A Love Story

Being a pastor's wife isn't always my favorite thing.  Mind you, I would miss this life if we weren't in it, but there are just some days when it ain't no fun.  Christians can be such butts sometimes.  In fact, Christians can be butts a lot (and, yes, I think you might find 'butts' in the dictionary under 'Christian', right after 'loving' and 'giving'.  It just goes with the territory) .  I include myself in that statement, so don't think I'm goin' all "holier than thou" on you.  I've got three fingers pointing back at me, too.  Saturday became one of those days that I love.

One of the privileges to being in ministry is that one gets to experience the best and the worst of other people's lives.  I love watching as a young girl grows and matures and falls in love.  I love watching a young boy grow and mature and fall in love.  I love to see them pledge their lives, one to another, especially when you know that Christ is at the center of their relationship.  It brings a new dimension to the mix.  The metamorphosis is a gift to observe and experience as part of the great cycle of life.  It continues to evolve as they fight the battle of the first years and as they add to their family.  It's just a gift to be a part of that.

But love stories don't always start that way...

A few months ago, Jean started bringing Jim to church with her.  They were "just friends" and he was curious what our little church was all about.  We all had a sense that a bit more was going on, but we played along with them, giving a knowing wink to one another.  Jean was a great hostess and made sure that Jim was introduced around.  Jim had a great handshake and when he said he was "pleased to meet you", one had a sense he really meant it.  Unlike many who visit Horizon, Jim came back.  Every week. With Jean.  Time proved that Jim was as genuine as he seemed.  He was a really good man.  As I continued to watch Jean over the ensuing weeks, I noticed the appearance of a light spring in her step.  You might even say there was a bit of a sashay as she moved.  Jim was very attentive to Jean's needs.  It was a different kind of love story and it was blossoming before our eyes.

Jean has been a widow for forty-two years.  Forty-two years.  Her husband died unexpectedly of a heart attack when she was forty years old.  He was a principal at one of the local schools and he died at his desk.  This left Jean with three small children to raise on her own.  She did so by supporting her family as a first grade teacher.  She retired after many years of loving little ones.  Whenever we have visitors to church, I can count on Jean to introduce herself and I know it won't take long before she is learning of their family lineage.  Somewhere along the line she has taught a father or grandfather or aunt or cousin and she's going to figure it out.  In a town the size of Bremen, it doesn't take long to find the connection.  Everyone is related to everyone, except of course for those of us like me who are from away.

Jim hasn't been a widower for quite as long.  His wife, Lucy, died last fall.  Jim and Lucy had lost a son of their own tragically the year before when he was in a cherry picker for work and a power line brushed against his arm.  Jim and Lucy had been longtime friends of Jean and her husband.  I think Jim told me that he and Lucy had been friends with Jean for 62 years.  I don't know the details, but somewhere along the line of the last half year or more, Jean and Jim became companions.  I think it just came naturally from that longtime friendship.  And so, Jim came to church with Jean.  And we all watched.  On Sundays, they go to his church. Jim C said he'd always wondered to his wife, Lucy, why Jean never remarried.  Later, he told Jean's son, "I think God was just saving her for me".

About two months ago, my husband, Jim, came home and with a twinkle in his eye said, "I've got something to tell you".  It seems Jean had visited him at the church office that morning and wanted to know how he thought it would look if Jim and she got married.  My Jim thought it was a wonderful idea.  There was a bit of a catch, though.  They wanted to be married in the eyes of God, not through the eyes of the law.  New marriage gets complicated for the elderly.  A legal marriage would mean that they would both lose financially.  There is the complication of pensions lost and separate families being provided for.  It is a great set-up for stress, tension and hard emotions.  It's not fair, but it is the way our legal and financial systems work in the U.S.  Jean and Jim C did not want to do anything that would be frowned upon in the eyes of God.  If God couldn't bless their relationship, then it just would remain as is.  Because my Jim had researched this situation years before he was able to quickly ease her mind and the planning began.  Jean was still a little hesitant for people to know (she was afraid "people might talk"), but she gave my Jim permission to tell me.  That night at church as she passed by me, she grabbed my arm and said with a bit of a giggle, "You know something, don't you?".  My response was, "YES, Jean, but I have one thing to say to you---NO BABIES!".  "Oh, you," Jean said as she slapped my arm.  I got all warm inside.

A few weeks later, my Jim was in Utah with Clella and another couple and Jean and Jim C stopped by.  Jim C has a vintage car in pristine condition and I kept seeing it drive slowly by my house.  Finally, they pulled in the driveway.  It was about 8:30 pm, but they were hoping to catch me so I could call my Jim to confirm a date for their wedding.  We sat and talked a bit and I asked them a little bit more.  We talked about their children and how they were feeling about this marriage and the love and support Jim and Jean were feeling from family and friends.  Jean told me that Jim's kids were wanting him to move to be closer to them, but Jean said, "I told them it'll be okay.  I'll take care of him.".  She said it with such tenderness and such love.  Her saying that brought tears to my eyes because I realized something.  Jean was content in the thought that she could take care of Jim.  In all the years I've known her, I've never known her to be unhappy in her single life, but there was a settled joy in her statement.  It was lovely.

So, last Saturday morning around eleven o'clock, my Jim and I joined Jean and Jim's families at the home of Jean's son (a third Jim!).   Her son had made the outside just lovely adding a display of flowers for the bride and groom.  As luck would have it, it began to pour as the ceremony was to begin, so inside we went.  The rain could not dampen the spirit of the day.  Jim C was surprised to see my Jim in a suit and tie because my Jim preaches in blue jeans.  "Oh, I told everybody you'd probably be wearing jeans!".  "Not for a special day like this, Jim.".  "Oh, well, you didn't have to do that, Jim.".  (All these 'Jims' are making my head swim!).

As my Jim began the simple yet sweet ceremony, he talked about the vows to be spoken.  The vows would be the traditional vows, but he said the words "til death do us part" take on special significance when the bride is 82 and the groom is 86.  Then the tears began to pour.  I couldn't stop.  When my Jim asked the groom if he took Jean to be his wedded wife, he didn't say "I will".  He said with conviction, "I will!"  When my Jim asked the bride the same, she whispered with equal conviction, "I will".  As they tried to place the rings on the finger of the other, it was not without struggle due to swollen knuckles.  We all laughed out loud as we collectively cried to hear the words of exasperation being spoken back and forth.  I wish I had gotten it on tape.  

 When my Jim pronounced them "husband and wife", there was a simultaneous "Ooh" from the bride and an "Aww" from the groom. 

My heart just danced and I knew I would have to write this down.

Oh, and the honeymoon?  They went to church that night.

 What a gift I received to be present at this wedding.

Living in a Fantasy World

I don't remember why I started thinking of this tonight, but can I tell you what a dork I was as a kid?  Not kind of a dork, but a dyed-in-the-wool-what-were-you-thinking-are-you-nuts-kind-of-a-kid. Quite a while ago, I posted 25 random (that I'm absolutely sure you are dying to know) things about me.  Number 9 mentioned that as a ten year old I was convinced that Elvis Presley was going to wait for me to grow up so he could marry me.  I believed it, really I did.  I can even tell you where I was standing the moment I found out and saw the wedding picture of Priscilla and him.  (I was standing near the side steps  of Joanne Guillemette's house on Brook Street, you know, towards the back by the driveway).  Oh, I cried.  What was he thinking marrying that old Priscilla when he could have waited a few years and married me?  The fool.  Look where it got him, too.  Serves him right.  Sheesh.

I once tried saving a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest.  I scooped that featherless little critter up on a flat scrap of cereal box I found on the street and slowly rode my bike toward home.  With such care and tenderness, I held my treasure in my left hand while steering the handlebars with my right.  I rode down my long street, stealing glances at my new friend as I did so.  I envisioned the friendship we would have, how I would feed it droplets of nourishment so lovingly, how I would teach it to sit perched on my shoulder as we traveled the neighborhood or went shopping and how I would be the envy of all the popular kids because I had something no one else had.  I was so lost in my little fantasy that I never saw the bump in the road that caused me to drop my little treasure and run over its head.  Bummer.

The summer after fifth grade, this little Catholic girl attended Vacation Bible School at the Baptist church a neighbor girl attended.  For the closing ceremony, I got picked to carry the Bible down the center aisle because the head VBS lady said that I could walk in a straight line.  For years, I thought I was something special because I could walk in a straight line.  Wow, just think of it.  I could walk in a straight line.  Stop it now, I can feel your envy.  Don't bother to practice.  I'm already the winner.

From about the time I was nine until the time I graduated from high school, I was convinced, CONVINCED I tell you, that Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were going to drive through Sanford/Springvale in their black stretch limo and discover me.  They were going to drive by as I walked to the corner store and Elizabeth would say, "Oh, Richard darling, look at the lovely little girl.  We simply must put her in our next movie.  James, pull the car over".  I always decided what I was going to wear based on this.  You can't be discovered in just any old rag, you know?  My outfit of choice was usually something owned by my older sister, Suzanne.  She always had the nicest clothes, so why not?  The problem was that Sue was over nine years older than me and I was about a foot and a half shorter than her at the time.  One particular outfit consisted of a lovely pink brocade vest and coordinating dress slacks.  The blouse had lots of lovely ruffles and long sleeves with ruffles on the bottom.  The sleeves hung past my hands by a mile and the full and flowing pants bunched up and dragged in the dirt.  Man, I was gorgeous.  Gorgeous, I tell you.  Let me just say that I think James got lost because that twain just never met.

What is the point of this post?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Just walking down Memory Lane.

20 C + M + B 10

A few Sunday nights ago, a group of youth, along with their group leaders and Jim and me, set out to bless the homes of some of our church members.  When we arrived at their homes en masse, we would explain what we were doing, write on their door with chalk (with permission, of course), and leave them with the following letter of explanation and a piece of chalk:

January 2010

Dear Friends,

On a recent trip to Germany, a local family noticed a series of letters and numbers written in chalk above the doors to many houses, churches and restaurants. When we inquired into their significance, we were touched by the tradition and the significance of their meaning and wanted to share it with others. And so, an idea was born. Could this be a tradition which could be spread throughout the community of B*****, a community rich in German background?

The letters and numbers: 20 C + M + B ...

Their meaning and significance:

*the 20 stands for the present century

*the C + M + B stands for the three wise men---Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. It also stands for the Latin "Christus Mansionem Benedicat" which means "Christ, bless this house". Often a small t would be written above the M to represent Christians.

*the "..."  is where one would write in the present year.

The tradition:  Around the time of Epiphany, celebrating the arrival of the wise men to the baby Jesus, friends and family would visit door-to-door, praying over the home and writing above a door in chalk.  Each year, this tradition would be repeated and the present year would be changed above the door.  This might be written on the outside or the inside of one door in the home.

Our visit:   So, this night you have been visited by the youth and friends of H******* Ministries to bestow a blessing on your home for this new year.

The blessing:          "Christ, bless this home and all who dwell within."

The chalk:    For you, so that you may bless the homes of others.

 There were some in our group who were a little skeptical about the endeavor before we left on our adventure.  By the end, we were all touched by the response we received.  You see, we went with the intent to just do something kind and caring.  What we found we did was to provide comfort to those experiencing unknown pain.  When the tears came and their pain was shared, we were humbled by the omniscience of God who went before us, guided our journey, and brought peace to those in need through the simple actions of a group of teenagers and the bumbling adults who led them.

I hope this is a new tradition we continue annually.

I altered the letter a bit and shared the same tradition with some of my friends at work.  Again, the response was humbling.  You see, when one takes a risk to share the compassion of their faith, they risk rejection.  In many cases, it is with good reason as someone, in the name of faith, has done more damage to the cause with their zeal and arrogance.  But that wasn't my experience at work.  I found the act of caring and extending love was only greeted with gratitude and a desire to pass along to others what was bestowed upon them.

What was beginning to be a month of dread and gray and gloom was transformed when I stopped focusing on my own self-pity party into a celebration of all that was, and is, good.

So, to any and all of you who may chance upon this post---"Christ bless your home and all who dwell within."

Here's to 2010.

Jan

Joy In My Arms (revisited)

(Audrey at Barking Mad is sponsoring a giveaway for a $300 gift card to Target. She is asking us to write about joy and what brings us joy. I guess I'm cheating a bit by revisiting this post from Sept. 2, 2008. I hope it counts. I don't know why, but I've lost my sense of joy. It'll come back. I hope it's soon.)


Where do you feel your joy?

Joy is my favorite word, not because it's such a pretty word, but because it is the representation of a beautiful experience. American Heritage Dictionary (via dictionary.com) defines it this way:

Joy:

1. Intense and especially ecstatic or exultant happiness.
2. The expression or manifestation of such feeling.

It's not just a feeling of happiness, joy moves way beyond that. It's almost a visceral emotional experience. I find joy in the smallest snippets of my day. In my work with students, I find that many of them have never experienced the feeling of joy and have great difficulty identifying an emotion as such.

In the middle of July, I brought three dear friends to experience my home state of Maine. I love Maine. Although it has some not-so-pretty parts, most of Maine is breathtakingly beautiful. I was ecstatically happy to bring people I love to the state I love. They recognized and saw beauty even in the simplest of things. My heart danced with delight. All through the week, I would stretch my arms in the air and say, "I'm so happy." Eventually, that turned into, "I have joy in my arms!" They all laughed and said, "You have joy where? "In my arms! In my arms! I have joy in my arms!" And I did. From the shoulder to the elbow. Joy, joy, joy. In my arms. Joy in my arms.

Don't ask me why I had joy in my arms, I just did. I had it in the region of my heart, too, but I noticed a tingly, delightful feeling in my arms. I'm getting it right now as I think of it. My children bring me joy, my spousal unit brings me joy, a beautiful sunset brings me joy, seeing a flower I've planted bloom brings me joy. Little children who delight with abandon bring me joy. Not just happiness, but joy. Joy, joy, joy in my arms.

So, I ask again, where do you feel your joy? And what brings it to you?

Hello

I have absolutely nothing to say, but I wanted to post just because it has been so long since I have. I seem to have lost my voice for a time. I feel stuck. I want to move on something, but I don't know what that is.

So, anyway. Happy fall. Happy Halloween. I hope all is well with you.

Jan

New Year's Eve

I am a happy camper. I am a happy camper. I am happy, happy, happy!



I just booked five flights to Munich.




Jim and I are taking the kids to Germany to show them all the spots I visited on my trek to walk in the steps of my father during WWII.











I can't wait to show them the door












and have one of these with them.







And maybe they'll get to meet these guys.




...








at their table reserved ("stammtisch") at 3 pm (ab 15 Uhr)...













and see the real Cinderella's castle, otherwise known as Neuschwanstein












...and meet the Night Watchman ...




...and walk the streets that (I swear!) Shrek must have walked in Rothenburg ob de Tauber



Ich bin excited!!

My Girl Got A Job!

This roller coast called "Life" can really s-u-c-k (I hate that word) sometimes. The prospects for teaching positions in our area of Indiana have been few to none this summer. That does not bode well for all those graduates excited to put their long-sought skills to practice. Needless to say, it's been a disappointing summer for Jordan. Interviews for two positions did not bear fruit for Jordan. So, her plan was to be a substitute and keep her serving job for the year. Last week, she sent out about 31 resumes---to all schools in the South Bend school corporation. Come Friday, she gets invited to interview for a paraprofessional position (fancy name for teacher's aide). Not what she was hoping for, but a foot in the door of education nonetheless. So she psyched herself up for the challenge and waited for the interview on Monday afternoon. Just after she jumps out of the shower, she gets a call from the principal she was to meet with. It seems that "the PERFECT candidate" walked in the door that morning and was hired on the spot. Enter the word "That sucks". A roller coast of emotions ensued. Being in the middle of 400 sixth graders in the cafeteria did not allow me to be a very compassionate and present ear. My stomach and heart hurt for my girl.

Two hours later, I get this text---"I got a job!" I am so confused, so I call. It seems the teacher she student taught with talked to a principal in South Bend who had a part-time position open. He calls her yesterday and she goes right in to see what he has to say and is offered the job on the spot. It's only a 40% position, but It. Is. A. Teaching. Job. Halleluia, praise Jesus, Glory be to God!! Yippee-ai-cai-yay!!! She gets a real contract, gets on the ladder for seniority and will be one of the first in line next year for any positions that come open.

So when does she start? Last night! She attended the open house and met the kiddoes She is job-sharing with another teacher and will teach math and Social Studies to ENL 2nd graders. Today was her first day. She's thrilled.

So am I. She's worked hard to get to this point.