Sacred Spaces

 Five years ago, after contemplating leaving ministry all together, Zach and I made the decision to seek a new church appointment in another conference of the United Methodist Church.  We got offered an appointment in rural Montana, pastoring three small churches. As scary as it was we jumped at the chance to try something new. Within two weeks I had us packed and we loaded a truck, two vehicles and a trailer and began our two day drive north from Alamogordo, New Mexico. Neither of us had been north of Denver so we were going sight unseen to a new adventure.

As I drove, with two kids, a dog, and a fish, each mile that was new to us built the excitement, we eagerly ate up the new vistas that we passed through. I remember driving over the Montana border and taking in a deep breath.  Home. This is our new home. 

We pulled into our new town around sundown. The house had been left unlocked and when we entered we were greeted by an array of local gifts, food, and greetings from our new church. Next door at the church the church administrator was working in the garden, greeting the dogs and us with open arms and excitement. The next few days were busy with unloading, unpacking, and exploring our new home. 

Excitement. Anxiety. Joy. Uncertainty. All that and more but we had made that leap and now it was time to make the most of if.

Our first full weekend there we were given entrance into Glacier National Park so we loaded up the kids and drove up to a part of the park called Two Medicine. There were people there but not overwhelmingly so. We were able to find a parking spot and throughout the day we snacked, hiked, skipped rocks and breathed in the slightly smokey air. For a good while we sat on the beach of Two Medicine Lake and gazed out at the water. It was just what we needed. Later I learned just how meaningful this time was to my husband.  He preached about this day on his first Sunday here in Bozeman.

We left an extremely toxic and unhealthy situation in New Mexico. As I previously stated, Zach was so burned by what was happening in the church that he was sending his resume out to other organizations. He was hurt and exhausted in the worst way. Unknown to me at the time, as he sat by a lake in Montana, listening to the kids play, the birds chirp, and the wind blow, a sense of calm reassurance washed over him. He knew, without a doubt, that we were just where we needed to be.

Zach centering himself at Two Medicine Lake in East Glacier.

Though that time and space holds a certain sacredness for all of us, for me another place tops Two Medicine. Not long after this trip we once again loaded in the car and went to explore our new home. We followed a road past a reservoir and into the mountains. There's a place, not too far in, where you can cross a bridge over a small river. We pulled off and spent a good amount of time playing, sitting, and taking deep breaths of slightly smokey air. 

This place was it for me. This place amongst the trees and by the moving water became integral to my own healing and acceptance of our new existence. This place would be where we took my parents on their one and only trip to Montana to see us. This is where I would watch my mom, weary in both body and soul from fighting cancer, stand and breathe in her own healing breaths. This place would be were Zach would take me whenever I was feeling overburden by life. This is the place we would go to right before we left Montana to move to Wyoming. One last breath.

When we found out we were moving to Bozeman we promised our oldest that we would try our hardest to make a trip back to Choteau so she could spend sometime with her friends. We made that trip this weekend, loading up the camper and making that three hour drive.

It was a lovely day, visiting with old friends, visiting our old haunts, enjoying some of the best ice cream. We then started the short drive up to our favorite little bridge into a small campsite where we quickly parked and set up. Soon we were walking down the hill to sit by the river. I sat with a huge grin on my face, so content watching my silly husband and kids laughing and playing together. I went and stood on the bridge and watched my family enjoying a place so familiar to them. Unexpectedly I became overwhelmed by emotion as all the memories of that place and the feelings attached to it washed over me. 

It amazes me how places, nature in particular can become such sacred, meaningful places as we are living our lives. We have moved around quite a bit, lived in four states, explored and enjoyed many wonderful and beautiful areas, but there is something about this place in particular that was exactly what I needed at a pivotal point in my own growth, and because of that, some place that many may see as insignificant is, to me, holy ground.

There are many wonderful places that can be found all over this great creation. Have you found healing in nature? I'd love to hear about it. As always, thanks for reading.

Most recent trip to my sacred place.

Last trip before we moved.

Soaking up some Montana before leaving.

Introducing my parents to some of our favorite places. It was cold and windy but still so special.

First trip. Smoke filled the air but it didn't bother us.

Hello Blog. It's me, Mikel

 Stress. Joy. Excitement. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Gratefulness. Fear. Exhaustion.

I have been asked often lately how I'm feeling about our most recent move.  I usually answer with something generic like "Oh, it's going as well as can be expected" or "We are getting there." I certainly don't answer truthfully. How could I possibly? Many people get it, to some degree at least.  Many people don't. And some people just don't really care.

Transition. 

As a mother to three and especially as a mother to a teenager in high school I find that I am almost always worrying about something. I constantly second guess my words, my actions, and my decisions, concerned about how they may affect my children both in the present and long term. 

I didn't choose to be married to a clergy person.  I didn't plan to one day be raising pastor kids. I didn't foresee a life that would have me moving my family and all my possessions 7 times in 12 years, calling four different states home.  But, here we are. 

I certainly hope to call this new place home for a long while.  I really hope to see at least two of my children graduate from the same high school. Hope. Not certainty.  That's were the fear comes in. The "what ifs" creep into my thoughts. 

Hope.

We all have things we hope to see, hope to experience, hope not to experience. When you fully understand that there are many tings outside of your control that can shatter that hope in a second, then you experience helplessness. Our lives are controlled by other people.  Our home is owned by an entity. Our income relies on the generosity of others. Our yearly appointment relies on a group of people meeting together to discern who goes to what church. We only have control over our own reactions. I only have control over myself and that's terrifying. How do I make it all ok?

Mourning.

We move once again.  We leave. We say good bye. We start over. We live in disappointment and dashed expectations. We understand we can not control how other people react. We refill pantries and refrigerators.  We navigate new towns. We organize new kitchens. We struggle to find something to feed the children after long days at a new job and unpacking. We come to grips with being far away from family, friends we know, an existence we became used to. We mourn what is no more.  

Joy.

Joy surrounds us in our new adventures. Joy is found in the face of my children as they meet a new friend. Joy is present when I sit and enjoy a cup of coffee from a fun mug in a freshly decorated new house.  Joy is in a welcoming smile from someone who is glad to see you.  Joy is sitting across from my husband as he experiences a new brewery.  Joy is in discovery.

Life Unexpected.

Each day we start anew. We try to find comfort in the chaos. We live, we love, we sleep, we clean, we do copious amounts of laundry. It's normal. A new normal. 

We put a smile on our face and excitement in the voice because the younger humans in our house need it. Make it home. Make it ok. Give them hope. I can't let myself be weighed down by the to-dos, the uncertainty, the socializing when all my introverted heart wants to do is stay home and read a book. 

I cant control other people. I cant control how my children feel about things. I cant control much about this life, but I can control how I feel and react. 

Thanks for reading. Thank you for the prayers. Thank you for being a part of our lives even when we don't always see you.

Traditions, new and old.

 As many of you know, my dear mother passed away from cancer on December 5, 2019.  I wrote in my previous post about my struggles with my emotions this past year.  I have been open in my mourning, knowing that many try to keep those feelings to themselves.  In my sharing I have heard many stories of shared experiences from others.  Many of you have joined me in voicing your own grief, whether you lost a loved one recently or years ago.  It's beautiful to be able to share that with you.  

A friend recently made a post about having to form new traditions in the absence of a loved one, especially if so many of your holiday traditions centered around the one you lost.  How very true.  This is the second Christmas without my mom, and I haven't a clue what new traditions will emerge.

My mom loved Christmas.  LOVED it.  She collected ornaments and had so many Christmas decorations that yearly she would have to decide on a theme, knowing not everything could come out of storage.  One of my last precious memories of her, if you'll indulge me in penning it to paper, is decorating her Christmas tree.  Last year I flew from Montana to Texas because mom was once again in the hospital.  Cancer had spread to the liver.  We knew time was running out.  The week before Thanksgiving I broached the idea of going ahead and decorating for Christmas.  Mom was hesitant at first, it's against the rules after all (her rules, not mine), but she quickly came around to the idea.  After all, if it raised her spirits but a bit it was well worth it.  I put up the skinny little tree that she had downsized to years ago and then brought out the many tubs of ornaments.  Every year when we were children, mom would take my sister and me to Hallmark and we would all pick out an ornament.  For a few years we continued the tradition with our spouses and children.  Mom still would buy herself a new Hallmark ornament every year.  So, as I opened up these tubs with mom looking on, I asked which ornaments would she like me to put up.  We sorted through them and before we knew it, both of us were in tears.  There were so many emotions, so many memories tied to not only the ornaments, but also to the practice of decorating.

We took a break and sat and cried together and I gratefully got the opportunity to thank mom for instilling such a love of the holidays in me.  So many traditions she began with us that I now do with my own family.  Her legacy carries on.

Today I decided to do my baking.  Nothing worked well for me.  Cookies I've baked hundreds of times failed to turn out like they should.  I let the temperature of the candy I was making get away from me and scalded myself when it boiled up.  Another batch of cookies I let burn.  And through it all, all I could think about was my mom.  Cooking was another part of our holiday tradition.  Fudge and candy, tea cakes, cookies, sausage balls.  We would set the menu and then cook together, each of us doing our own thing.  Talking when we had something to say but being comfortable in our silence too.  Cooking today, making recipes that I once made in her kitchen, in her company, of course nothing went right.  A big piece was missing.

I remember sitting at my Granny's kitchen table, watching as she cooked.  I quietly observed as she bustled around, as my sister and cousins ran around playing, as my mom and aunts did their parts to get a family meal on the table.  Soon, she was giving me little jobs to do.  When my mom started taking over the family dinners, I made Granny's fruit salad.  I made, and still do make, her butterscotch roll.  Those pieces of her are still here.

So, just as with my precious grandmother, I know mom is still here with me.  I know that she will be a part of the holidays for the rest of my days.  No, it's not even close to the same.  Yes, it hurts and springs on you in the simplest of moments, that loss.  New traditions will also emerge as we try to figure out how to do life with out her.  It hasn't felt like Christmas this year.  Part of that is Covid.  Part of that is a new town.  Mostly its missing my mom.  I have done my best to "fake it" this year, mostly for the kids sake, but I'm going to be honest my friends, there is no part of me that has any Christmas spirit.  I've worn the silly sweaters, listened to the music, watched the movies, sang the carols, decorated, baked, wrapped and shopped, but I still feel a bit scrooge-like.  And you know what?  That's okay.  It's okay to not be okay.  It's okay to not want to celebrate this year.  It's okay to be sad, and missing someone.  It's okay.  

This post has been for me.  If you can relate, I'm sorry, but I also understand.  As another friend once said to me, it's a crummy club to be a member of, but at least you're not alone.  May your holiday season be just what you need it to be, and if it's not, then that's okay too.

The skinny tree sporting the ornaments we finally decided on.

                                               The older tree, after a fun day of decorating.

Reflections

 It's been so long since I sat myself down to write something that I almost don't know where to begin.  I imagine most people forgot I even had a "blog" (is it even considered a blog anymore if you haven't written in it for years?).  There have been moments throughout the past few years that I thought to myself that I should sit down and pen those thoughts to paper, so to speak, but have either lacked the discipline, motivation, or thought that some things were better left unsaid.  So here I find myself, not knowing for sure what has made this moment any different than before. 

I read over my last blog post, in which I discussed our big move to Montana, and all the emotions that went with that transition.  Now, here I am again, months after another move, this time to Wyoming, having experienced many of the same emotions, only now coupled with this year being, well, it being 2020 (you guys feel me).  

This morning I have spent time working on my calendar.  Every year I create a calendar on Shutterfly with all our favorite photos from the year before.  I will hang it in my kitchen and use it almost as a journal, recording important, and not so important, moments that happen.  I always get nostalgic when I am looking through all the photos I have taken but this year I felt something akin to sadness.  Why?

Just a couple weeks ago I was having a conversation about this year with someone.  She made a comment that was something like,"I haven't done a thing this year!"  Of course we did acknowledge the big election which was...something. And, of course, I understand what she was saying, many people didn't have a lot of activity happen.  Most of us dutifully stayed at home, we quarantined, we refrained from travel.  However, that doesn't mean things didn't happen to you.

As I looked over my year in picture form, starting with January, I noticed many things.  I had literally no pictures for the month of January.  For one short moment I questioned this.  How can I have no pictures? Me? Then it hit,  I was in mourning.  I don't know that I could tell you anything that happened that month.  I remember going to therapy once a week, and that's about it.  February was better, we took the kids skiing and being in the outdoors, even in the snowy cold, did (and still does) wonders for my soul.  Spring came and with it so did COVID and the shutdown.  We tried our best to make the best of this new reality we were living.  We powered through at-home learning, played outside when weather permitted, did our best to celebrate three birthdays in the most meaningful ways we could, and spent a lot of time as a family.  Man, it was hard.  In the midst of all that, we also learned we were moving.

Moving was NOT on our radar.  It was scary, and sad, and frustrating, and exciting all at the same time.  We had to buy a house!  We had to buy a house a state away in the middle of a pandemic!  We had to say our goodbyes, pack, and try to get in as much of Montana as we could, in the midst of a pandemic.  I wouldn't recommend it.  Once more, as with every move we have made, we had to face the hurt and pain of being immediately "removed" from peoples lives.  We had people immediately unfriend us on facebook, others just ignored us if we say them in public.  Others were much more upfront, and told us how angry they were, and still others, said they were angry but understood.  Even now, months later, I mourn those relationships.  It's never easy to move.  All of our moves have been difficult, but as I looked at the pictures, capturing our last moments in Montana, I grieve all over again.  Zach and I both have found that we call Montana "home."  I also grieve what we had, the memories we made, the adventures we went on.  It's another byproduct of this year, our adventures have all but screeched to a halt.  Those activities we did, the places we visited during our time in Montana were meaningful for a number of reasons.  They helped us heal from a bad situation in New Mexico.  They helped distract us from not being able to help out with our families in Texas.  They gave us moments of clarity and cleansing when the world became too much to bear.

Now, I don't want you to think the move was all bad.  It hasn't been.  Wyoming has its own beauty and we have lots of plans to get out and adventure more when the world calms down.  The church here has been very welcoming, even with all that is working against us.  The kids love their schools and have found ways to get involved and fit in.  We love our new home and the fact that it is ours. We have found joy here in many ways.  

But still, sadness hits today.  I know I'm not alone in mourning what once was.  I think it's okay to have those emotions, especially this year.  I am grateful for each of you, for allowing me to process through those feelings.  So often we force ourselves to push through, without proper reflection and commiserating. Im a big believer in feeling your emotions and then choosing not to dwell in the bad ones.  This year has been harder in practice, I've lost my mother, I've lost my home, I've lost relationships, but I know I am not alone.  This year has be wrought with divisions, arguments, political strife, death, illness, anger and so much more.  I hope that for many of us will come to realize that if nothing else, we are not alone in our many emotions. 

Now, I will pack up that sadness and lay it down.  I'm going to find joy and excitement in what is to come for us.  I will find hope in the unknown and peace in the knowing that we are never, ever alone.

Thanks for reading.

Greetings from Big Sky Country

It's been a long while since I last wrote and it's been almost as long since we moved across country to our new home in Montana.  So much about our lives have changed in such a short amount of time, that the abruptness of our new life has stunned me into a writer's block. 

I've been struck at how quickly life can change.  It's never easy.  Thankfully, this new path we are on, we feel 100% called to, called to Montana, called to this place, called to this new ministry.  That belief has made things easier. 

We love this new home.  It's different here, and not in a bad way.  So much of what I have longed for can be found in this small, charming town.  I finally feel like my kids are able to enjoy aspects of my childhood that I thought they'd forever miss out on.  The kids have settled in nicely, enjoying school, making friends, getting involved in activities.   It feels...settled.

It hasn't been completely easy.  We are a long way off from anything that used to be familiar.  There was a time that I would expect to see someone I knew when I went to a local store, only to be reminded that I didn't know anyone for thousands of miles.  That's a very lonely feeling.  There were many days where I lingered at our new house, unpacking boxes, settling our belongings, and would be overcome with homesickness.  If only I could have gone "home" for a weekend, I thought, just a couple of days with loved ones...

It's been six months since our rushed move north.  We have experienced so much.  We saw two new states that none of us had seen before.  We drove into a new town, up to a new house, that we had only seen in a few pictures.  We experienced the loneliness of not seeing family for many months.  We have seen scenes from this country that take your breath away with it's grandness and beauty, experiencing nature in a new and amazing way.  We have lived through the worst winter (and still not over we hear) that we have ever imagined.  We have made many new relationships, been embraced by three church congregations in three different towns.  We have also lost friends we thought we had, people from previous churches who refused to even say goodbye to us before we left town.  We have experienced the heart ache of being misunderstood.  We have seen the confusion in our children's eyes as they struggled to understand why there were being discarded.

It's never easy. 

Being in this profession, and living this life, we expect challenges.  We know change will be coming around the bend.  We know, never to get too comfortable.  We also know that this is a life with great reward.

For know we can say, we are home.  We are where we belong.  We know this part of our path is true, and good, and exactly where we are supposed to be.  We know who loves us, and we know Him who loves us most.  It may never be easy, but it is definitely worth it. 

We are living our adventure. 

Journey Together

A few years ago, when Zach was finalizing his decision to become a Pastor in the United Methodist Church, and going through the steps to make that decision a reality, we had lunch with a, at the time, dear friend.  It was during this lunch that I was told by this friend that I was not cut out to be a Pastor's wife.  I was told that I could very likely hinder my husband's ministry unless I chose to change who I was.  This conversation, which was less a conversation and more an attack (in my honest opinion), left me feeling many things.  Anger, indignation, betrayal, and, most of all, insecurity.  It was the last thing I needed to hear at this point in our lives.  We had already accepted a job at a new church, in a new town, things were already in motion, there was no going back now.

I returned home from that lunch and promptly cried buckets of tears.  Zach and I discussed, at length, whether or not we thought this friend was correct in his assessment of me.  My dear husband reassured me repeatedly that I would not hinder his career in anyway, which, I'll admit, I only half believed.  I didn't choose this life.  I married a man who was going to school for business.  When we got married we both only worked part time at the church, helping with the youth.  There was a time when Zach worked full-time in sales, both of us thinking that this was his future.  I never would have thought that God would call him into full time ministry.

Since that afternoon three years ago, I have met many Pastor spouses.  Each one has taught me that there is no one way to live this life.  Each one is different in personality, in gifts, in weaknesses.  Each one has a different opinion of their role in the church and in the ministry of their pastor spouse.  I've been told by more experienced spouses that I have permission to choose my own path.  True, not everyone in the church we are sent to will like me, not everyone will agree with my chosen path, regardless of what it is.  You simply can not please everyone all of the time.

Still, with this knowledge and with these great mentors in my own life, the insecurity persists.  I have not been able to rid myself of the voice of that friend, hearing it in the back of my mind each and every day.  There have been moments, times of despair and uncertainty, that I lament "I am not cut out for this life!"  I cry out to God,"How could Zach be so obviously called to ministry, to being a Pastor, and I am not called to go with him?!"  These moments occur more often than I would like to admit.

However, last week I was able to go to the Annual Conference of the New Mexico United Methodist Churches.  This was my first time at Conference and I quite enjoyed it, despite the long business sessions.  There was a special speaker at Conference, Pastor Jorge Acevedo, who said quite a few things that was life giving to me.  One such thing was, "Comparison is not of the devil, it is the devil."  I would imagine that all of us are guilty of comparing ourselves with others.  It doesn't usually lead to anything good.  Pastor Acevedo had many good things to say, particularly at the Ordination Service.  I found myself getting inspired, inspired to do ministry.  Inspired to do ministry with my husband, excited and emotional, thinking of the day when he will finally be ordained.  Then, like a light turning on, sitting in that service, it occurred to me.  I am called to this life.  Sure, my calling looks nothing like Zach's, and it looks nothing like the spouses of other Pastor's, but it's a calling all the same.  I know I help Zach do ministry when I am at home with the kids feeling useless.  I help when he can go where he needs to go, do what he needs to do, and he knows that I have things handled at home.  I help when I support him unconditionally, when he knows I am willing to go with him wherever his ministry takes him.  I must stand firm in the faith that God has called all of us, in some fashion, and I must not be tempted to compare my calling with others.  I also must remember that as we continue along our paths, the view will change but the destination is unwavering.

I can not promise that I will not have moments of insecurity, of doubt, of worry, moments where I compare myself with someone else.  I can not promise that everyone will like me or agree with my choices.  I can only continue on the best that I know how, hand in hand with my husband, in the full and comforting embrace of our Father, enveloped in the unending and unwavering grace that is offered to us all.

May I please offer a plea to all my church going friends, laity and clergy both, to stop comparing, but to love one another, encourage and uphold the calling in one another, even if it looks different that what we expect or desire?  Thank you for reading.  It means more to me than you know.

You do You

I have a confession to make.  I am addicted to podcasts.  Guys, it's serious.  I don't know why I waited so long, but I fell for them and fell hard. I don't watch tv hardly at all anymore and my time on social media sites have decreased considerably. I listen to a variety of podcasts, mostly true crime (don't judge), and a few comedy.  One I really enjoy and put on when I need a laugh is called the Dollop.  It's an American History podcast that takes a story or a person from history, both distant and not too distant, and breaks it down into a laughter filled hour or so.  I wouldn't recommend this podcast if you are thin skinned or if you can't handle listening to views that may not necessarily match up to your own or are sensitive to bad language.  I love it though and I've learned quite a bit.

One great thing about listening to podcasts is I can put in my earbuds, turn on an episode, and get things done.  I've found I'm much more productive.  Today was a day that I needed to both laugh and get stuff done so I turned on The Dollop and got busy.  Interestingly enough, one of the topics spoke to something that has been on my heart lately.

So the topic was a silly one, titled Straw Hat Riot (episode 129 for you Rubes), and basically it spoke about a time that people were so concerned that men not wear their straw hats passed a specified date, that they would literally take and destroy said hat if one was caught wearing it.  It became a real issue, people were arrested and injured because of a hat. One of the hosts of the podcasts (and I paraphrase because language) said, "Why do people care what other people are doing so much?"

That's what's been laying on my heart lately.  Why do people care what other people do so much?  Maybe I've mellowed with age, or maybe I've encountered enough people who are different than what I grew up with, or maybe it's life experiences, who knows, but honestly folks, I don't care very much what other people choose to do if it doesn't harm anyone.  For instance, how many posts have you seen regarding fashion and you just can't wrap your mind around why someone would choose to wear it?  Or, perhaps you can't stand a certain celebrity, and cant fathom why someone would look up to them.  How many times have you glanced at the comments of that cute puppy video you shared and saw commentors who somehow found something negative to say about it.  Even those recipe videos some of us love (guilty) will have comments along the lines of "Why would anyone eat this" or "wow, this cake is really ugly, who would want it?"

Whatever it is, so many people feel the need to take a stance on the silliest of issues, becoming keyboard warriors against anyone who would dare be different.  I'm here to tell you, I DON'T CARE!  I don't care what you wear, how much makeup you wear, how your hair is done, what shows, music, books you like.  I don't care if you prefer a certain type of vehicle or type of pet, if you can't stand a certain type of food or hobby.  I don't care if you are a Baptist or a Methodist, if you prefer one type of worship music over another.  I don't feel the need to turn everyone I meet into Mikel clones, who believe in the exact same way I do.  Let me enjoy the things I enjoy, and I'll be glad to return the favor.

Try as you might, you will not find anyone who agrees one hundred percent with you in any given topic, be it politics, religion, current events, how you raise your family, or how you live your life.  That's OK.  I've learned so much from people who think differently than me.  There is so much negativity in this world, why add to it?  Why bring misery to yourself and others over insignificant things?  Why, when there are so many real issues going on today that are much more deserving of our concern and attention?

Friends, there is so much darkness in our lives, in our world, why can't we all choose to stop finding issue with our neighbors, stop adding to the negativity, and instead bring much needed light and love into our lives and into the lives of those we encounter, even if it's just with strangers on the internet.  It's okay to have differing ideas about things.  It's okay to not like everything we see.  However, ask yourself, would this negative thought benefit anyone else?  Is it worth my time to comment about something I don't like or think is silly?  Are my negative comments online or in person the witness I want to give?

May your days be filled with goodness and may we all be the light in a world filled with darkness.