It's who I am...

It has been two weeks since I decided to break from blogging, but I don't want to lose my thought from this past weekend - so here I go...
(I guess I needed the break from thinking about what to blog and how my blogs would be received...)

I spent the weekend at the Pyramid Life Center near Paradox, NY.  A beautiful, simple, natural retreat center in the Adirondacks.  I was there for a men's retreat organized by John Daubney (www.johndaubney.com) who has been leading these retreats for men for 19 years.  They are a time and place for men to be real, express emotion, explore what's happening in their lives, have spiritual experiences, and experience something different/sacred.  It was a mix of men, I was the youngest, and the common denominator is that most of the men involved are in recovery.

If you are not familiar with the phrase "in recovery," it is not that these men are currently using, or have abused substances recently, but they have been brought out of addition through a 12 Step program.  Most of the men at the retreat (17 of us) have not had a drink or used drugs for over a decade - but they realize who they are and that they will always be "in recovery."   But then again - aren't we all.  

"Hello, my name is Dirk, and I'm a sinner." (but by the grace of God I'm in recovery)

I was not viewed as a pastor by the group (other than by the man who invited me).  I was just a guy, invited to a retreat, hanging out with other guys.  The leader and one other who had visited DRC once knew my role outside of the retreat, but they kept quiet.  So I was just Dirk from Delmar.  People didn't shift their language around me, didn't try for the "right" answer (this was not a place for that type of thinking anyway), and didn't probe into what it is like to be in a role which few find themselves.  I could just be me...

But somewhat to my surprise - I am a pastor!  In just being me, I found myself being a pastor.  I am on sabbatical - so I'm not fulfilling my normal pastoral "duties,"  I was with people who were not looking at me as a pastor, I was away from all that is familiar, I was in spiritual environment - but it never went beyond "my higher power," but through it all, my identity within myself was that of pastor.  As the weekend progressed it came out within individual conversations, but the response was never disbelief, nor was it "I knew it."  It was just natural - because that is who I am now.  

It is still not a clear cut notion within my mind, because Dirk as a pastor is different than the stereotypical "man of the cloth," but even detached from my congregation, it is still my internal identity.  I think this is the most significant gift of my sabbatical so far.  I have been feeling it through the struggles of seeking to separate my church life from my personal life for three months, but my weekend with John, Scott, David, Paul, Steve, Dave, John, Brian, Zenek, Chris, Anthony, Andy, Mike, Paul, Dale, and Tom helped show me what God is growing within me.

Life in a Fishbowl

I'm not Schwarzenegger, Lohan, or Jolie; with millions of people gawking at the details of my life. However, there is a very real fishbowl aspect to my life as a pastor. And from the time I arrived at DRC I've decided to embrace this reality. There was an exercise of intentional pendulum swing - from privacy to public - when we lived our first year or so without any sort of blinds on the downstairs windows of our house. I forced a mental conversation, "yes, people are watching... and that's okay."

Hopefully I'm never as interesting as those who grab the headlines. But hopefully God is working in my life in such a way that there are things which people can benefit from by watching. It isn't about being perfect. I think some pastors avoid the fishbowl because they think they have to be perfect in everyones' eyes, but know they can't. I know I won't be perfect in everyones' eyes - if for no other reason than there are so many different definitions of perfect... (oh, and then there is the fact that I'm far from perfect)  So I seek to live my life, and if people choose to watch, that's okay - it is part of the call to which God has called me.

I want others to see that abnormal has its benefits. Normal is totally missing out on the joy and blessing (and great sex) of marriage. Normal is striving after things which will not satisfy. Normal clinging to money, but never having enough - heck, normal is functionally broke. Normal is fractured relationships which fester as wounds which will not heal. Normal is giving lip service to being a Christian, but not having God as the top priority in your life and experiencing the freedom and peace that comes with it.  Normal is having kids, but barely having a family.  I don't claim to have it all figured out, or that I'm getting it all right - but I know who does, and I'm seeking to follow Him. And as a pastor I'm in a position where I'm watched - because what I preach better make a difference, and let it begin with me.

However...
Jesus lived with his disciples. He didn't swoop in, teach, and then go back to his other life. But at times he did pull away, to be out of the crowds, to be away from those he shared life with daily, to spend some time in a opaque fish bowl. I think that is part of sabbatical, to step away from all that is my normal ministry. And part of my ministry, part of my fishbowl, is blogging - so for now I'm going to pull down the blinds of my blog...

It has begun...

Monday is normally my day off - so it didn't really feel like the start of my sabbatical. I did the laundry, I did work around the house, time on the computer, etc... but today is different. I didn't go to the office today (though I do have some piles to wrap up some evening this week) I'm sure it will take time for it to sink in, but my focus for the next three months will not be on the day to day details of Delmar Reformed Church.

What is my church work? What is my personal ministry? What do I take a break from? I don't do much of what I do because I get paid, so I can't say - I'll stop doing the things I get paid for - You can't pay someone to serve God. And I try not to dichotomize my life - the people of DRC are my friends. The disciples didn't learn and teach with Jesus, and then go off to spend time with their "real friends." So, sabbatical can't be about distancing myself from DRC, because that would be about distancing myself from my friends... but it can be about distancing myself from the responsibility I have at DRC. That is my rest, from decisions, from the weight, from the responsibility. It feels strange to say that, because that too is part of who I am, but by letting it go I can grow, refresh, gain perspective, be open.

Well, these blogs my not be as readable as others, because they are going to be more my processing... I'm sure I'll try and entertain myself, so they might still be fun to read, but I'll just see where they go.

Today I have set up my first pastor lunch/interview & figured out how to blog from my ipad (and get things in my google accounts streamlined). It is also good to be here at home on Tuesday and see how hard Jen works on the band work - like most people, I tend only to see the final result.

When rest is hard...(a blog for my own processing)

It is midnight and I'm not asleep.  But that isn't the point.  In 13 days my sabbatical begins (but who's counting).  A three month change of pace - but can I rest, and what does that mean?

Most people are familiar with an academic sabbatical - but that isn't what I'm dealing with.  A sabbatical break is not academic in nature, it is spiritual - Sabbath.  After six, take one off - that's the God given pattern in the Bible. Work six days, have a day set apart as different.  Work the land six years, take a year off.  A pattern of purposeful rest.  My church is great for giving me this time, as my seventh year comes to a close I have the gift of three months.  I want to use it well - but what does that mean?

Don't get me wrong, this isn't the first time I've thought about this.  I have shared my intentions with the church board, I have bounced ideas off of an advisory group, I have written about it in the church newsletter, I have sought the advice of others, I have prayed... but now the three month "rest" is within sight.  I want to "rest" well, and I'm confident it doesn't mean cycling between bed, couch and hammock for three months.  And 12 hour days of prayer and reflection is probably beyond my abilities...

Then there are details like: I have a wife and kids...  There are meals, events and laundry....  As I reflect tonight, I do think I am preparing to sabbatical well.  Interviewing those in ministry is hearing from God.  Spending time working in the woods is time set apart, resting from my life.   The road trip we have planned doesn't sound restful - but it will allow me to be more separate from the norm (while connected to my family).

Sabbath rest is not about crashing on the couch.  It is about true refreshment which comes as we are reminded of our place before God.  Sabbatical rest - maybe it can be a reminder that what I do for God isn't as important as who I am before God... It will be interesting to see what that means....

Where Jashton was born - literally...

Last Thursday we were able to visit where Jashton was born.  It turns out that the friends we stayed with in La Paz live a block from the clinic where Jashton was born, so when heading out to dinner on our last night in Bolivia we took a moment to swing by Cemes clinic... he's definitely isn't a baby any more!

Jashton proved to be quite the trooper as we filled a week with Bolivia.  From hiking miles, to rough roads, to dinners at 9pm, to events completely in Spanish, Jashton absorbed it all - I'm searching my cranium, but I don't recall him complaining once during the trip.  And that is impressive given the final 72+ hours of our journey.

We ended our trip with an activity level which far outpaced the first couple days.  Here's a quick re-cap.

on the Bus Cama

Wednesday night we were picked up by taxi to be taken to the bus terminal which was in a level of frenetic activity reserved only for special occasions.  This was holy week travelers.  It was packed, and hard not to get separated. Fortunately for Jashton, I'm head and shoulders above the crowd - and easy target to spot.

Once on the bus for the overnight 8 hr trip to La Paz it was a comfortable and peaceful ride.  The double decker buses have wide seats which recline and have a provided foot rest - other than the timid use of heat, it is a great way to travel.

In La Paz we took a taxi to the apartment of Tricia and Alfredo.  Tricia was a Hunger Corps with Food for the Hungry (FH) when we were there, and Alfredo was one of the top managers of FH-Bolivia.  You never know who God is going to pair up, and three years ago they married.  Tricia now works for Samaritan's Purse, and Alfredo is a developer building homes and multi-unit buildings.  It was fun to reconnect to both of therm, and they were wonderful hosts.  Thursday we explored Bolivian museums, artisan markets, restaurants, and city life.  It was a great day!  While it wouldn't be top on my list of places to live again, I sure like spending time there - La Paz is a city like no other!

After dinner I finished packing, and prepared for our departure to the airport at 4:30 a.m.  Just for fun (okay, I'm sure that's not what he was thinking) our taxi driver took us up the back way to the airport - it is decidedly not faster... we were the last in line at the ticket counter... but that didn't actually matter.

We flew to Santa Cruz, flew to Miami, changed to an earlier delayed flight to storm encircled Chicago - sat on the runway - but made it to Chicago by 9pm.  Rental car to Wheaton, night at my Aunt and Uncle's breakfast at 6:30am with more relatives (Dick, Marge & Mary), and then back to O'Hare.  A rather pleasant airport to use at 8:30 on a Saturday.... with a final flight to White Plains, NY, and a ride to Delmar.


But wait - There's more!  Arrival back enabled the completion of my preparations for the next day - Sunday, Easter Sunday.  The Sunday for the baptism of Jashton, Tobiah and a new friend within our church.

I hadn't really thought about how appropriate the theme of my sermon was when it came together - Wake Up!  On each leg of this crazy journey, I was able to wake up with excitement - because what was coming was worth it.  The message of Jesus, the message of Easter - is to wake up and become spiritually alive!  Jesus conquered the gloom and shadow of death and darkness, calls us to come awake, and gives us exciting things to do.  (if you want to hear the message, it is on the DRC website).  Then after time with my parents and other friends for egg hunts, dinner, presents, playing and clean-up (oh, and I rewired an electrical switch in there as well) - we returned home - and at that point I felt like the trip Jashton and I embarked on ten days earlier was complete!

Giesers, Carltons, Wests - Easter Dinner in Greenville!

It was an awesome trip!  Praise the Lord!

Where are you from? De donde es?

While buying ice cream bars to keep us going on our trekking through Cochabamba, some vendors struck up a conversation with Jashton. I had to intervene with some translation, but Jashton did a great job sharing his name, and then answering the common question question, “de donde es?” In Spanish Jashton said, “Nueve York.”

the house of Jashton's toddlerhood

Then I shared that he was born in La Paz, so for them, Jashton is from La Paz. In Bolivia you are from where you were born, and this works well in a society with very little individual mobility, and even less of family roots. In reviewing the photos from today I was hit by this photo. Jashton eating a saltena – a typical Bolivian food. It is a great image for me – seeing Jashton's Bolivian-ness. But is he Bolivian? What does that mean, what does it mean that he is American?

Okay, a photo pushes me into a bit of philosophy. Who are we really? What are nationalities but arbitrary political boundaries. So it comes back to “Where are you from?” For an American raised in a mobile middle-class, it is a bit clearer that it is not where we were born. But our mobility also makes our current residence a shallow descriptor of our identity. The pattern of the Israelites is that of paternity – who is your father? And those who study family systems lay most of all we are at the feet of our family. But I am taken back to a poem Jashton wrote for school earlier this year.

In poetic form, he was to write using the start of “I am from....” It was a list of fun and family, events and memories, places and people, but then he ended; “But most of all, I am from the love of God.”

De donde es?

Oh, yeah - I remember culture stress...

There is a great deal to like about Cochabamba.  It is great to be back, but today I had little reminders that it is stressful to live cross culturally in a developing country.  It typically isn't the big stuff, but a slow accumulation of small stressors that gets to you.  Today was a wonderful day, worked on the Easter worship service in the morning and then Jashton and headed out to get to know Cochabamba.

After four days here, it was about time to go into the city Jen and I used to call home.  We decided to save our walking legs and grab a trufi for the one mile trip down the hill.  The driver charged us 2 bolivianos, Sunday a driver charged us 2.50?  I was told the rate was 1.70 per person - but obviously for short trips it varies... but by how much and when?  Does it really matter?  No - we are talking the difference of 5 to 10 cents US - it is no big deal, just a little bit of ambiguity in your day - a tiny touch of stress...  It was the start of my reminders throughout the day.

Simon Bolivar & Jashton on the Prado

view of the marchers from Globos

We were took the next trufi into the city - when I ask the rate, will he tell the truth (he did), but exactly where does this route go, and why has traffic stopped moving?  We "bajar" and head into one of the garden plazas in the heart of Cochabamba (Plaza Colon).  Jashton and I walk up and down "El Prado."  Filled with restaurants, this is the place to be Saturday night, and nice for a stroll on a Tuesday...  As we head back toward Colon I notice something extra is happening.  There are thousands of protester parading by.  "But I thought everyone was happy? What are they do here?"  Again, no major impact on my non-plans of the day, but still, stress as we decide to take advantage of a restaurant with a view of the march.

Potato overload!

They have all passed in about 45 minutes (yes, it was a large march - but peaceful), things returned to normal, so we head into the market area of the city - the "Cancha."  I really like the trill of the chancha (literally translated it is "the playing field").  You can find just about anything in the cancha - from a dozen different varieties of potatoes, to 60" Sony flat screen TVs, to plumbing fixtures, to lingerie, to bolts of fabric, to cell phones, to cooking oil, to baby cribs.  After 9 years I could still get to where I wanted - Jashton and I made it all the way to the toy section (on the far south side of the cancha).  But is someone trying for my wallet?  How much should something cost?  I love the cancha - it is a good stressor, but a stressor all the same.

On the way back to the north side of town, Plaza 14 de Septembre is on the way - oops, that's where the march ended, and things are still going strong.  It is impossible for me to keep my head down here (being a foot taller than everyone), we quietly glide around the corner and away.  That wasn't expected.  Stressor.  Then I remember, the news on at the restaurant was reporting that the protesters were in la plaza principal - I should have understood that better, I should have put it together - stressors.

How much did I get ripped off buying that water?  Where can I make a telephone call?  Am I waiting at the right corner?  All reminders of what it is like to live here.  It is great to live here.  I had a great day, and it was fun be reminded of Bolivia.  Jashton was a super trooper as we walked all over.  But just know that those missionaries you support face some big challenges, but also deal with lots of little things as they sort thought a culture which is not their own.

One fun surprise - at one of our ice cream pick-me-ups, Jashton and I thought a fruity popsicle looked good, so we each got the same one - looked like strawberry - it was cinnamon!  (after our first licks I read the label)  We were both really glad I didn't read first - who would have thought a cinnamon popsicle would be a good thing?
If you happen to see one, get it, they're great.