Every week with my youth groups, I do some sort of check-in exercise to get a sense of how they're doing. This week we had a sheet of paper that had several faces and descriptions on it, and began with the sentence, "I'll tell you how my day was." You had to choose a description, like "Late Night News," "Fireworks Display," "Boring Lecture," or "Bible Epic." The whole point of these kinds of things is to get people talking about how they feel when they wouldn't necessarily just pop out the real words to express their emotions.
I do not need to circle a face to know how I feel, however. Today I feel resentful and unappreciated. I think it's probably part of the deal that ministers aren't supposed to be irritated about money, but today, I am irritated. We're also not supposed to get frustrated when people step on our authority, since we're servants and all that, but I am frustrated. This being the internet, it's wiser if I don't get specific about what I mean by either of these things, but I am annoyed.
I have tentatively titled my NaNoWriMo effort The Incredible Vanishing Man and Other Circus Freaks. It's a bitter title, and I feel like today might see some progress in the angry writing area.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Long Days
Once again I have made it to a Tuesday barely realizing that I had a Monday. I did, in all fairness, sleep in quite late yesterday, but then had a big fundraising banquet in the evening. Part of me wishes that I could see something like that banquet as Not Work. I realize that most of the people there are not working. However, this banquet is the sort of event where I see a ton of people from my church and herds of other ministers. I have to be "on." This is not time off. And yet, it walks that fine line on which I feel kind of bad for counting it as work. Although I'm not really sure where this score sheet is on which I tally my working hours.
I have some guilt issues, you see, when it comes to work. No matter how many times I hear about pastoral self-care, I still have this annoying voice in my head that tells me that I'm not being an effective minister if I'm not working. All. The. Time. As a single person, I have only my dog to tell me that's ridiculous and demand my attention, and she's entirely too easy to just take along to the office. All I know is that I hear other ministers complain all the time about how much they work. And then I figure out from other things they say how much time they spend not working, and how much flexibility they have, and then I get really annoyed at them - which compels me to work more so that I can be absolutely sure I am not like them.
You see, I could complain that today is going to be a really long day. In fact, at some point today, I probably will complain. It's a late meeting night. I will be tired and irritable, because by the end of today, I will have worked at least twelve hours, and probably more. But the thing I have to remember is that my congregants who will be at these meetings tonight have been working all day, too. They went to work earlier than I did. They might have gotten to go home for dinner, but then they are back, doing the work of the church, and unlike me, not being paid for it.
I fully realize that I have some rather unbalancing workaholic tendencies. I'm working on it. But it strikes me as I go into this very long day that, even though it will indeed be long, I just don't have a lot of room to whine about it.
I have some guilt issues, you see, when it comes to work. No matter how many times I hear about pastoral self-care, I still have this annoying voice in my head that tells me that I'm not being an effective minister if I'm not working. All. The. Time. As a single person, I have only my dog to tell me that's ridiculous and demand my attention, and she's entirely too easy to just take along to the office. All I know is that I hear other ministers complain all the time about how much they work. And then I figure out from other things they say how much time they spend not working, and how much flexibility they have, and then I get really annoyed at them - which compels me to work more so that I can be absolutely sure I am not like them.
You see, I could complain that today is going to be a really long day. In fact, at some point today, I probably will complain. It's a late meeting night. I will be tired and irritable, because by the end of today, I will have worked at least twelve hours, and probably more. But the thing I have to remember is that my congregants who will be at these meetings tonight have been working all day, too. They went to work earlier than I did. They might have gotten to go home for dinner, but then they are back, doing the work of the church, and unlike me, not being paid for it.
I fully realize that I have some rather unbalancing workaholic tendencies. I'm working on it. But it strikes me as I go into this very long day that, even though it will indeed be long, I just don't have a lot of room to whine about it.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Writing an Ending
So, I'm working on this cathartic novel for NaNoWriMo which, in part, is about the stupid things men do - mostly the stupid things they've done to me, with some composite information added from the stupid things they've done to my friends and the stupid things I can, with very little trouble, imagine them doing.
I feel like I need to add a disclaimer here: I do not hate men. I like them, and that's how I get myself into situations in which they can do stupid things to me. I don't think men as a whole are stupid. I do think they frequently do stupid things that are a different sort of stupid than the stupid things women often do, which are also plentiful.
That said, in my novel, there are a lot of men doing stupid things. They say art imitates life, so there you go. My heart has been having the hell steadily beat out of it for the last three years or so, and naturally, that is coming out in my so-called art. The problem with the novel is that I need to figure out how it is going to end. I wish for my main character to have a more or less happy ending, because otherwise I will just depress myself. However, I have not decided what sort of happy this should be. After enduring all the stupidity, should she finally get the guy who will be less stupid to her? Should she find happiness within herself and desert the idea of partnership with a male of the species? Should our heroine ride off into the sunset alone or with company? I have no idea.
This is the point at which I have to keep telling myself, "The main character is not you. She is fictional. You are not writing your own future." This is the problem with writing a cathartic novel. I do feel to some degree like I'm writing my own future, or at least saying something about what I hope my future will be. And I don't really want to write this blow-off-all-men-forever ending, because what does that mean in terms of what is going on inside of me? Nor do I want to write the happy couple at the altar ending, because, first of all, just ew, and second, that doesn't feel much like reality to me. I'm not at a place where I can write that with any authenticity at all. My last trek down Attempted Relationship Road has left me so broken that I can't imagine trusting my own judgment or another person enough to ever try another relationship.
Fortunately, I have about 40,000 words left to figure this out, at least for the main character. I think it may take a little longer for me.
I feel like I need to add a disclaimer here: I do not hate men. I like them, and that's how I get myself into situations in which they can do stupid things to me. I don't think men as a whole are stupid. I do think they frequently do stupid things that are a different sort of stupid than the stupid things women often do, which are also plentiful.
That said, in my novel, there are a lot of men doing stupid things. They say art imitates life, so there you go. My heart has been having the hell steadily beat out of it for the last three years or so, and naturally, that is coming out in my so-called art. The problem with the novel is that I need to figure out how it is going to end. I wish for my main character to have a more or less happy ending, because otherwise I will just depress myself. However, I have not decided what sort of happy this should be. After enduring all the stupidity, should she finally get the guy who will be less stupid to her? Should she find happiness within herself and desert the idea of partnership with a male of the species? Should our heroine ride off into the sunset alone or with company? I have no idea.
This is the point at which I have to keep telling myself, "The main character is not you. She is fictional. You are not writing your own future." This is the problem with writing a cathartic novel. I do feel to some degree like I'm writing my own future, or at least saying something about what I hope my future will be. And I don't really want to write this blow-off-all-men-forever ending, because what does that mean in terms of what is going on inside of me? Nor do I want to write the happy couple at the altar ending, because, first of all, just ew, and second, that doesn't feel much like reality to me. I'm not at a place where I can write that with any authenticity at all. My last trek down Attempted Relationship Road has left me so broken that I can't imagine trusting my own judgment or another person enough to ever try another relationship.
Fortunately, I have about 40,000 words left to figure this out, at least for the main character. I think it may take a little longer for me.
Friday, November 5, 2010
I Have a Short Attention Ooh, Look, Shiny!
Keeping my focus on anything for much longer than fifteen minutes is generally a challenge. This is one reason why I'm good at working with junior high students. Fortunately, I have a job that suits my flighty and easily bored tendencies, and that allows me to dabble and try things out and call it work. Every day is a new adventure around here.
Earlier this week, for example, I spent a day teaching five sections of high school history classes. That's five hours of lecturing/desperately trying to yank discussion out of them about the political and social implications of the Reformation. I was introduced as an "expert," which I believe is a vast exaggeration bordering on simple falsehood. I took a church history course in seminary but remember very little of it. I became interested in this particular topic when I traveled to Scotland and started thinking of it as actual events that happened to real people, and I've been reading about that time period ever since. Expert, not so much. However, I can now repeat that lecture by heart, in case anyone needs a crash course. It was great fun, although I had no voice by the end.
This blog post is a good example of my short attention span. Remember how yesterday I said I was going to focus on NaNoWriMo? Well, here I am, and that should tell you something about how well it's going.
Earlier this week, for example, I spent a day teaching five sections of high school history classes. That's five hours of lecturing/desperately trying to yank discussion out of them about the political and social implications of the Reformation. I was introduced as an "expert," which I believe is a vast exaggeration bordering on simple falsehood. I took a church history course in seminary but remember very little of it. I became interested in this particular topic when I traveled to Scotland and started thinking of it as actual events that happened to real people, and I've been reading about that time period ever since. Expert, not so much. However, I can now repeat that lecture by heart, in case anyone needs a crash course. It was great fun, although I had no voice by the end.
This blog post is a good example of my short attention span. Remember how yesterday I said I was going to focus on NaNoWriMo? Well, here I am, and that should tell you something about how well it's going.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
NaNoWriMo
I know, I just started this blog, and I intended to be disciplined about it, but...I have a short attention span. I also discovered that this is NaNoWriMo, which is a challenge to write an entire 50,000 word (roughly 175 page) novel during the month of November. So, I have turned some of my energy toward writing a cathartic novel featuring women clergy, the men who do stupid things to them, and a lot of ridiculous wedding stories. Write what you know, right? I don't expect that it will be any good, but it's certainly entertaining me. More importantly, it's a way to force myself into writing something of substantial length, which is something I've always wanted to do but have never managed. The excuse I usually give for that is time, but the truth is that I'm scared - scared to invest myself into a book and then have it turn out to be really bad. NaNoWriMo takes away some of my perfectionist anxiety, because it's supposed to be kind of bad. The point is not to produce the perfect novel. The point is to write - to write a lot of crap, frankly, but to come out at the end with something that produces some usable ideas and tells you that yes, you can actually write an entire novel.
So, in between meetings, continuing education events, and teaching five sections of high school history classes about the political and social implications of the Reformation (which is how I spent yesterday), I am frantically writing a novel. I think it must be the right decision, because it's been keeping me up at night. I'll try to keep checking in here, but I have 5,000 words down and 45,000 to go. There are also a couple of bets riding on this novel. One of my colleagues bet me $100 that I can't do it, so of course now I must. A couple of other people who were offended on my behalf said they'd donate $100 to the church if I finished. There will be a party to check the word count and celebrate my victory.
Look at all these words I've wasted here. Off to WriMo!
So, in between meetings, continuing education events, and teaching five sections of high school history classes about the political and social implications of the Reformation (which is how I spent yesterday), I am frantically writing a novel. I think it must be the right decision, because it's been keeping me up at night. I'll try to keep checking in here, but I have 5,000 words down and 45,000 to go. There are also a couple of bets riding on this novel. One of my colleagues bet me $100 that I can't do it, so of course now I must. A couple of other people who were offended on my behalf said they'd donate $100 to the church if I finished. There will be a party to check the word count and celebrate my victory.
Look at all these words I've wasted here. Off to WriMo!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The Past Is Always With You
I can live with a really crazy schedule for a good couple of months and be fine, but when I finally stop moving, my body and brain pretty much collapse. I was in collapse mode yesterday, as I finally had an actual entire day off with no meetings or urgent work demanding my attention. When I am in collapse mode, I do things like stay in my pajamas all day and barely move from the couch. I'm not sure it's the most productive or even the most restful way to spend a day, but sometimes it's all I can do.
I counted yesterday a really fruitful day off because I actually turned on my computer, which I sometimes tend to avoid when I am in collapse mode. Before you get too excited, this is not to give the impression that I actually did work on my computer. I did sort through my inbox a bit, but mostly I puttered on Facebook.
Now, I have a lot of friends on FB, but I don't actually expect most of those 610 people to communicate with me. Accepting friend requests is a courtesy, and also the contemporary version of an address book. I like to know that if I need to get in touch with these people from the various times and places of my life, I can. But I'm always surprised when people I haven't talked to in years actually use the technology to reconnect.
That said, a friend from college has recently started chatting with me on FB, and it's been good. Odd, in the way of people who haven't talked in seven years or so, but good. He and his wife (another college friend) came to my ordination, which seems like forever ago, which was cool, but we haven't been in touch since then. They now live and go to church with a bunch of our mutual acquaintances, most of whom I haven't had any contact with since I graduated in 1999.
These are people from my short-lived fundagelical phase. Some of them were very close friends of mine. They were also some of the most judgmental people I've ever met. They taught me how to read the Bible and pray, how to value and strive toward community. They also taught me my first real lessons in rejection and estrangement. We had some very good times. By the end, things were not good. My memories of them are so very mixed that, when they came up in conversation, I felt as shaken as if I were remembering one of those passionate but disastrous romantic relationships that are supposed to forever affect you deeply.
Clearly, these people are still with me. When he asked what he should report back to them, about how and what I'm doing these days, my snarky side came out. "You can tell them I'm exactly the horror they expected I would become. I'm a liberal female pastor who borders on universalist and hangs out with the gays." And then I thought, wow, I'm still a little bitter. He answered me equally sarcastically.
"So, you're a nominal believer, still fighting against God's will for women to be submissive because of your crazy feminist tendencies, endorsing sin and heresy." Pretty much. This is the kind of language they threw at me back in college, except there would have been some mention of hell involved. My bitterness is not without cause.
We got to talking about churches, comparing his small, independent house church to my large-ish, denominational church. I have traveled pretty far from my evangelical days. But then I saw something I had just typed: the phrase, "really get into the Word together." Not exactly language that I use every day now. Apparently, no matter how far I think I've gone, that part of my life is still with me.
I counted yesterday a really fruitful day off because I actually turned on my computer, which I sometimes tend to avoid when I am in collapse mode. Before you get too excited, this is not to give the impression that I actually did work on my computer. I did sort through my inbox a bit, but mostly I puttered on Facebook.
Now, I have a lot of friends on FB, but I don't actually expect most of those 610 people to communicate with me. Accepting friend requests is a courtesy, and also the contemporary version of an address book. I like to know that if I need to get in touch with these people from the various times and places of my life, I can. But I'm always surprised when people I haven't talked to in years actually use the technology to reconnect.
That said, a friend from college has recently started chatting with me on FB, and it's been good. Odd, in the way of people who haven't talked in seven years or so, but good. He and his wife (another college friend) came to my ordination, which seems like forever ago, which was cool, but we haven't been in touch since then. They now live and go to church with a bunch of our mutual acquaintances, most of whom I haven't had any contact with since I graduated in 1999.
These are people from my short-lived fundagelical phase. Some of them were very close friends of mine. They were also some of the most judgmental people I've ever met. They taught me how to read the Bible and pray, how to value and strive toward community. They also taught me my first real lessons in rejection and estrangement. We had some very good times. By the end, things were not good. My memories of them are so very mixed that, when they came up in conversation, I felt as shaken as if I were remembering one of those passionate but disastrous romantic relationships that are supposed to forever affect you deeply.
Clearly, these people are still with me. When he asked what he should report back to them, about how and what I'm doing these days, my snarky side came out. "You can tell them I'm exactly the horror they expected I would become. I'm a liberal female pastor who borders on universalist and hangs out with the gays." And then I thought, wow, I'm still a little bitter. He answered me equally sarcastically.
"So, you're a nominal believer, still fighting against God's will for women to be submissive because of your crazy feminist tendencies, endorsing sin and heresy." Pretty much. This is the kind of language they threw at me back in college, except there would have been some mention of hell involved. My bitterness is not without cause.
We got to talking about churches, comparing his small, independent house church to my large-ish, denominational church. I have traveled pretty far from my evangelical days. But then I saw something I had just typed: the phrase, "really get into the Word together." Not exactly language that I use every day now. Apparently, no matter how far I think I've gone, that part of my life is still with me.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Whiplash Weekends
My last couple of weekends have been kind of frenetic. This Saturday, I had a funeral, a swanky fundraising dinner for a center for Muslim-Christian relations, and the Halloween show of a band that I try to see as often as possible. This involved a rapid clothing change in the bathroom after the dinner, followed by my attempt to slip out the door without being seen by the visiting dignitaries in my sparkling red fringed flapper dress. Then I got to my car...and realized that I had forgotten one part of the costume. As I didn't really want to sneak through the lobby again, I decided to make the addition in the car. Note to self: do not attempt to put on fishnet stockings in a confined space.
I cannot overestimate the value of a single pair of shoes that can go with three outfits in one day, especially when one of the outfits is a flapper costume. My go-to shoes are black double-strap Mary Janes with a sturdy, but not clunky, heel. Not exciting, but cute enough, comfortable, and above all, versatile. I've become very good at dressing for a variety of occasions, and bringing along a couple of extra pieces that I can change so that I can go from board meeting to food pantry to hospital to youth group, but really, it's all about the shoes - shoes that can start with a funeral and, thirteen hours later, still be going strong.
Four of those hours were spent dancing and jumping around at the concert, and after that I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside, catching up with one of the guys in the band. I vaguely remember seeing them for the first time, not knowing any of them, and certainly not being known by them. At the second show, I accidentally got acquainted with the bassist. The story of how I really got to know the rest of the band will have to wait for another post. But I digress.
I was telling the aforementioned member of the band about my day, when he observed that I have a very strange life - one where I have to turn it on and off as quickly as I can make a costume change. It's true; I shift not only clothing but personae several times a day. I'm always me (probably more so than some people would like), but Funeral Me, Professional Networking Me, and Party Me are distinctly different. I know this is true for almost everyone, that no one has a single face that applies to every situation, that we all vary ourselves according to the occasion and the people involved. But it seems to me that ministers do it even more frequently than most, especially those of us who have parts of our lives that are completely unrelated to church.
Authenticity is one of my core values, and I would never advocate "faking it." But...sometimes you just have to pull out the piece of yourself that fits the needs of the situation, whether you feel it in that moment or not. The longer I'm in ministry, the more I realize that in order to serve others, I have to be able to access various parts of myself on cue. I carry extra clothing and accessories as a sort of professional tool kit, but they're only the outer accompaniment to the inner tools that make the real shifts.
When I was newly ordained, I probably would have thought that this kind of approach was horribly fake and fragmented. I spent a long time rejecting any way of doing ministry that seemed less than purely authentic. Of course, that got me in trouble at times, as Cranky Me had (has) a tendency to come out when Compassionate Me was needed. Seven years in, I realize that being able to put on different aspects of myself is a crucial skill in this vocation. And the funny thing is, the more I put on the pieces of myself that are needed, the more they become integrated into who I am as a whole. The more I wear the good parts of myself, the more they begin to function across all of the events and situations in my life - the more they feel authentically me.
A year ago, I bought those shoes for a particular outfit, for a particular night. Now they go almost everywhere. It is my hope that the best parts of me come to be worn as often.
I cannot overestimate the value of a single pair of shoes that can go with three outfits in one day, especially when one of the outfits is a flapper costume. My go-to shoes are black double-strap Mary Janes with a sturdy, but not clunky, heel. Not exciting, but cute enough, comfortable, and above all, versatile. I've become very good at dressing for a variety of occasions, and bringing along a couple of extra pieces that I can change so that I can go from board meeting to food pantry to hospital to youth group, but really, it's all about the shoes - shoes that can start with a funeral and, thirteen hours later, still be going strong.
Four of those hours were spent dancing and jumping around at the concert, and after that I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside, catching up with one of the guys in the band. I vaguely remember seeing them for the first time, not knowing any of them, and certainly not being known by them. At the second show, I accidentally got acquainted with the bassist. The story of how I really got to know the rest of the band will have to wait for another post. But I digress.
I was telling the aforementioned member of the band about my day, when he observed that I have a very strange life - one where I have to turn it on and off as quickly as I can make a costume change. It's true; I shift not only clothing but personae several times a day. I'm always me (probably more so than some people would like), but Funeral Me, Professional Networking Me, and Party Me are distinctly different. I know this is true for almost everyone, that no one has a single face that applies to every situation, that we all vary ourselves according to the occasion and the people involved. But it seems to me that ministers do it even more frequently than most, especially those of us who have parts of our lives that are completely unrelated to church.
Authenticity is one of my core values, and I would never advocate "faking it." But...sometimes you just have to pull out the piece of yourself that fits the needs of the situation, whether you feel it in that moment or not. The longer I'm in ministry, the more I realize that in order to serve others, I have to be able to access various parts of myself on cue. I carry extra clothing and accessories as a sort of professional tool kit, but they're only the outer accompaniment to the inner tools that make the real shifts.
When I was newly ordained, I probably would have thought that this kind of approach was horribly fake and fragmented. I spent a long time rejecting any way of doing ministry that seemed less than purely authentic. Of course, that got me in trouble at times, as Cranky Me had (has) a tendency to come out when Compassionate Me was needed. Seven years in, I realize that being able to put on different aspects of myself is a crucial skill in this vocation. And the funny thing is, the more I put on the pieces of myself that are needed, the more they become integrated into who I am as a whole. The more I wear the good parts of myself, the more they begin to function across all of the events and situations in my life - the more they feel authentically me.
A year ago, I bought those shoes for a particular outfit, for a particular night. Now they go almost everywhere. It is my hope that the best parts of me come to be worn as often.
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