asks her what she is talking about and says, “You are not a disappointment.  All my hopes and dreams I put on you.”  June continues to say, “Every time you put your hopes and dreams on me, I feel like a failure because I can not live up to them.  I wish you would see me for me.  Why can’t you see me . . .me . . . the real me?”  June’s mother looks into her eyes, takes off her jade necklace and begins to put it around June’s neck.  She gently responds, “I do see you.  I see you.”

My whole life I longed for my mother to see me.  I longed for that moment that June had with her mother where her mother finally saw her.  I took my mother to this movie, hoping that this scene would become a reality in my life.  During the movie, my mother and I laughed, cried, and bonded over the stories of the mothers and daughters.  After the movie, I turned to my mother in anticipation that my mother would turn to me and finally see me for me.  As my mother wiped away her tears, she slowly turns to me and . . . blurts out, “Do you see what those mothers went through for their daughters?  Do you see how ungrateful the daughters were to their mother’s sacrifice and suffering?”  And just like that, my moment had gone.

This scene epitomizes the generational and cultural tension between my mother and me. Today being Pentecost and the birthday of the church, I think about how my daughter’s birthday is coming up. As my daughter turns four in a couple weeks, I wonder what our relationship will blossom into. Will I see her? Will she see me? That’s my hope.

Depending on the location of your church, you are able to see all the people trotting to and from the event. Compared to the location of my last church, jogging super heroes and clowns are a lot easier to explain than the buttless chaps you see at the Folsom Street Fair. If you are unfamiliar with the Folsom Street Fair, just Google it. Not to say there aren’t any bare butts at Bay to Breakers, especially when the sun is out today. But when they are standing in the midst of other costumed people, it’s easier to redirect my kids attention by saying – “Look, it’s a pink gorilla!”

The last few years I have turned Mother’s Day into a day to celebrate all women in the church. Since carnations are affiliated with Mother’s Day, I bought Gerber Daisies instead and had the kids pass them out to all the women in the church during the kids’ time.

Last year, I wrote this blog post about “Living the Resurrection on Mother’s Day,” comparing what it would be like for Mary and mothers to hold grief and joy, death and resurrection at the same time.

I am grateful for my mother and mother-in-law who have sacrificed so much for family and love. I am grateful for good girlfriends who are also aunties to my children and help keep me sane so that I don’t give my kids more reasons to seek therapy in the future. I am thankful for my sister who commiserates and share the ups and downs of life with me. I am thankful for my women mentors who have shown me that I can be a pastor and a mother.

And mostly, I am thankful for women who make this world a better place.

As a pastor/mom/moderator, I try to balance the long meetings with some perks, like new coloring books, games, and snacks. It also doesn’t hurt that this particular meeting, my kids got to taste test the 200 sugar cookie crosses I baked and decorated to hand out to each commissioner.

I feel blessed that both my church and presbytery fully embrace the fact that they called not just me as a pastor or moderator, but the whole family. They have been wonderful in giving my kids space to be themselves as well as give them the attention and support that they need. That gift does not go unnoticed.

My hope for them as they grow up in the church is that it is a positive and enriching experience for them. I pray that they don’t feel the pressure to conform in any way, but feel the freedom to explore in faith, identity, and call and that the church was a nurturing place for them to do that. I pray they never lose the free spirit that they feel at church like this . . . when my baby girl yesterday was dancing on the chancel while the choir practices.

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Turns out that I didn’t need my baby girl to deliver any unexpected distractions. I was pretty good at doing it myself. Who put the wrong season and date on the bulletin? What? It’s not the season of Lent or March 11? Oops! Good thing I already made hundreds of copies of the bulletin. For some reason, the perfectionist in me wasn’t bothered because I was wearing new shoes. It may seem shallow, but it’s amazing how something like new shoes can make you feel better about yourself . . . which actually was the main point of my sermon. Not shoes, but that we are enough . . . that God loves us just as we are and that we are worthy of God’s compassion and forgiveness.

I recently had to write a blog about motherhood mantras: those sayings we say to ourselves as mothers to get through they day. My mantra is “It’s good enough.” In many ways, by accepting that “it’s good enough” what I’m really accepting is that I’m good enough.

It’s not easy as a mother to accept that. It’s not easy for anyone to accept that we are enough. My hope is that if I keep saying it to myself, it will be easier to believe. I have to say, the new shoes help.

As a woman, it is always a challenge to find the appropriate attire – one that is professional, yet comfortable; attractive, yet not too revealing. As a female pastor, I have gotten used to being scrutinized over what I wear, whether it is a compliment or a critique. The challenge came when I become a mother as well. If I wore something that needed dry cleaning, I was always concerned that my children’s sticky hands would get all over it. I couldn’t wear heels that were too high, just in case I needed to go into a full out sprint when my daughter darted out the front church doors. I tried to wear separates so that if I didn’t escape the chocolate stained hands at least I wouldn’t have to wash the whole outfit. And don’t get me started on the hair.

As my children got older, the challenges of my choice in attire reached a whole new level. Living in a city where church attendance is less than 10% means that most events take place on Sundays: marathons, festivals, birthday parties, and school events. This means that my parishioners often have to choose between going to church or a school function and birthday party. This is particularly difficult for me because it is not a choice for me. On days such as those, I try and dart away as soon as church is over so that my son can at least show up in time for the main event or the birthday cake.

Today was no different. My son had a birthday party to go to – at the beach no less. With no time to spare, I had to figure out what to wear to church today. That’s when it hit me – business in the front and party in the back or in my case, business on top and casual on the bottom. Do  I do the suit jacket with jeans? The urban hip look. Do I do a blouse with a casual skirt? That’s beachy cool.

In the end, it didn’t matter. The San Francisco fog rolled in and I had to go home anyway to change into a sweater and scarf.

I just spent a week in Hawaii visiting Japanese, Chinese, and Korean immigrant churches. First, 1.5, and second generation Korean-American pastors gathered together to get a glimpse of immigrant churches in the future. Because Asians immigrated to Hawaii first, we are able to see how churches have evolved or not evolved in the third and fourth generations. A common theme in these congregations is the lack of presence of the next generation.

I think about that with my children and how they feel comfortable and welcome in worship. I may not be able to control where or even if my kids will go to church, but I can do my best to give them a positive, meaningful, and welcoming experience. Today, my kids got to explore the story of the empty tomb through interactive prayer stations. As a pastor, I was pleased to see them engaged in the story. As a mother, I was thankful that this faith community makes it possible for them to explore their faith in a way that suits them.

The season of Easter is sure exhausting, but it’s a good exhaustion.

Today was Easter, which means the church was full of people. Imagine then me standing up and giving announcements only to feel a draft coming up my leg. Not a warm draft as if I was standing on a heater grate. Not a billowy draft as if a subway was passing by. But a subtle draft that can only come from my 3 year old daughter who has hiked my skirt up to my thigh so that she could stroke my leg. Let’s just say the church got an Easter show they were not planning on. What’s worse is that she kept doing it.

Christ was not the only one rising that day. If my baby girl had anything to do with it, my skirt has risen as well.

Who hates balloons? My daughter that’s who. Of course, this came after screaming in the grocery store. Silly me to think I could make a quick stop before worship to get ice.

Who hates balloons? Apparently, my daughter, but she doesn’t hate communion bread, which she loudly demanded during worship. Conveniently enough, it wasn’t during or after communion, but BEFORE. So, I did what any pastor/mother would do to quickly quiet her screaming child. I gave it to her. And there you see a picture of her holding the communion bread, grinning from ear to ear as if she had won first prize.

And I honestly have to say that I think I hate balloons now. In other news: the worship service went really well.

Last week, my daughter came out of preschool Sunday school quite upset. The Sunday School teacher told me that she wanted to sit in a particular seat. The problem was that a boy was already sitting in the seat. When he refused to get out of the seat, my daughter stared him down. In fact, she stared him down the whole entire class time.

Today was a day when I truly felt like a pastor/mother. The mother of the boy came up to me today to share with me that her son was scared to go to Sunday School. He usually loves Sunday School, but her son said that my daughter doesn’t like him anymore. As a pastor, I felt bad that my daughter intimidated him so. As a mother, we both chuckled at the drama of 3 year olds. At that moment, the boy walked by and I witnessed my daughter point at him and say, “Hey, you are my friend.” And just like that, the fight was over. I imagine I will be seeing him in preschool Sunday School next time.

I imagine my daughter’s attitude is part her own personality mixed in with the “teenage” years and compounded by being a double PK. God be with us all as we enter the 4′s.

I love looking through some of the old photos, especially the 1950′s during the church’s heyday. My favorite pictures are the pictures of the elders who are all men and another official club, the elders’ wives club. So, I guess if you were single, divorced, or a woman, you couldn’t be an elder. I wonder how surprised they would be if they knew that in the future, there would not only be a majority of women elders, but also a woman pastor. Fortunately, my church is very used to and accepting of having a woman as a pastor. They are used to seeing me preach with babe in arms. They are used to seeing my baby girl circling around me as I pray. Nothing seems to faze them really, which is a gift to me as a pastor/mother. But having kids in church is a gift to the church as well.

This year, I am moderator of my presbytery. Although we do have childcare, my kids usually like to sit with us during the meeting. However, with me being up front most of the time, it means that my children will be up on the chancel or even better . . . in the pulpit . . . literally. Last year, as vice moderator, I would stress about what to do with my kids when I moderated and my husband who is the chair of Committee on Ministry gave his report. We initially forked out money to pay for a babysitter, but 8 hours plus minimum wage on a pastor’s salary does not equate. This year, I let that stress go. If the presbytery called a pastor couple as leaders in the church then for us, it is a family affair. Whether you like it or not, you called the whole family.

Luckily my kids actually like presbytery meetings. My son still thinks they are as fun as Disneyland. When my term is over, I will actually have to take my kids to Disneyland to show them how untrue that statement is . . . AND to put off the need for therapy until the future. God bless double PK’s.

I’m convinced that Daylight Savings Time is some cruel joke on either parents or pastors. And if you are both, then it is doubly cruel, especially when you lose an hour. Daylight Savings Time only seems to affect pastors anyway because we have to make sure that we show up to church on time. And kids are immune to Daylight Savings because no matter what the time is my kids are still going to wake up at 6am.

As an associate pastor, I rarely preach, which is actually fine by me because I have enough to do then add a sermon to my to-do list. This Sunday, not only did I have to do my usual Sunday tasks of setting up Sunday School and refereeing the occasional fight between my kids, but I also had to preach because my Head of Staff was on vacation. Usually, I’m up for the job, but then you add an hour of lost sleep and the stress of wondering if the Sunday School teachers and those on duty will remember to show up on time and I’m one tired pastor/mother.

I think for next year, I can do one of two things: start a petition to end Daylight Savings Time once and for all OR refuse to change my clocks and go about the world on my own time, which means I will either be late for everything or early for everything depending on whether I spring forward or fall back. But let’s face it, I’m too tired to start a petition and I already show up for things at the wrong time and even the wrong days anyway, so no one will really know the difference.

I guess it’s best to just suck it up, stop complaining, and take a nap.

Now that I’m a parent, I can completely sympathize with Jesus’ parents. Jesus runs away. Mary and Joseph are worried. They search for him. They find him. And I love Jesus’ response, “Why are you looking for me?” – as if he can’t fathom why his parents are overreacting. This past week has been quite a doozy with my 3 year old. She not only says “no” to everything, but says it in the most melodramatic way possible. She tested my patience to the point where I almost broke. She discovered her new favorite cuss word. She insists on doing everything independently. She yells at her brother and dog for no apparent reason or if they give her contact.

In many ways, I can see a lot of resemblance between my 3 year old and Jesus. I’m not saying that Jesus is precocious, but I find that my 3 year old gives me the same opportunities to grow as my own relationship with Jesus. Here is what I learned from my 3 year old this week:

“I Like My Cheek Butts!”

This is what my daughter told me after taking a bath. In fact, she rarely hesitates to appreciate herself, whether it is how she looks in a dress, her dance moves, or in this case, her cheek butts. I love the fact that she fully accepts herself in every way that God has created her. And isn’t that how it should be – fully embracing the unique way that God has created us.

“NO, I’M Losing My Patience with YOU!!”

After refusing to eat dinner, take a bath, and go to bed, I told my daughter that I am losing my patience with her to which she quickly replied (and in a much louder voice, I must add), “NO, I’M losing my patience with YOU!” I give it to my daughter that she can certainly hold her own and is not quickly influenced by what appears to be my own reality. If what I say doesn’t jive with her own perspective, she will quickly point that out. She is so convincing that it makes me pause and reevaluate the situation. I often feel that with God, especially when I am losing my patience with God. I don’t get an answer fast enough. The situation doesn’t get better fast enough. I don’t get what I want fast enough if ever.

“Princesses Wear a Dress, Eye Glasses, and Ice Skates.”

I love that my daughter isn’t a girly princess. She is more of a ninja princess or an ice skating, near-sighted princess. Her ability to be original and think outside the box always impresses me. I love routine and being comfortable as much as the next person, but I always do feel God calling me out of my comfort zone or to see things in a new way.

“MOM, I FARTED REALLY LOUD!”

Imagine yourself in a library – a quiet library. Parents are quietly reading to their kids. And then all of a sudden, cutting through the silence, I hear a really loud fart, followed by a very proud 3 year old yelling, “MOM, I FARTED REALLY LOUD!” My daughter never ceases to surprise me, especially in the most unexpected places. God has a way of doing that too, surprising me when I least expect it – reminding me of God’s grace in the most depressing times; reminding me of God’s love in the most loneliest times; and reminding me of God’s forgiveness when I least deserve it.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

This week, I almost signed my daughter up for anger management classes. It’s one thing to constantly say “no,” but to say it with such volume and disdain is quite exacerbating. It is not a side I like to see of my cute, little girl. It’s not a side I like to see in God. And although, I would like to skip over all the stories where God is angry, I know it is those stories that I need to continue to wrestle with and sit with. Maybe I need to do what I do with my daughter when she is like that. Instead of yelling back at her, which just makes her angrier or walking away from her, which just makes her angrier, I usually just sit with her and wait it out.

“I Can Do It Myself!”

Every morning, my daughter insists on buckling herself into her car seat. If I help her in the slightest way, she will start the process all over again. She is painstakingly slow. The problem with this is that I am usually in a rush to get to church. Today was no different. If I buckle her in without her consent, it is a long and very loud car ride to church. Picture her screaming and blowing snot out her nose for the whole 7 miles to church. It’s best to let her do things on her own time, even if it clearly inconveniences me. Many times, I feel that God’s time is not my time. Why should I feel that it will be any different with my daughter.

“What the F@$K!”

This is what came out of my innocent daughter’s mouth on Saturday morning. She was playing cartoons on my iPhone when she chose a cartoon that said, “What the F@$K!” She immediately squealed with delight – pure delight – and began repeating that phrase over and over again. Trying not to overreact, I told her that was a bad word to which she responded, “No it’s not. It’s a good word because it feels so good.” How can I argue with that? It’s true. Sometimes, it just feels good to say it. Sometimes, no other word will describe the situation. And that’s the truth. While I don’t condone my daughter repeating that phrase, I’m impressed how such a young girl can speak such truth.

And there you have it – things I have learned about God from my 3 year old this week. I can barely handle my 3 year old, I couldn’t imagine what Jesus was like at 3.

I can relate to this scene where a dilemma presents itself, in this case, they ran out of wine. And Jesus saves the day by turning water into wine. We often refer to this as one of Jesus’ first miracles. What I appreciate about what Jesus did is his ability to improvise.

As a pastor/mother, my kids often give me many opportunities to improvise. In the case of today, I had no one to give credit to but myself. Nothing like forgetting to bring the key ingredient to church for Sunday School – can’t make matzoh without flour – or having the preschoolers learn about Moses and misplacing the book; or forgetting that this Sunday had interactive prayer stations, which uses the preschool Sunday School tables; or running out of bulletins and having to quietly steal them from couples so that I could hand them out to visitors.

Well, what does one do when things just seem to go wrong? Improvise! What’s even better is having people willing to improvise alongside you so that no one really knew any better. While I’m a person that prefers to be prepared, there is something refreshing about having to improvise. I had a renewed sense of appreciation for my teachers who are confident to just wing it. I was pleasantly surprised that attendance in worship increased beyond our usual numbers. I may not have turned water into wine, but getting through today without any major bumps in the road was nothing short of a miracle.

In a couple hours, I leave for Next Conference where a lot of focus will be about how churches engage, thrive, and adapt ministry for today and the future. I believe there is something to improvisation. As dilemmas present themselves, churches must have the ability and openness to improvise. Try something, see how it pans out, and change accordingly. Let us open ourselves to the spirit and allow God to surprise us in amazing ways.

This picture was taken last year when we celebrated the 20th anniversary of my Head of Staff. The kids laid hands on him as I led them in a prayer. I love this photo because of what it represents. At my church, we take the baptismal vows very seriously, especially our commitment to nurture, teach, and support the kids and their families. What is wonderful about having children in worship is what they end up teaching us.

My kids are getting older and so they no longer spend the majority of worship glued to my side. Instead for the first half of worship, they participate in a segregated program and return for the last half of worship. Most of the time during worship, I sit in the back of the sanctuary to observe. At the back of the sanctuary is where most of the toddlers are walking back and forth and wandering about. Sitting in the back helps me as a pastor/mother evaluate how worshippers are engaged and what obstacles might prohibit them from participating comfortably.

Today, there was an almost 2 year old walking around like he owned the place. While my Head of Staff was preaching, he would casually walk up the middle aisle and entice people to play peek-a-boo with him. He would stare them straight in the eyes until they responded back to him. By the time the choir director was leading the choir in the anthem, he walked up right behind her and mimicked her every move. Eventually, he joined the choir on the chancel steps with such confidence. Later, as his parents brought up the offering, he snuggled in his mother’s arms as if he had passed the baskets out himself.

Following, copying, mimicking, and exploring are ways that we learn and experience church, faith, and life. I am grateful that this church gives this almost 2 year old the freedom to explore at his will and comfort. I think as adults we need to extend that same kind of grace to each other as we follow, copy, explore, and even test our own commitments and beliefs. Like kids, may we freely sing hymns even if we can’t sing or don’t know the tune; may we get up close and personal to the rituals and the word instead of sitting in the back; may we greet each other with same amount of intention; and may we allow ourselves to wander and explore never letting our curiosity dim.

This morning, my daughter and I sported the side ponytail. Lately, she has been wanting to copy me in putting on lipstick, painting toenails, and now the side ponytail. It’s quite adorable to watch her decide what attributes of mine to copy.

If I think about it, I probably have my own list of things that I hope she would learn from me that goes beyond my side ponytail. I hope that I am able to teach her the importance of love and sharing that love with others. I hope that I can rub off on her a sense of hospitality – an ability to tap into her inner Martha Stewart.

I’ve been thinking about the art of hospitality and how important it is in one’s life and ministry. My church is very intentional about making worship a place that is hospitable to families with young children – removing barriers that make it difficult for them to feel comfortable. For example, allowing food and drinks in the sanctuary or providing space for strollers and crawling babies.

Lately, I’ve been having the older kids in Sunday School reflect on how their behavior contributes or prevents others from feeling comfortable. For example, when they play chase in the sanctuary, how does that make our senior members in walkers or parents with crawling babies feel?

Today, the kids learned about the Good Samaritan and made “Good Samaritan First Aid Kits.” Inside the kit were different objects that reminded them of how the Samaritan extended care and hospitality to a person in need. One of the objects was a heart that symbolized God’s love, the kind of love expressed in 1 John 4.

I imagine in a blink of an eye, my daughter will be borrowing more from me than a side ponytail – like money from my wallet or my clothes. But as she grows up, I’ll do my best to be a good role model of showing her how to love by loving her the best way I can.

It is wonderful when a baptismal community is a place where you don’t have to explain yourself. It is a place full of people that have had similar experiences and speak a vocabulary that you understand. NAPC has been that place for many clergywomen. For me, my baptismal community has been the Korean American Presbyterian Clergywomen (KAPCW). These women have been my teachers, mentors, mothers, sisters, and confidants.

I had never been on a cruise, so I didn’t quite know what to expect. I did know however that I get sea sick. It’s one thing to keynote a conference and wanting to do your best and another thing to keynote at a conference when you are unsure of your environment. Luckily, I had four of my Asian clergywomen sisters, who signed up for the cruise when they heard I was keynoting. They provided support, sanity, laughter, fun, and companionship. They were looking out for me and were there to provide me with support when I didn’t even know I would need it. They have been every part of my spiritual, professional, and personal growth over the years.

They make me a better pastor/mother. Because these sisters look out for me even before I know I need it, I am able to receive the respite and care I need and reciprocate it back to them. Thank you Marion, Mary, Ann, and Mariko.

It’s been a while since I’ve preached. So, when I saw the options from the lectionary texts, I was scratching my head on deciding whether to preach on prophets, demons, or idols. I chose idols. Not because it was any easier than the three, but January is my church’s stewardship month. This particular Sunday was the day we were asking people to consider their commitment of resources, time, and energy to this particular faith community.

In 1 Corinthians 8, Paul speaks to a divided community over the matter of food sacrificed idols. And without taking sides he says, if we have a choice of being right or being loving, choose loving. I really am blessed and grateful to be in a community that chooses to be loving over being right. We don’t all agree theologically or politically, but we do believe in extending tremendous grace and flexibility to one another – so that if a baby is crying that is okay; if my daughter is playing under my robe while I preach that is okay; if the pews get moved for the 100th time that is okay.

I realize community is especially important when one’s Head of Staff is still recovering from surgery, the choir director breaks her wrist, the guest preacher backs out, the coffee grinder goes missing, and the Sunday School teacher shows up late. The only thing stopping “community” from helping me out is myself.

Thank you to all the parishioners who asked what they could do to help; Deb, the parish associate, for stepping in last minute to preach; Ryan, the intern, for holding down the fort. I also am grateful for my baby girl who was holding on to the ropes of my wrap around sweater while I was giving the benediction. As I said, “May Christ’s peace be with you as you go out into the world” and began to exit the sanctuary, I could barely walk forward because she was tugging on the ropes of my sweater. In her own small way, I was reminded to slow down and not hurry. Sometimes the world can wait. I picked up my daughter and we exited together.

]]> http://theresaecho.com/2012/01/23/a-sunday-4-in-the-life-of-a-pastormother-just-add-water/ Tue, 24 Jan 2012 00:13:20 +0000 Theresa E Cho http://theresaecho.com/2012/01/23/a-sunday-4-in-the-life-of-a-pastormother-just-add-water/

For Christmas, my son got Sea Monkeys in his stocking. Basically, you just add water to the packet and after 24 hours, little sea monkeys should begin to grow. Water has that effect on things. Just add water and life will happen. That’s what my Sunday was like.

After months of no rain, we have had lots of needed rain these past few days. In fact, it started raining Thursday, which is probably when my already busy life just got busier. As the saying goes, “When it rains, it pours.” I already knew this Sunday would be a little crazier than usual knowing that my Head of Staff is recovering from surgery and our intern was off that day as well. We had a guest preacher scheduled so at least I didn’t have to preach. But I wouldn’t have been nervous about that anyway. When my Head of Staff is gone, my nervousness centers around making coffee, which is not a gift that God gave me. The only hope I can have with the coffee I make is that it doesn’t turn new visitors away.

But this Sunday was a day that was truly mixed with blessings and chaos, depending on how much water was added to the mix. Water seems to have that effect. The bible is full of stories of how water can be destructive as well as healing. In addition to going to my church, as moderator of my presbytery, I  had the pleasure of going to a colleague’s church to install him as pastor. Sojourner Truth Presbyterian Church has waited ten years to finally have an installed pastor so there was a lot to celebrate on this day. And that’s what the installation truly was. While the downpour rain surely made it chaotic to transport my kids from one place to another, the symbolism of water used at the installation was refreshing and healing.

The newly installed Rev. Kamal Hassan began the service by pouring water into the baptismal font, inviting us to name our ancestors that came before us and whose spirit and memory is ever present with us. I instantly remembered my husband’s grandfather who passed away a couple years ago. He named both my children, whose name coincidentally means “water.” Not the chaotic water. The peaceful water. The still water that you read in Psalm 23.

I tried to remember that every time my baby girl stage dived off the chancel. I’m grateful that Kamal didn’t seem to mind her liturgically dancing and interpreting the constitutional questions when installing him. After all, whether peaceful or chaotic, when you add water, you get life.

You see, today was a day we call “Interactive Sunday,” where we set up interactive prayer stations in worship. On these Sundays, we don’t have any Sunday School programs because the stations are meant to be intergenerational. Only yesterday morning, did I wake up and realize the mix-up. Now, you can say, “Theresa, everyone does that every now and then.” Except that, I literally spent the week planning for both the interactive prayer stations and Sunday School this Sunday without realizing it. It was as if my right brain and my left brain weren’t aware of what the other was thinking. Usually I would just shrug it off but I am aware that next Sunday we have a guest preacher because my Head of Staff will be having hip replacement surgery this week and no Sunday School planned. So, it will be all me for a while.

With all this on my mind, this pastor/mother was a bit frazzled. Running 15 minutes late, I rushed the kids into the car, ignored the empty gas light that was on, and managed to accidentally drop my 3 year old on the ground while taking her out of her car seat. My saving grace really is my congregation, who after noticing the mix-up of programs, volunteered to help me put together an impromptu Sunday School program for next week.

Luckily the casualties were minor this time for this frazzled mom: I lost a few more brain cells; my son was only mildly neglected; and my baby girl has a little scraped arm. Nothing that McDonald’s can’t fix.

Epiphany for me always feels like the official start of the new year. Yes, there is something about counting down the last few seconds of the last year, but Epiphany for me signifies Christmas is over and a new season has started. I was hoping to ease into 2012 but already my calendar seems stretched all the way to April. Even now, I am sitting at an airport ready to board a flight to my second PCUSA type church-related meeting of the year.

I’m thankful as a pastor/mother to have a wonderful pastor/father as a husband. Not only is he starting his first day serving another church in addition to the one he serves now, but the kids get to tag along with him. It’s times like these I wish we lived closer to family,  had the financial resources for a lived-in nanny, or our dog Chewy would be one of those super dogs that could take care of children.

After following the star, the wise men gave gifts to baby Jesus, each gift having their own significance and meaning, related to who Jesus is and what Jesus will do. I can’t help but wonder if Mary felt the weight of the world on her shoulders being the mother of God’s son. While it is nothing compared to the weight that Mary felt, I feel tremendous weight on my shoulders as I begin the year as moderator of my presbytery. There are so many exciting and challenging changes that will happen this year. Just thinking about it makes me tired because already I know that there will be more meetings for my kids to go to, more meetings that take me away from spending family time with them, and also meetings where I will be both moderator and mom at the same time, doing the best I can.

It is challenging as a woman who is a pastor and a mother to remind myself that I am not superwoman and to rely on the gifts that God has given me. More importantly, I need to rely on the gifts that people bring as well. Like the gifts of the wise men, the gift of others carries a lot of significance and meaning to who I am and what I can and will do. I am thankful for my pastor colleagues who are also uncles and aunties and grandparents to my kids. I am thankful for the grace that is extended to me at church and in meetings when I get distracted because my daughter beckons my attention. I am also thankful for an incredibly support spouse who has perfected the art of preaching while my daughter circles around him.

Before I left this morning for my trip, my baby girl gave me a great gift. She woke up to give me big hugs and kisses. When we kissed, she got my lipstick on her lips. She said, “Mommy, I got lipstick on just like you.” I do see a lot of myself in her and I hope as she grows up, she will recognize and claim all the wonderful God-given gifts that she has.

Today is one of those days when you wonder how many people will actually arrive at church since it is New Year’s Day. I have long stopped trying to stay awake until midnight to ring in the New Year, choosing to celebrate earlier time zones such as Australia or Asia. I’ve never been a night person anyway or a morning person for that matter. I’m more of a midday person – 11am to 2pm. After that, I need a nap. But knowing that many will stay up late, I’m sure going to church is particularly more challenging than usual. However today, we had a good number, surprisingly most were families with young children. I imagine it’s because like me not getting enough sleep isn’t an unusual occurrence. As parents, you still get to feel like you stayed up to watch the ball drop even if you didn’t. Children are generous that way – waking you up for that desperate glass of water or slipping into your bed in the middle of the night only to be disturbed by a foot in your back. Me? I woke up at 6am to the sweet sounds of my baby girl saying “Mommy, I love you. I love you. Are you listening? HEY, I LOVE YOU. Now you say, I love you to me.”

We didn’t scramble to get ready for church like we usually do on Sundays. I guess I wasn’t feeling the pressure to get to church early to set up and prepare. My Head of Staff did a lovely sermon about community and baptism since it is also Baptism of the Lord Sunday. He listed off things that this faith community does well – one being providing a welcoming place for children and families to worship. I sure have benefitted from that experiencing first hand how this church has nurtured me and my kids from the moment they were baptized to now. I’m grateful that they are ever patient with my 3 year old who insists on stage diving off the pews during worship or filling the pockets of her dress with cookies from the refreshment table.

I get especially wary on days we serve communion, since she has a long history of sneaking away with the communion bread right before I’m about to break it. Since the crowd was small enough, we decided to circle around the communion table and pass the basket of bread and cup of juice to one another rather than the usual lining up to be served. My kids and I were the last to be served. When I handed the basket to my daughter to tear a piece of bread, she insisted on taking the whole thing. When I convinced her to leave some for her brother and me, she still grabbed a huge chunk of the bread for herself.

Some might be quick to judge that this is selfish (but what 3 year old isn’t.) But if you think about it, if there is anything we should want to grab a huge portion of, it’s communion bread. Many times, as I watch adults take communion, they pinch off just enough bread to dip it into the cup and not get their fingers wet – a tiny morsel, not much bigger than a crumb. Have you watched a child take communion? They generously rip off a huge piece that requires them to munch on it until the end of worship. This is the Bread of Life that represents the Body of Christ. As the bread is broken and the cup is poured, we are to partake remembering who Christ is, what Christ has to offer, and what Christ calls us to do and be in light of that. Why not then take a generous portion – at least a big enough one that requires us to chew on it long before we made our way back to our pew.

I guess the next time my daughter tries to steal the communion bread (and I know there will be a next time), I’ll just remember to have an extra one in my back pocket or that “fake” pocket in my robe.