tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-344800372024-03-13T18:08:58.434-04:00isn't that the craziest thingPattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comBlogger884125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-73992711282119482752022-09-12T17:40:00.001-04:002022-09-12T17:40:20.393-04:00feet<p>It started while we were away on vacation.</p><p>Gibson-the-Wee began licking his paw incessantly, notably after trying to befriend frogs in the mud at the edge of a pond. He was also desperately trying to say hello to the two nearby chipmunks, but they kept racing by at top speed, never stopping for a little chat. </p><p>He licked it all night long.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i>If you have a dog, you know that's a sound that will drive you to the outer edge of sanity.</i></b></p><p>I called our vet the next day, and they said to pop a cone on him, so I did, because as it turned out, there wasn't a vet in the entire area where we were that would even look at him.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i>All y'all got Pandemic Puppies, and the vets are over-run.</i></b></p><p>Weirdly, Gibson LOVED the cone. He seemed to think it was gently cuddling his tiny head.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i>He's an eternal optimist.</i></b></p><p>Funny moment: The blanket on our bed is kinda textured. And the cone is velcro. At one point, I woke up to see that Gibson seemed mildly - just a teensy bit - agitated, trying to roll over. Turned out he was velcro'd right to the bed and couldn't move.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i>Go ahead, laugh. I did.</i></b></p><p>Anyway, it took around 10 days to see a vet, and by then, his tiny little paw was definitely having problems. It was red, and inflamed, and swollen, and he did NOT want to talk about it or let anyone look at it.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i>Poor lil guy.</i></b></p><p>The vet said it was an infection, gave him some crumb-sized pills, and within 12 hours, they were working. </p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i>He's gonna be fine.</i></b></p><p>Also, the vet noted he's a little chunky - that's the word she said - "chunky". So the treats have been restricted, and he's not pleased, to be honest.</p><p>Meanwhile, I apparently got an invisible sliver in the bottom of MY foot, so I've been hobbling around, taking close-ups of my foot, then zooming in, trying to see WHAT was hurting. Used masking tape to remove / pull out SOMETHING minuscule, I don't know what, and now it seems to also be improving. </p><p>So I don't have to wear a cone, I guess, and I'm relieved about that.</p><p>Also, no one has suggested that I'M a little "chunky" and that is also good news.</p>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-28170511167124520862022-08-30T13:34:00.000-04:002022-08-30T13:34:06.415-04:00in honour of Wilton<p> I weep, watching the service. </p><p>A beloved, decades-long member of our church, Wilton quietly slipped out of this life, leaving behind countless stories of quiet humour, generous wisdom, and gentle care for those around him.</p><p><i>He loved Jesus. Oh, how he loved Jesus.</i></p><p>He lived a life of faith as it should be lived. Loving. Kind. Faithful. Persistent in walking alongside of people, pointing them to a loving God.</p><p>I could not be there, at the service. The pandemic meant I hadn’t seen him much the last few years. I am so thankful for the quiet nudge just a few days before he passed, to delay my own plans, to go to the hospital to see him.</p><p><i>Go. Now</i>.</p><p>I am so thankful I listened to that nudge.</p><p>And now I watch his funeral service, and I weep, in part because I will miss this man, so much. But also because of gratitude. My own heart is strengthened with renewed resolve. Wilton passes the baton from his hands that carried it well, without faltering. He leaves behind countless lives, people shaped by his intentional care. I am reminded of the precious faith of which I am a part, following Jesus with so many others, and I am encouraged to carry on.</p><p>It was a joy to serve as his pastor for just a few years. I will deeply miss his smile and his words of wise encouragement. I will miss him asking me who he can visit, who needs help - “Give me the tough ones, Pastor Patti.”</p><p><i>“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.” (Bible)</i></p><p>He is a part of my cloud of witnesses now.</p><p><i>Until we meet again, my friend.</i></p>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-41930772096854476232021-05-28T12:48:00.000-04:002021-05-28T12:48:11.245-04:00moonlight sonata<p>A couple of nights ago, I was out walking the pup. </p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The usual circuit.</span></i></b></p><p>We paused in a park, as Gibson-the-Wee had not seen any friends yet on this walk, and he wanted to linger, in case any happened to come by, canine, human or otherwise.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He's an extrovert.</span></i></b></p><p>As we waited, I slowly tuned in to a mildly unusual sound. There, in another corner of our park was a young man. </p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Playing an accordion.</span></i></b></p><p>I don't mean a street performer. There was no suggestion of receiving donations. This isn't a touristy, fancy-schmancy, Old Montreal park. Just a regular city park, in a regular neighbourhood, with dandelions and garbages that sometimes overflow.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">There's a beautiful fountain, but it's broken on a fairly frequent basis.</span></i></b></p><p>Just a guy. </p><p>In a park. </p><p>All by himself. </p><p>On a warm spring evening. </p><p>Playing his accordion.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">We're gonna be ok, Montreal.</span></i></b></p>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-17554415378697531912021-05-24T16:59:00.000-04:002021-05-24T16:59:50.854-04:00night shift<div> The Boy and I have spent most of our married life with weird schedules. Mostly him. Musicians work weird, unpredictable hours. Truckers work long, unpredictable hours.</div><div><br />I learned years ago when making any plans - any plans at all - to include the words, "unless Jeff doesn't get home in time".</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Because he tried. </span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But stuff happens.</span></i></b></div><div><br />Before we had cell phones (and LONG before apps gave you free international calls!) whenever he went to do a bunch of gigs in the US, he'd estimate the approximate day they'd be back. But they were only back "on time" once, I think. Stuff happens. Vehicles break down. Plans change. If they were more than 2 or 3 days after the projected date, I'd start wondering where they might be.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Before cell phones?!</span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></b></i></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Wow, she's older than I thought.</span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></b></i></div></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Yep.</span></b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Plus, I work Sundays. And sometimes weeknights. The rare Saturday.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">And then I keep going back to school on the side.</span></i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>So we have weird, busy schedules. We're pretty accustomed to adapting as we go.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this week, he started a new trucking job - better pay, better predictability, seems like better everything.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But it's night shift.</span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">So that's new.</span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Means he avoids the traffic.</span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Which is a delightful side effect.</span></b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>So this morning, he fell asleep just as I was getting up. My primary task was to keep the puppy from bouncing joyfully on his head, which I did by taking said creature for an early 90-minute walk. Dawned on me eventually that the streets were quieter than usual, not because it was so early, but because it's a holiday, and I forgot.</div><div><br /></div><div>Got back home and worked for a few hours, pausing from time to time to shush and redirect the pup away from the bedroom door.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The Boy emerged just before noon.</span></i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>I closed my laptop, asked how the first shift was, and went about making ... well, supper, because he's leaving in a few hours, and he's gonna need more than a tuna sandwich. We ate together, and he left.</div><div><br /></div><div>Theoretically, I should open the laptop again, and continue my labours for a few more hours.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except I'm at my best in the morning, and it's all downhill after that, and when the productivity is paused by a two-hour break that includes a sizeable meal .... oof, the motivation is lacking.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Good thing it's a holiday.</span></i></b></div><div><br /></div>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-50565996485003711972021-05-18T21:10:00.000-04:002021-05-18T21:10:12.300-04:00joy with a side of ... what?<p><b><i>Fourteen months.</i></b></p><p>That's how long it's been where I live since the government told us all to go home. And we've all got various versions of that same story. Ever-changing restrictions, never-ending pivots.</p><p><b><i>Fourteen months.</i></b></p><p>Today our premier announced Quebec's re-opening plan, all the various stages, until the end of August. It's the first time, I think, that he's announced a plan more than two weeks ahead. It seems reasonable to me, laid out in stages. I appreciate seeing that far ahead. I have questions, but fourteen months of press conferences has taught me that the answers will come eventually, and there's no point getting too worked up before they do.</p><p><b><i>I'm surprised by the emotion I'm feeling.</i></b> Not the relief - that's to be expected. There's a light at the end of this long tunnel - we're almost there. We did it, collectively. We made it. The premier smiled today, joyfully, and I don't think I've seen him smile much over these months.</p><p>But something else too. Something uncomfortable ... stressful ... that tightness in my chest ... what? Truthfully, this means another pivot, and likely not the last one. And even though it's a good pivot, it's another change, and change takes energy, and the weariness is real.</p><p><b><i>I had a week of vacation last week.</i></b> One day back, and the weariness came with it. It's ok. Everyone's weary, I think. One day at a time.</p><p>Suddenly, other people's expectations of me (perceived or real) will change. "Open the doors, Pastor!" Most are unaware of the work involved in each pivot, and that's ok, why would they know?</p><p>I took the pup for a walk after the press conference, and ran into two other women and their pups. We walked together. They felt the same as me - relieved ... but a bit uncertain.</p><p>One is in HR and she knows she won't get her office back. They've restructured the office space, and her job doesn't need to be on-site. So she'll still be working from home permanently, and when she bought her condo, that wasn't the plan.</p><p>The other is a teacher and she's going back to shared office space and over-crowded classrooms. Teaching online was tough ... but she's not quite jumping for joy to return, full speed ahead.</p><p><b><i>I thought about restaurant owners.</i></b> So many have simply lost their staff. They have to re-hire, and it's hard to re-hire when you don't know a re-opening date. Now they all know the date, and the stress of hiring, training, re-opening will be real. If they don't, customers will complain - "Open the doors!" - unaware of the work involved.</p><p>I wonder how many of us are feeling this? Joy ... with a side of anxiety. Relief ... wrapped in fatigue. Hope ... but holding it in check, because it might change again. Deep breath ... dig in ... push through.</p><p><b><i>We're out of margin.</i></b> Out of rope, and just hanging on firmly to the knot at the end. I likely thought that when an announcement came like today's, we'd all pour out dancing into the streets, like when the end of a war was declared. But of course we can't, because it's not over, and there won't be a single "moment" when everything changes. It will change gradually, one step at a time.</p><p>I'm mostly staying away from social media lately. The noise is too much, not good for my soul. Turning it off is a way to re-gain some margin. So ... I'm blowing the dust off this blog, at least for this day.</p><p><b><i>Here's what I think.</i></b> We're all tired, bone-weary. Or at least many of us are. And we're nearing the end, which is good, but ... when you're both tired AND almost done, the temptation can be to stop caring and stop trying so hard. Which is fine, unless you're in a situation where everyone is feeling the same thing.</p><p><b><i>It'll be closer to eighteen months when it's all said and done.</i></b></p><p>So I guess ... let's not stop trying, ok? Let's give lots of grace, show lots of kindness, choose lots of patience because although we've all been through various versions of the same story, none of us has exactly walked the same story. I don't know your unspoken challenges and you don't know mine. And we're on the last leg, yup, but we're not done yet.</p><p>And we did it, collectively, we made it, and we're almost there, and it's been a long marathon, I know. I'll grab your hand if you falter, and you do the same, and we'll together get across this finish line. </p><p><br /></p>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-51780509464702199702020-09-23T10:58:00.001-04:002020-09-23T11:04:24.790-04:00puppy art<p>I see that the house is clean. What an extraordinary turn of events! What an unexpected delight!</p><p>For I am Gibson, a puppy yes, but also an artist, and I shall fill the blank canvas of this home with my creative imagination.</p><p>I shall silently enter the washroom, grasp the end of the toilet paper roll and go leaping and frolicking in all directions, creating a ribbon-like exhibit that extends around the corner and into the bedroom, where I shall lightly shred it to create a pile of toilet paper bits that gently waft on the air currents throughout the room. </p><p>Your only clue that this is happening at all will be the quiet "wwhhhrrr" of the toilet paper roll, and you shall shriek with delight when you discover what I have done.</p><p>Next, I shall note that the barricades you have placed around the Giant Plant have shifted slightly. I shall calculate the angles, wait until you are on a Zoom call, and then I shall bounce against them until they give way. With great speed, I shall use my paws to dig, DIG I say, into the dirt and THEN I shall shove my face in that same dirt with great joy and I shall begin eating it.</p><p>For I was bathed only two days ago, and so my face as well is a blank canvas, awaiting the artist that is me.</p><p>And when you notice, and mute yourself, and turn your camera off, so that this artistic display can be privately enjoyed, just the two of us, I shall bound quickly throughout this home, spreading dirt first here, then there. And you shall chase me. And it shall be glorious.</p><p>You shall grab a broom so that you may join in the fun with the dirt, and I shall proceed with my Dance of the Broom Attack, carefully choreographed to stay just out of reach of your hands, but still close enough to help spread the dirt.</p><p>And when you raise your voice to new heights, responding to the sheer wonder of it all, I shall smile with contentment and gaze at you with my puppy dog eyes. For I have done all of this for you.</p><p>And you shall pick me up and speak firmly to me, though I know not what you say. And I shall lick your nose.</p><p>And you shall carry me like royalty to my enclosure, where my bed and my food is. And I shall thank you with another lick on the nose, just once more, for I am now exhausted from my work. </p><p>And I need a nap.</p><p>And I shall curl up with my stuffed lion who squeaks sometimes, and drift blissfully into puppy sleep, dreaming of the day when the house shall be clean again.</p><p>For I am Gibson. I am six months old today.</p><p>And I am a Good Boy.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E1rqx6p6KHs/X2th9enalEI/AAAAAAAACwE/4OOZ8DNziiAWeJp3-EzzSrKDuaircjvhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Gibson%2BSeptember%2B2020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E1rqx6p6KHs/X2th9enalEI/AAAAAAAACwE/4OOZ8DNziiAWeJp3-EzzSrKDuaircjvhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Gibson%2BSeptember%2B2020.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-2757465092224090582020-08-26T08:34:00.003-04:002020-08-26T10:08:09.395-04:00pandemic pastor<p>I signed out of social media a week or two ago.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">All of it.</span></i></b></p><p>We're now over five months into the world of pandemic, and something had to give.</p><p>I threw on a hoodie last night - because August evenings in Montreal get chilly - and noticed it was from <a href="https://www.vanguardcollege.com">Vanguard</a>, in Edmonton. A gift when I was speaking there for a few days in February. When life was still normal. </p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">That feels like a foggy dream now.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I miss that world.</span></i></b></p><p>Since then ... well, you know. We've all got our own stories, disjointed bits that we will remember.</p><p>I remember Tuesday, March 24, around 6 PM.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Oh hey - that's precisely five months ago, today.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">We had already moved our Sunday gatherings online. We were already disinfecting every surface, all the time, washing our hands constantly. Some of us had already been working from home.</span></i></b></p><p>But now, on this day exactly five months ago, I told everyone in our office to get what they needed, go home and not come back. <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/covid-19-coronavirus-montreal-march-23-1.5506434" target="_blank">The government had told all of us to go home.</a> I stood in the silent, darkened office space that Tuesday evening, a little sobered. I wondered what would change before we returned ... on April 13, was the plan.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">We're still not back, not like we were.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I've since moved most of my office home, for the first time since 1994.</span></i></b></p><p>After years of literally saying, "Don't worry, no matter what happens, it's not like we would close the church doors" - we closed the church doors.</p><p>I'm ok with that, theologically, for a time. We believe the Church is not its building; it is its people. We aren't of the ilk who believe this is an infringement on our freedoms or some form of faith-persecution. But Christians also believe strongly in gathering together - <i>we are a communal faith</i> - and in helping our world - <i>we are a serving faith</i> - and we couldn't do either, not like we wanted to.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">We found our way, and still are doing so.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">God's Church is still quite alive and well.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But we miss each other.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">We miss the warm, non-distanced gatherings, w</span></i></b><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">ith music and laughter and together-prayer and cheek-kisses.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">We miss being together in our building.</span></i></b></p><p>At one point, I saw tumbleweeds <i>(figuratively speaking)</i> blow through downtown Montreal, where previously there were always crowds and traffic. One Saturday, Jeff and I drove along Notre Dame from one side of the city to the other - not a single moment of traffic. We never stopped or slowed, except for traffic lights. </p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">If you know Montreal, you know how impossible that is.</span></i></b></p><p>Trucker-Man, suddenly declared an "essential service," was being thanked on media and billboards for just doing his job. He found that amusing. "That's not usually how people respond to truckers," he said wryly.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">His job was sold to another company a few months ago, so that happened too.</span></i></b></p><p>I glance now at the labels on this blog site, and see the label "Andie lives here" and it's a gut-punch, because a blood clot happened in May, and one day she was fine, and the next she was ... gone. All the vet could say was, "I'm so sorry ... it is terrible luck ..." as we cried.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Last night I cried again, missing her.</span></i></b></p><p>Impossibly, unbelievably, just a couple of hours later that same day, I led a graveside service - 10 people only, strictly spaced - for a woman in our church who had died of COVID. The grief and trauma of those there was palpable. We could not comfort, not really; we could only try to speak gently (but audibly) and look at each other from a distance.</p><p>I've cooked and washed dishes more than I have in a long time, as restaurants closed for months. Some of you missed malls and shopping.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Not us. We missed restaurants.</span></i></b></p><p>I stood in long lines in a parking lot, just for the privilege of going into a grocery store. I was delighted to do so, out there in the sunshine, because it gave me a reason to leave the house. Stocked up three weeks' worth of stuff<i> - which we never do, we live in an urban centre, for goodness' sake -</i> because I didn't know when I'd be back, and I didn't know what items people would start hoarding next, and I was trying to respect the admonitions to "stay home" as much as possible.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">And the new, tiny black fur-ball that is Gibson.</span></i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">A personality for whom everything is a joyful, wonderfully exciting adventure.</span></i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He's five months old now.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He's a hilarious handful.</span></i></b></p><p><b>And now we're in the last week of August.</b></p><p>I've returned to school, because I made that decision about four days before the virus hit. Working now on the last assignment of the first course.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Weird.</span></i></b></p><p>Every time I go out the door, the mental checklist includes keys, phone, wallet. And a mask.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Also weird. </span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">How many times recently have you gone back into the house - "I forgot my mask"?</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Yeah. Me too.</span></i></b></p><p>And after over five months of 15-minutes-a-day prayer and Scripture together at 7 AM, our little online devotional group is coming to a close. Life is shifting again, schedules are changing, and things move on. Most of our group barely knew each other last February, though we were part of the same church. Now ... well, some unique friendships have been forged, as we've journeyed together through this season.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Thankful for that.</span></i></b></p><p>Montreal kids go back to school in the next week or so. No idea what that will bring for our society and therefore our church's life, so we pause, balanced on our toes, ready to pivot again if need be.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Always balancing, holding our breath, pivoting.</span></i></b></p><p>I - we - our staff - other pastors - spend hours, constantly, exploring possibilities, watching for gaps in our protocols, checking to see if rules have changed, if potential liabilities have opened up, reading insurance updates. We spend hours shifting the essential nature of what we do to new methods of doing it, checking the effectiveness of it, and shifting again. We continue to share the timeless truths that are part of following Jesus, knowing that those truths are foundational in a deeply-changed world; but we also gently lead our congregations into likely inevitable, often uncomfortable, change - even as we hold to an unchanging faith, to a God who continues to be "I Am".</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I worry sometimes about pastors a year from now, caring for people without taking a breath, </span></i></b><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">pivoting outside of our areas of expertise or even knowledge, all with a tremendous level of uncertainty.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I pray for pastors and check in on some of my friends.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">We're all tired.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">There's a lot going on.</span></i></b></p><p>So I signed out of social media a week or two ago. Because a lot has happened, and my own mental health matters, and I knew that something had to give. </p><p>And I'm ok.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Please don't do that sympathetic head-tilt, with accompanying, questioning murmurs.</span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I hate that.</span></i></b></p><p>I'm ok. 😌 And when I'm not, I know what to do, who to turn to. And words are an outlet for me, so I sign in to my long-neglected blog, and I write.</p><p style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Maybe I'll sign in to social media, just to post this.</span></i></b></p><p>Then I close my laptop, because Gibson the Wee Wonder-Pup is awake and needs a walk.</p><p><b><i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">And so do I.</span></i></b></p>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-1683261102748915442020-05-29T09:03:00.001-04:002020-05-29T09:03:42.501-04:00the air i breathe<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>I write this ... praying I don't say it wrong. </i></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a white, middle-class pastor, born and raised in a nation in which I was, until recently, part of the dominant culture. This has meant that for the most part, I have a voice. I have power. I can access my rights with relative ease.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>The air I breathe is abundant, clear, </i></b></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>and specifically designed for me. </i></b></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I can only imagine what it is to live otherwise.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><u>And I MUST do the work of imagining it. </u></b></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Countless times I have had wonderful people, good friends, male pastors, say to me, “Patti, I don’t think women-in-ministry is still an issue. I never see it.” And my (hopefully kind and gentle) response has been, “That’s because you are male. It doesn’t cross your path.”</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They live in the same world as me,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">but they breathe different air.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Years of ministry in “inner-city” contexts showed this small-town girl the unbelievable discrimination - individual and systemic - against people on the margins. Poor, less-educated, low-income. It’s real. What they deal with never crossed my path as a middle-class person. It is heartbreaking to see someone treated like crap because of their address (or lack of one). I’ve seen it happen. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They breathe different air.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I moved to Quebec (which I love), I began to experience, just the tiniest bit, what it is to live in a world where I am <b><u>not</u></b> the dominant culture. My voice is not automatically heard. I work much harder to gain credibility.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>The air I breathe is still abundant - but it’s less clear.</i></b></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>It’s not quite designed for me.</i></b></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I work with, live among, am friends with, people at various stages in the Canadian immigration process. It has been a shock - embarrassingly - to realize how little I knew of that process. How difficult it is. How stressful it is. It simply never crossed my path. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Newcomers to Canada</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">breathe very different air.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><u>Why do I say this?</u></b></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because it has become an important exercise for me to take these lessons and apply them to racism. I don’t see racism in my world, except when it explodes on my newsfeed. But why would I? I am white. It doesn’t cross my path. It’s not the air I breathe.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, and probably closer than I know. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I MUST - I MUST do the work of imagining. Of listening without answering too quickly. Of learning without defending myself. I need to intentionally offer space to those who wonder if a white, middle-class, Canadian-born pastor might allow room for their story of different air.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My God -</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Help me to make space for those breathing different air.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Help me to examine my own heart</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">with humility, courage ... and healthy uncertainty.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can’t imagine. But I must. Show me how.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Amen.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="color: #454545; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">#icantbreathe #georgefloyd </span></b></div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-53311634926311070472019-11-25T12:32:00.000-05:002019-11-25T12:32:40.369-05:00short, pale and ...Last week, I was on vacation for several days.<br />
<br />
<b>And by "on vacation" I mean "at home". </b><br />
<br />
Because Spike (should we go back to this moniker for him? is this the one that sticks?) didn't have vacation time, so it was just me and Andie.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: blue;">I've mentioned Andie, right?</span></b></i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R3pLIqRaZFM/XdwLJOGxz-I/AAAAAAAACsk/1ZfSoiN6I1sPRMdxm609NkXdiRQZP3s_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/57316724155__AB36CB07-CBC0-4121-A932-495323207E73.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R3pLIqRaZFM/XdwLJOGxz-I/AAAAAAAACsk/1ZfSoiN6I1sPRMdxm609NkXdiRQZP3s_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/57316724155__AB36CB07-CBC0-4121-A932-495323207E73.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>So then, by "at home" I mean, "popped in once or twice to the office". </b><br />
<br />
So yes, I was on vacation. Yes, I worked a bit. But only a bit. And only on things I wanted to work on.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, on one of these pop-ins, I learned of something that had happened just prior to a previous pop-in.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: blue;">Please note: I get to work with an incredible staff team, and I love every single one of them to bits. We have a standing "not-accepting-resignations-at-this-time" policy, that's how much we all get along. Please keep this in mind, as you read further.</span></b></i></div>
<br />
The other day, Rob (second-in-command, and a hulking, football-player type, for what it's worth) and the rest of the team were sitting and having lunch. It was a rare, low-pressure kind of day, and so it was a pretty relaxed lunch. There was even a guest present - a new staff member at the organization that also uses our facility.<br />
<br />
As the standard time neared an end, Rob cleared his throat, ever-so-gently hinting that it was time to get back to work. They laughed. "Oh, we know what that means." A few minutes went by, and Rob cleared his throat again.<br />
<br />
More chuckles. "Rob, are you telling us lunch is over?"<br />
<br />
He shrugged. "I'm just telling you, Patti's coming, and she'll be here in a few minutes."<br />
<br />
And *apparently* ... this is what they told me ... they all jumped and within seconds were back at their desks.<br />
<br />
The guest, watching all this was a little bewildered. "Patti? But I thought Rob was the one you were all afraid of?"<br />
<br />
"Oh no," they said. "You haven't met Patti yet. You will. She's the short, pale one - she's the scary one."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><span style="color: blue;"><b>Please note: You know that cartoon in which someone says, "Oh my goodness, you're so pale, are you feeling ok?" And the answer is, "I'm fine. This is just my face." You've seen that? That's my life. Also, I've been short my whole life, but I make up for it by walking faster than most and wearing heels.</b></span></i></div>
<i><br /></i>
So they told me this story the next time I popped in.<br />
<br />
And I objected, strongly. "This is how you describe me to people?! The short, pale, scary one??!!! I keep telling you I'M DELIGHTFUL!!!! Why aren't you GETTING that??!!!"<br />
<br />
And they laughed. And shook their heads. And went back to work.Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-39950676647016292232019-11-11T12:16:00.000-05:002019-11-11T12:16:09.525-05:00trains, planes, and...I’m heading to Toronto for a few days. It’s a twice-a-year, week-of-meetings thing. Pretty straightforward.<br />
<br />
One of the things I love about where we live is how easy it is to get to the airport for trips like these. And by the way, straight-up Public Service Announcement - Trudeau airport in Montreal is a DREAM compared to Pearson airport in Toronto.<br />
<br />
No offense. But I’ve timed it. I’ve gone from curb-to-gate in 12 minutes, which INCLUDED a stop at Starbucks. Granted, I had checked in online, and I only had carry-on luggage.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Still. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Curb-to-gate: twelve minutes.</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i>“Dorval”</i></b></div>
<br />
But yesterday (Sunday), a “weather statement” pinged into my phone. Gonna snow in Montreal. Starting Monday afternoon, and heavier into the evening. Note: my flight was scheduled for 6 PM, Monday. Tuesday morning commute would be awful, the weather statement said. I didn’t care about the Tuesday morning commute, because I would already be in Toronto by then.<br />
<br />
Unless ... unless we were still sitting on the tarmac, de-icing for the 103rd time. It happens.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i>“Brockville”</i></b></div>
<br />
So I thought, hey, maybe I can change flights. But no. I had purchased the cheapest flight available, and there were no options. You have to pay ahead of time for options.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Oh, it will be fine.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>How bad can it be?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>I bit off a fingernail and started worrying.</i></div>
<br />
To pass the time, I popped in on Twitter, where I saw another weather statement - this one for Toronto. Starting Monday morning. Snow. Gonna be awful.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i>“Kingston”</i></b></div>
<br />
Well <b>that</b> can’t be good. Because now even <b>IF</b> my flight takes off on time from Montreal ... will it land in Toronto? <i>Personne ne sait.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>More nailbiting.</i></div>
<br />
Long story short, I got up early this morning, packed really fast, and hopped on a train.<br />
<br />
Because as it turns out, it’s not only super easy to get to the airport from where we live. It’s ALSO super easy to get to the train station. And I know trains might get delayed by snow, but it seems to me that’s less frequent than planes. And ... there’s more legroom on a train. And free wifi.<br />
<br />
Which means that instead of spending the day obsessing and worrying over weather developments and flight possibilities, I’m just riding along, with a giant window beside me, catching up on emails, blogging and working on some other stuff while happily munching on goldfish crackers and beef jerky (I’m not buying train food, y’all, brought my own, thank you very much). Watching the various stops go by.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i>“Oshawa”</i></b></div>
<br />
And you know what? I mean, it’s all pretty amazing. I live in a place with unpredictable weather, and even in that circumstance, my biggest question is literally <b><i>which direction to go on the metro</i></b> ... towards the airport or the train station.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>So ... no complaints here.</i> </div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-4388920527916354912019-11-08T15:16:00.000-05:002019-11-08T15:16:56.426-05:00physioYou may or may not know that last winter - New Years Eve, to be precise - I wiped out on the smallest bit of ice that has ever existed, and broke my wrist.<br />
<br />
I was well cared for, <i>grâce au système de santé du Canada</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
As an aside:</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I don't understand nations</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
*ahem-you-know-who-you-are*</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
that reject the idea of universal health care</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
for their citizens.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
But that's OK.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Parce que je suis canadienne.</i></div>
<br />
So there was a cast for six weeks. And then a bunch of physiotherapy <i>de l'hôpital</i>.<br />
<br />
It still hurt. I told them that.<br />
<br />
They wryly told me that I'm not 20 years old anymore, and I BROKE my WRIST. It would hurt for awhile.<br />
<br />
<i>Ok, bon.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
But then it got worse, up in my shoulder. Couldn't put a jacket on without wincing. Woke up a few times a night because I was laying on it wrong.<br />
<br />
I mean, I'm not 20 anymore,<i> d'accord, mais je n'ai pas 100 ans!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Last week, I mentioned it to my doctor. She said, "You need physio. Go see Anna. She's on the sixth floor."<br />
<br />
So today, I saw Anna.<br />
<br />
And after just less than an hour with her, I would like to do a shout-out to <i>les physiothérapeutes partout,</i> because they are, clearly, miracle workers. <i>Les anges du ciel.</i><br />
<br />
"Do these exercises," she said. "Come back next week, and that probably will do it."<br />
<br />
<i>Merci beaucoup, Anna.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Also, I'm practising my <i>franglais / frenglish</i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
In case you hadn't noticed. </div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-71185582999221470462019-11-06T06:00:00.000-05:002019-11-06T06:00:02.979-05:00Stephen<b>This is Stephen. </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gsfgwKBcoPg/XcHtwFnSQyI/AAAAAAAACsM/R-tPbbcoin0knL3wt1y7o9dL-p9IdxtGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_4316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gsfgwKBcoPg/XcHtwFnSQyI/AAAAAAAACsM/R-tPbbcoin0knL3wt1y7o9dL-p9IdxtGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_4316.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I met him almost exactly four years ago.<br />
<br />
On November 9, 2015, I walked into my new job, new office, new life at Evangel. If memory serves, I was introduced to Stephen on that very first day.<br />
<br />
<i>"Stephen is one of our volunteers. He ... struggles ... sometimes, but we love him."</i><br />
<br />
<i>"It's ok,"</i> I said.<i> "I get it."</i><br />
<br />
Stephen would come and do a little cleaning at the church. Near the end of a day, if no one was on the office computer, he'd ask us to turn on a Jimmy Swaggart music video, and he'd sit and watch it at top volume.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Confession: I would then close my door,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>because it was the same song, over and over again,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>and I just couldn't deal with it.</i></div>
<br />
Any time one of us walked past, he'd check to see if we were going to Tim Horton's.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Could I have a coffee?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Sure, Stephen."</i></div>
<br />
Jasmine usually made sure he got home safely at the end of the day.<br />
<br />
Stephen struggled with his health sometimes.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Can I have one of those candy bars?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Sure you can Stephen."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"But I have diabetes. I probably shouldn't, should I?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Well ... probably not."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Ok. I won't."</i></div>
<br />
<br />
He struggled with his faith sometimes too.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Pastor Patti, I think God might hate me."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"He doesn't hate you, Stephen. God loves you."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Are you sure?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Absolutely sure."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>A satisfied smile and a fist bump.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"Ok. Thank you very much."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>"You're welcome."</i></div>
<br />
Sometimes he would eat lunch with all of us. Sometimes he needed some alone time, and sat in a room by himself. Sometimes we wouldn't see him at all for awhile, but eventually he would pop by again.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Until yesterday.</b></div>
<br />
Yesterday, Jasmine put in a call to his worker, just to check to see how he was. There was a painful silence, and then the worker gently told her that Stephen passed away a couple of weeks ago. It happened very quickly, very unexpectedly.<br />
<br />
So that hit us all, in the middle of a Tuesday, in our church office. Can't quite believe he's gone. We're going to miss him.<br />
<br />
But I'm comforted by the thought that he knows - he knows now - how very loved he is by God.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Until we meet again, Stephen.</i></div>
<br />Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-73901683457919494212019-11-05T06:38:00.000-05:002019-11-05T06:38:20.020-05:00an anglophone in QuébecScanning my newsfeed this morning, I see our provincial government is again getting ready to put measures into place "to protect French language". The measures are aimed at newcomers to Canada, but they'll affect all of us.<br />
<br />
<i>My immediate reaction: "Personne n'attaque la langue française. / No one is attacking the French language."</i><br />
<br />
<i>Sigh.</i><br />
<br />
When I was in university a few years ago, I wrote a paper about Ukraine and its nation-building process. I remember learning that you can't build an identity without defining an "Other". Ukraine had often been intermingled with Russia, and if Ukraine wanted to have a strong national identity, that identity needed to include "not Russian".<br />
<br />
Four years ago this week, we moved to Québec. We love it here.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Love. It.</i></b><br />
<br />
But ... one of the things that surprised me was learning how often the rest of Canada ("ROC") seemed to be "Othered" in Québec. There seemed to be a stream of news headlines frequently suggesting that Québec's identity was under attack from the ROC.<br />
<br />
I remember trying to respond to new friends, a little bewildered ... "I don't ... we hardly ever ... in Ontario, we just didn't talk much about Québec at all. Like ... the rest of Canada is not spending its time in coffeeshops, talking trash about Québec. We're ... we're not talking about Québec at all."<br />
<br />
<i>(Politics excluded, bien sûr.)</i><br />
<br />
But it's part of protecting identity here, and not just in politics. In all of life.<br />
<br />
And I get it, I guess. Identity must be intentionally maintained; and you need an Other to do so. The rest of Canada uses the US as its Other. How many times have you heard, <i>have you said,</i> Canadian identity is "not American"?<br />
<br />
I'm just sad that the Other is within our own nation. I spent most of my life living outside of Québec, I was one of the "my Canada includes Québec" people. I thought Québec was pretty cool. I didn't know that Québec thought I was out to destroy their identity.<br />
<br />
I love being Canadian. And I love being a Québecer.<br />
<br />
But it's a weird vibe, sometimes. I'm a minority here - and that's probably good for me, learning how that feels. I'm settled in, feeling like I belong, and then the government releases another statement that makes it clear I don't, not quite.<br />
<br />
When we moved here, we were told, "The people are wonderful. The politics are just <i>awful</i>. But the people are wonderful."<br />
<br />
And that about sums it up.Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-88737470433707026282019-11-01T10:43:00.000-04:002019-11-01T10:43:23.835-04:00pastor pukeI'm chatting this afternoon with a seminary class about "Staying Healthy in Ministry". (Pastoral ministry, that is, for those outside my world, and thinking this has something to do with the government.) "How To Stay Healthy in Ministry" - that's my topic.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Which is a bit weird,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>once you get down to it.</i></div>
<br />
Because there are two awfully big assumptions attached.<br />
<br />
<b>First assumption is that I AM healthy in ministry. </b><br />
<br />
In reality, I think it's more of a spectrum than an either-or category. I also think I've moved back and forth on that spectrum countless times. Aaaaaaand ... um ... sometimes you're just not healthy through no fault of your own.<br />
<br />
Like ... sometimes you take your multivitamins and get enough rest and even a flu shot, and you STILL get the flu. No point in pretending you don't have it. Here you are, feverish and pukey and whiny (that last one might be just me - I'm terrible at being sick) and NOT the picture of health. Just go to bed, take some Tylenol, drink some flat ginger ale, and get yourself better.<br />
<br />
Sometimes pastoring is like that. Sometimes you get beat up and worn out and hurt really badly, and it's just lousy. No point in pretending it's not.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>I guess in those times, pull back a bit if you can,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>and try not to vomit on people,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>you know?</i></div>
<br />
<b>Second assumption is that I know HOW I got there.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
And I do have some principles, some practices, some ideas about how I've managed to be relatively healthy, 25 or so years into this pastoring thing.<br />
<br />
But that being said ... sometimes I hear other people's stories, and think, "Oh dear GOD, I have NO IDEA how I would survive that." <a href="https://www.christianitytoday.com/pastors/2019/october-web-exclusives/pastoring-with-big-fake-smile.html" target="_blank">Stories like this one.</a> And I think that's all well and good that the person and family survived and made it through, but I also want to go and *ahem* have a word with some of the people in their churches who were just ... uh ... SO AWFUL.<br />
<br />
But then I think back to some of my own stories and think, well, I mean ... we all have our stories.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>None of my stories are about <b>you.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>No worries.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b>YOU</b> are delightful, always have been.</i></div>
<br />
So ... we'll see how it goes this afternoon.<br />
<br />
<i>(PS Hands up if the title of this post is what caught your attention. Lol. Too far, maybe...?)</i>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-53136888842209712092019-09-13T10:20:00.001-04:002019-09-13T10:20:22.403-04:00pins on a mapWhen we moved to Québec, almost four years ago, I didn't know my way around.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">At. All.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
I basically knew my way around Ontario. I knew where the 401 went, how to get to Niagara Falls the back way, where the Muskokas were; I knew that it's always warmer in Windsor, that the whole space around Petrolia is flat, and that Sioux Lookout was as far north as Florida was south (it's a big province), that Manitouwadge was halfway between the Sault and Thunder Bay, and that Ottawa was east.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">It was always east.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
We moved to Québec, and it was genuinely disconcerting to live in a place where Ottawa was west. I didn't know which direction any highways went. Didn't know what the South Shore was. Didn't know where the townships or Tremblant were. I knew almost nothing geographically outside my little part of downtown Montreal.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">I did <u>not</u> like that feeling.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
So ... we bought a map. Put it on the wall. And started exploring. Whenever we had a Saturday that had a few hours free, we would randomly put a finger on the map, and decide to go "there". And then we put a pin in it and (sometimes) a little note.<br />
<br />
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</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jUCEa2GrlX8/XXujRjQ5wcI/AAAAAAAACrU/3ZTPccQ48toYsuJivk6cCVbJVaJ7HBUUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_7900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jUCEa2GrlX8/XXujRjQ5wcI/AAAAAAAACrU/3ZTPccQ48toYsuJivk6cCVbJVaJ7HBUUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_7900.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's a big map. Seriously, look at the SIZE of this province!!!<br />
<br />
And I now understand that I will likely never see most of it, because there aren't roads through a lot of it; and that most of us live sort of along the St. Lawrence River.<br />
<br />
You can see that The Boy and I have been to a number of places.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-asovrTMYqFQ/XXuixVQjFNI/AAAAAAAACrI/8x0XPUqg7egcBlhxvF9R3Slyyz3E2-0FwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_4028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-asovrTMYqFQ/XXuixVQjFNI/AAAAAAAACrI/8x0XPUqg7egcBlhxvF9R3Slyyz3E2-0FwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_4028.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And this summer ... we did THIS!!!<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Nine days, from Montreal, to Quebec City, to Tadoussac, took the ferry from Les Escoumins to Trois Pistoles, to Ste-Anne-des-Monts, to Percé, back via New Brunswick (that's a different province), a quick overnight stop in Kamouraska, and home again.<br />
<br />
It. Was. Awesome.<br />
<br />
We kept a travel journal. We did that for our Alaska 2007 trip ...<br />
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<br />
<br />
... and used the very same journal for our Gaspésie 2019 trip.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
We chuckled at a fortune cookie message - it was already in motion. Saw whales. Jumped off a mountain.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
We learned some lessons. Fled mosquitos. One of us (me) threw up on a boat.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
We used our still-limited-but-better-than-we-used-to-be French language skills.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
And when we came home, driving into Montreal from the rest-of-the-province east instead of the almost-Ontario west, I felt another level of belonging. We haven't just snuck over the Ontario border, barely into Québec, no.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">This beautiful, wonderful province is truly home.</span></i></b></div>
<br />Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-81580388678883214422019-09-06T17:57:00.000-04:002019-09-06T17:57:31.220-04:00wearing a crossI grew up in small-town Ontario, Canada. First in a farming community of 4,500, and then a town of 14,000.<br />
<br />
Mostly everyone spoke English, same as me, with a smattering of other languages here and there. Mostly everyone was some version of Christian, even if it just meant "nice person" or "yeah, I go to a church at Christmas". I didn't know any people of distinctly different faiths, to my recollection. I don't think I even knew anyone who hadn't been born in Canada.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><b>Maybe I did, idk.</b></i> </span></div>
<br />
I DID know people of other ethnicities, and ... <i>shrug</i> ... it just didn't matter. We were living in small towns. We all got along, more or less. From my perspective <i>(admittedly, a subjective one)</i>, it was all a non-issue.<br />
<br />
Now it's <i>*ahem*</i> a number of years later.<br />
<br />
I live in downtown Montreal, a tremendously multi-cultural, multi-lingual, multi-levels-of-Canadian-status, multi-socio-economic-status city. Montreal is in Québec, a French-speaking province with a complicated history. Oh my goodness, we love this city.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">But it's a different world from my small-town Ontario growing-up years.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
In those growing-up years, my faith was tremendously important to me, as it is now. And for that reason, I mostly chose to <b><u>not</u></b> wear "Christian" stuff. Because sometimes it was kinda lame. And sometimes it was expensive. And it seemed like an empty symbol in an everyone-is-sort-of-a-Christian world.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Plus I'm not that bling-y at the best of times.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
I want to be clear that in no way was I ashamed of my faith. It was important to me. I didn't want to dumb it down to a cute piece of jewelry that - to my mind <i>(admittedly a subjective thing)</i> - was worn by lots of people that maybe didn't seem to care what it meant.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">But it's a different world from my small-town Ontario growing-up years.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://montrealgazette.com/tag/bill-21" target="_blank">You've likely heard of Bill 21.</a> A law passed in Québec a few months ago, making it illegal for any government employees (including teachers) to wear any religious anything. Because, separation of religion and state, basically. And the idea that if someone who works for the government happens to wear a religious something, it somehow compromises the government's neutrality. Therefore, no hijab. No kippah. No cross.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">And this bothers me, for a number of reasons.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<b>I'm a Canadian.</b> I've grown up valuing the rights of people to be who they are, whoever they are. Freedom of speech, freedom of religion, no discrimination, that kind of thing. Separation of religion and state meant religion shouldn't be controlled by the state; and religion shouldn't be running the state either.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">I don't know about other faiths, </span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">but mine - Christianity - historically tends to become</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">side-tracked and off-track</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">by too much power.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Which may be true of humanity in general.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<b>I'm also a feminist,</b> by some (not all) definitions. When the government legislates that women must remove clothing they prefer to wear in public, it makes my head explode.<br />
<br />
<b>And I like to think I'm logical.</b> This is not. What if a Christian wears a headscarf? For most of us, it's not a religious thing, so can Christian women cover their heads, but Muslim women cannot? And for some Muslims, it's not a religious thing either, so can those women wear a headscarf? Makes no sense.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Nonetheless, here we are.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Suddenly, for the first time in my life,</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>it became important to me to wear a cross.</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Because in <u>this</u> context, in my world <u>now</u>, it matters.</i></b></div>
<br />
So I thought about it for awhile, looked at some online.<br />
<br />
<b>And then this week I met a young woman.</b> A refugee. From a country in which it is illegal - and dangerous - to be a Christian. She told me some of her story. In parts of it, the tears choked off the words, and I didn't force her to say what was unspeakable.<br />
<br />
She showed me the small gold cross around her neck, with no idea of what was going on in my own mind. She had worn a cross, even there in that country, albeit under her clothing. Yes, it was dangerous to do so, but ... "Jesus said we don't hide our light. So I wanted to wear it."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">And now she is wearing it here.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">In Canada.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Where she is (sort of) free to do so.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<b>My parents sent me a birthday card</b> with a cheque inside, as they do every year. This time, I knew exactly what I would do with it.<br />
<br />
I went to a small, locally-owned Christian bookstore, out on the West Island. She had a selection of exactly three sterling silver cross necklaces, and one was too fancy for me. I tried on the remaining two, and bought one of them.<br />
<br />
I am a Canadian. And I am a Christian. I don't work for the government, so no one cares, but I will quietly wear this symbol of my faith.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">And quietly welcome the right of anyone else to do the same.</span></i></b></div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-53798623761395345672018-11-05T13:20:00.000-05:002018-11-05T13:20:23.154-05:00a confessionI broke a bunch of social media rules today, by posting a confession on Twitter.<br />
<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">But I did think about it first.</span></i></b></div>
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I asked myself what I always ask myself: "Is there one single person in the entire world that I hope never reads this?" (If the answer is yes, I don't post it. That's my rule.)<br />
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And although I could think of some people that might not agree <i>(sigh)</i>, or who might think less of me <i>(ouch)</i>, it wasn't enough to stop me from posting it.<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">So I posted it.</span></i></b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9QK6r_wQstE/W-B9-eAt65I/AAAAAAAACns/Vtk1vwEc9gEvptQKSlmskW2KAETe4RcTACLcBGAs/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.33%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="629" data-original-width="1122" height="179" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9QK6r_wQstE/W-B9-eAt65I/AAAAAAAACns/Vtk1vwEc9gEvptQKSlmskW2KAETe4RcTACLcBGAs/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.33%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Please don't mistake that for a complaint. We have no real complaints. It's just facts.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4YRkTAVJnsg/W-B9-XwLPAI/AAAAAAAACoo/ZfHvKQTx9tow53ayrV2pNlAF1cdLuIlZQCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.36%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="763" data-original-width="1279" height="190" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4YRkTAVJnsg/W-B9-XwLPAI/AAAAAAAACoo/ZfHvKQTx9tow53ayrV2pNlAF1cdLuIlZQCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.36%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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My parents raised me right, I assure you. I was taught to cook and clean and make my bed every day and budget and grocery shop, as well as go to school, learn, work, be ambitious.</div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">And play the piano.</span></i></b></div>
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But if they're honest, my parents will also tell you that my bedroom was a constant source of angst. Heck, my very-tidy college roommate could tell you that. I don't like cleaning. Never have. It doesn't come naturally. </div>
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But I know it's part of adult-ing. So although I definitely never came close to my sister's Stellar Level of Amazing Homemaking, The Boy and I did all right.</div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Most of the time.</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">With enough notice.</span></i></b></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9khbWW1hI8g/W-B9-g_3cfI/AAAAAAAACoY/6SyGpW_kPLMG6_emGamyr_3kxoT32xA_QCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.39%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="949" data-original-width="1281" height="237" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9khbWW1hI8g/W-B9-g_3cfI/AAAAAAAACoY/6SyGpW_kPLMG6_emGamyr_3kxoT32xA_QCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.39%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><u>*gasp* This Is My Confession.</u></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">*hangs head in shame*</span></i></b></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QOyu7hq2AqY/W-B9-1OdjEI/AAAAAAAACoY/4l7w-nJzuWAxPKY4jLQ20BUF-8hOSXg6gCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.43%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="1279" height="193" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QOyu7hq2AqY/W-B9-1OdjEI/AAAAAAAACoY/4l7w-nJzuWAxPKY4jLQ20BUF-8hOSXg6gCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.43%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Listen - I've done all that.<br />
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I've menu-planned a month ahead. I've canned (because my aforementioned sister taught me) - tomatoes, peaches, plum preserves, salsa, pickled beets, assorted jams. I've baked my own bread. I've taken a half day to drive out of town to a butcher, to get the best quality meat, in bulk, at the best prices, to put in my freezer for the next few months. I've shopped the flyer sales. I've cooked double portions, and had casseroles in the freezer. I've grown my own vegetables and dried my own herbs. I've made my own stock.<br />
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And it's all great.<br />
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<b><u>And it All. Takes. Time.</u></b></div>
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<b>Serious Time,</b> my friends, and nobody tells you that part.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vIemwqsO3MM/W-B9_Xiq4MI/AAAAAAAACoc/UisigC4JuSsuYVyf6TJAv1x1kXAKudTmwCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.48%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="1283" height="139" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vIemwqsO3MM/W-B9_Xiq4MI/AAAAAAAACoc/UisigC4JuSsuYVyf6TJAv1x1kXAKudTmwCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.48%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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I like people (mostly). And I like our home. And I really like my Mom's chocolate chip cookie recipe. I'm quite happy to have people, in our home, eating those cookies. But not if I have to race home first, and scrub the house down before they arrive, and then act like it always looks like this, like it's nothing.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b><i>"Oh - the fridge is gleaming?</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b><i>I wouldn't notice, it's always that way.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b><i>I just use my grandmother's recipe of vinegar and baking soda</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b><i>to scrub it down once a week,</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b><i>with a cloth I wove myself</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b><i>out of cotton from my garden."</i></b></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">[insert eye roll] </span></i></b></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mneNXSrujIw/W-B9_kFl_XI/AAAAAAAACoc/jAW1RZkfNuAgv1rL57B7S19ogP8NrozvACEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.51%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="1283" height="188" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mneNXSrujIw/W-B9_kFl_XI/AAAAAAAACoc/jAW1RZkfNuAgv1rL57B7S19ogP8NrozvACEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.51%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">No disrespect to my grandmothers. I've honoured them before. They were freaking amazing, hard-working, miracle-accomplishing women, hands-down. But they lived a different kind of life than I do.</span></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">And that's ok, right? I don't have to explain how much our world has changed in the last 100 years?</span></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">Great. Thanks.</span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">And we women - well, not all of us, but some of us, me too, probably - we *mean* to be helpful with our "it's easy if you just" advice. And sometimes we're helpful. But sometimes we're not. </span></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">Sometimes there aren't enough time-saving tips in the world to make me want to spend a couple of hours polishing silver. No matter how shiny it looks at the end.</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-awKrjfdCBnk/W-B-AEuGEyI/AAAAAAAACog/lvs04wztT0oqtrLaEfEpGJOpJb_hOruEgCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.54%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="1285" height="192" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-awKrjfdCBnk/W-B-AEuGEyI/AAAAAAAACog/lvs04wztT0oqtrLaEfEpGJOpJb_hOruEgCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.54%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">Seriously. One of you looked at me over a coffee cup a year ago, and said, "What, are you CRAZY?!" And I love you for saying that. And I love another of you that gave me the name and number of the person who cleans your home. And I love another of you that opened up a whole new world to me of weekly recipes and portioned ingredients, delivered right to my door. And I love another of you to whom I confessed this secret, and who looked right back at me and said, "I've had help for years."</span></div>
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<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">#NoShame</span></i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9qcrbMGuSl4/W-B-AES9g5I/AAAAAAAACog/J7WYe2HYrskcmlVpt4q6czLJapzSwJHTwCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.59%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="1281" height="156" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9qcrbMGuSl4/W-B-AES9g5I/AAAAAAAACog/J7WYe2HYrskcmlVpt4q6czLJapzSwJHTwCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.24.59%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: blue;">*resisting the deep urge to defend myself*</span></b></i></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UHQP_83RYlc/W-B-AROVnZI/AAAAAAAACok/p9KBufUeHbQLjJT4KplzMWjzolYW68KOQCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.25.03%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1278" height="170" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UHQP_83RYlc/W-B-AROVnZI/AAAAAAAACok/p9KBufUeHbQLjJT4KplzMWjzolYW68KOQCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.25.03%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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And that's all absolutely true.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OpkCeqdfeDo/W-B-A2RoRLI/AAAAAAAACoo/QBb893pPlz8LwwkszPEK0hf1k6J-XZ3-gCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.25.07%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="1276" height="128" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OpkCeqdfeDo/W-B-A2RoRLI/AAAAAAAACoo/QBb893pPlz8LwwkszPEK0hf1k6J-XZ3-gCEwYBhgL/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2018-11-05%2Bat%2B12.25.07%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>End of post.</b></div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-53972465746970734252018-10-15T11:32:00.000-04:002018-10-15T11:32:01.765-04:00it's monday. i am well.<b><i><span style="color: blue;">It's Monday.</span></i></b><br />
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Monday is a day when pastors often "crash". Meaning - we gave it everything we've got on Sunday, and Monday morning we wake up tired, and wonder if it mattered. Tuesdays are better again.<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">I don't crash nearly so often as I used to on a Monday.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">I seem to have gotten better at riding out the ups and downs.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">I'm thankful for that.</span></i></b></div>
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I saw last night that <a href="https://www.christianitytoday.com/news/2018/october/eugene-peterson-hospice-long-obedience-living-resurrection.html" target="_blank">Eugene Peterson</a> has begun receiving hospice care, and will likely be coming to the end of a long, faithful life on earth. I'm grateful for him. His memoir, "The Pastor" is one of those that shaped me. He has a beautiful way with words; and he managed to remind many of us that the daily, ongoing life of pastoring is gentle and kind and sacred. That we simply follow Jesus, and invite others to follow with us, even while navigating buildings and budgets and boards.<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">He will be missed.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">But his has been a life well-lived.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">His influence will live on.</span></i></b></div>
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This morning, knowing that I was crashing a bit, I dragged myself into my prayer space, not because I wanted to, but because I knew I needed to. I prayed. I read Scripture. Wept a bit. Ranted a bit. Sat silently for a bit.<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Andie came too.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">She likes to curl up on my lap in there.</span></i></b></div>
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And at the end, I realized that while my emotions were a little vulnerable, and my body was a little tired, and my brain was a little fried, and my jaw was a little sore from apparently clenching it last night, there was something deeper happening. It took me awhile to notice, because it was below the surface, and not clamouring for attention.<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">It was a song.</span></i></b><br />
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">How great is our God</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Sing with me, how great is our God</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">And all will see how great, how great is our God.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="https://youtu.be/bHAZGXsVF1k" target="_blank">(link)</a></span></i></b></div>
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And it then blended into another song.<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Then sings my soul, my Saviour, God, to Thee</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">How great Thou art!</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">How great Thou art!</span></i></b></div>
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And then another.<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Death could not hold You</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">The veil tore before You</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">You silence the boast of sin and grave</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">The heavens are roaring</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">The praise of Your glory</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">For You are raised to life again</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">What a powerful Name it is</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Name of Jesus</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="https://youtu.be/nQWFzMvCfLE" target="_blank">(link)</a></span></i></b></div>
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And another.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">You rescued me so I could stand and sing</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">I am a child of God.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="https://youtu.be/5DckIHBF964" target="_blank">(link)</a></span></i></b></div>
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<b>And I realized that, even on a Monday, my soul is well.</b> Shaped by years of worshipping, of living the rhythms of our faith, of absorbing Scripture, of praying, of communing with God. The physical and emotional fatigue are real, and self-care is important, and I do all of that,<br />
<br />
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<i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">I do, I promise.</span></b></i></div>
<br />
But below all of that, deeper than that - my soul is well. My life's foundation is sure. I am at peace.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Onward.</span></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-77413393086628482602017-11-06T08:26:00.000-05:002017-11-06T08:26:53.429-05:00a new conversationUgh, I am just sickened today. And angry.<br />
<br />
Sutherland Springs, Texas. 27 people dead. Another - <b><i>another</i></b> - mass shooting south of our border.<br />
<br />
And the same conversations. Gun control vs mental health vs religion vs racism vs politics vs founding fathers vs thoughts and prayers.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
We live in a world now where "thoughts and prayers" are scorned, by the way. I'm of the "DO something" ilk too, but I sure would hate to live in a society where no one even pauses to express sympathy or pray in horrible moments. I mean, I get it. People are so angry and frustrated. Nevertheless, the conversations look the same to me, circling around, going nowhere.</div>
<br />
<b><i>I'm watching for a new conversation.</i></b><br />
<br />
There are moments in history when someone tenaciously leads a new conversation, does something different, and changes the world. William Wilberforce. Martin Luther King Jr. Agnes Macphail. Mother Teresa. William & Catherine Booth. Martin Luther.<br />
<br />
Someone who rises above the paralyzing bickering and the helpless handwringing and the sickening politics of the day. Who is ridiculously committed to doing what is right, to finding a solution, to changing their world, no matter what.<br />
<br />
No. Matter. What.<br />
<br />
<b><i>I'm watching for that. Praying for that.</i></b><br />
<br />
But meanwhile, I can't simply sit on the sidelines, watching and praying.<br />
<br />
<b><i>I'm responsible for my own time and my own place in history.</i></b> I can't just wait for someone else to rise up. Nor can I toss up my hands and give up on the world, withdraw into selfish preservation of what matters to me only. I don't have that option.<br />
<br />
I'm responsible to live today, tomorrow, the next day - here and now - as a wholehearted follower of Jesus. Tenaciously doing good, loving people, welcoming the marginalized, comforting the hurting, giving generously, keeping my word, forgiving offence, calling for truth and justice, loving those who don't love me. I committed to that long ago, and it won't change.<br />
<br />
<b><i>May my world see Jesus in me today.</i></b>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-12008068007670278472017-10-09T11:18:00.001-04:002017-10-09T11:18:20.817-04:00Thanksgiving<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Yesterday (October 8), I spoke on a tough topic at our church, as part of our "What If Jesus Was A Quebecer" series. You can listen to it <a href="http://evangel.qc.ca/media/sunday-messages" target="_blank">here</a>, once it's uploaded, but one of the core ideas was, "Quebecers fear the return of religion."</div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">And understandably so.</span></i></b></div>
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It's become quite a meaningful series (for me, anyway). A year ago, the sociological nerd in me jumped at the chance to read a current book about Quebec culture, highly recommended by two born-and-raised Quebecers. Now, a year later, unpacking how our faith interacts with that, and ending up in deeper space than I ever imagined ... well, it's meaningful.</div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">And a little terrifying.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: blue;">What business does an Ontario girl have,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">talking about Quebec?!</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">I'm thankful for the behind-the-scenes</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Quebecer focus group</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">that has helped to keep me on track.</span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Yesterday, I was amazed - AMAZED - at the overwhelming response. "Bang on, pastor ... we lived it ... my family lived it ... I'm understanding myself better through this series ... so glad to be in a church that talks about this ... so glad we are going to be a church where it's safe to make mistakes ..."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Thankful for that. </span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday afternoon, we shared Thanksgiving dinner with a family that felt like our own. Lots of loud laughter, overlapping stories, a shared heart for the things that matter. (And food. Oh the food. Including turnip that tasted like apple crisp!!!)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Thankful for that.</span></i></b><span style="color: #454545;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Today, I'm off to <b>Evangel's Thanksgiving Community Dinner</b> - I heard it's the 23rd year of it, I think? We expect to serve around 600 meals in 3 hours. I'm not actually needed there, because we have tons of people helping. Last year's dinner was the first time I heard the phrase, "It's what we do, pastor,' said with a matter-of-fact shrug and a smile. My goal is to be, somehow, mildly helpful while also staying out of the way of all those who know exactly what they're doing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">It's Thanksgiving weekend.</span></b><span style="color: #454545;"> And I'm thankful. I truly am. I'm thankful to be part of a church that is filled with memories, as well as dreams for the future. I'm thankful for friends and family. I'm thankful for turkey and pie. I'm thankful for the crisp-yet-warm air of a Canadian fall day.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">And I'm thankful,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">because that crisp fall air, every year,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">reminds me of Ukraine,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">and I smile,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">knowing I will be there again soon.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">#landilove</span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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And so, a Thanksgiving prayer...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">"My Father ... Thank You. For dreams. For history. For family.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">For our church community. For friends. For our city.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">For purposes that matter.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">For a life filled with shared moments, and a beautiful world in which to share them.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">Thank You for a roof - a lovely one! - over our heads.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">Thank You for our food.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">Thank You for Your loving presence in our lives, for grace,</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">and for the always-challenge to live better.</span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">Be honoured through how we live today.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: blue;">Amen."</span></i></div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-29873493662657085042017-10-02T10:17:00.001-04:002017-10-02T10:17:59.524-04:00about my churchYesterday at the church I get to pastor - <b><i>it's <a href="http://evangel.qc.ca/" target="_blank">here</a> if you're wondering</i></b> - I lost count of the number of encouraging comments and feedback that came my way. And woke up to more this morning. All ages, all backgrounds. Some who have been here since nearly the beginning (Norma!) and some who were with us, literally for the first time.<br />
<br />
From 6:40 AM, when I said the day's third "Good morning!" to a band member <i>(the first two morning greetings were whispered quietly to Jeff and Andie, of course, who weren't quite awake),</i> until 6 PM when we locked up and headed home, it was a GOOD DAY.<br />
<br />
Next week is Key #4 of "What If Jesus Was A Quebecer?!" If you haven't been part of it, the REAL question is: how does our faith interact with our culture? We're using <i><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Cracking-Quebec-Code-understanding-Quebecers/dp/1988002362" target="_blank">Cracking the Quebec Code</a></i> as a bouncing-off point, helping us to look at the culture we're in, and then figuring out from Scripture how we might respond to or interact with that as followers of Jesus.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">We've ordered in ... and sold out of ...</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">multiple copies of this book three times.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
Truthfully - this is one of the most thought-provoking series I've ever done (for me, and apparently for many of you too). Yesterday's had a lot of silent moments.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">For me too.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
But the silent moments are often the important moments, the honest moments, the thoughtful moments.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">They're also the uncomfortable moments.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">I know.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
But ... I'm grateful for those silent moments. They matter.<br />
<br />
And ... I'm grateful for the depth of commitment and celebration that result from those moments.<br />
<br />
When we imagine ... <b><i><span style="color: red;">imagine</span></i></b> ... if Québecers said, "When the going gets tough ... Evangel shows up! Followers of Jesus show up!" And we erupt in cheers at that thought.<br />
<br />
When 105 of you respond <b><i>immediately</i></b> to say, "I'll be there! I'll help!" at our Community Thanksgiving Dinner, a week from today.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">*shrug*</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">"It's what we do, Pastor."</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">On Thanksgiving Monday!!!!</span></i></b></div>
<br />
I'm grateful for worship leaders, singers, band members, in-the-media-booth-ers, who went above-and-beyond yesterday to not only practice and lead two full morning services, but then ate a quick lunch, and came BACK to practice, and then lead an amazing all-worship night.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: red;">And all the other staff and volunteers</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: red;">who ALSO made it all happen.</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: red;">I saw you.</span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: red;">I'm thankful for you.</span></b></i></div>
<br />
I'm grateful - <b><i><span style="color: red;">just completely delighted</span></i></b> - that a couple of other churches heard that we were having an all-worship night, and simply came to join us, without us even knowing. How great is that?!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">We made some new friends.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
And I was grateful to come home and take a moment with The Boy (aka Spike), to pray together, thanking God for the day.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">It was a short prayer.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">I happened to be holding Andie's food while we prayed,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">which led to her whisper-whining while we prayed,</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">which made us start laughing.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
Have a fantastic week, <i>mes amis</i>.<br />
<br />Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-22331280133112053152017-09-25T07:40:00.000-04:002017-09-25T07:40:28.871-04:00headlinesMondays, the news headlines tend to hit me a little harder than other days. Likely because Sundays are high intensity, and Mondays begin slowly.<br />
<br />
I become saddened. There's a lot of pain out there. Today I got on my knees beside my bed and prayed. For America. For Ukraine. For Germany. For Caribbean nations. For Venezuela. For Mexico.<br />
<br />
For Canada.<br />
<br />
For our world, beautiful and broken. We only have this one, for now. I know "this world is not my home" - but it is, at this moment. And so I grieve for its brokenness. And love its unexpected beauty. And laugh with its moments of joy.<br />
<br />
And I pray.<br />
<br />
<i>God -</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Be present in our world. Heal. Protect. Help. Restore. Defend. Have mercy. Bring justice.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Amen.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>This week,</b> whoever you are, whatever you believe...<br />
<br />
Do good for someone. Even just one someone.<br />
<br />
Show love to someone. Even just one someone.<br />
<br />
<b>And today,</b><br />
<br />
<i>May the Lord bless you and keep you.</i><br />
<i>May the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you.</i><br />
<i>May the Lord turn his face toward you, and give you peace.</i>Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-26950676492688202582017-07-24T10:34:00.000-04:002017-07-24T10:34:06.449-04:00a soapbox and a sports analogyEvery now and then, I pull out a soapbox, step up onto it, delicately clear my throat, and express what's on my mind. Ever so gently.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Through a bullhorn.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
Last week was one of those times.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Actually, it was two of those times.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
If you missed the two written expressions of what was on my mind, they are just below this one. The first was called, "chocolate, coffee & conversations". The second was called, "this is happening".<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Shorter (less-nuanced) versions</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">were threaded on Twitter.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">@PattiTheMiller</span></i></b></div>
<br />
A lot of people responded. And boatloads of people read it. Those two posts may have been my two most-read posts in all my years of blogging, by far.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Miracle-of-Note:</u></b> Not one person messaged me to say that women can't or shouldn't be Lead Pastors in #PAOC.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">Not.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">One.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">#thatsafirst</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<b>Soooooo ... this is happening.</b><br />
<br />
And I'll leave you with this.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">For now. You never know.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue;">I might have more to say later.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red;">Local churches: The ball's in your court.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red;">District offices don't choose your pastors.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red;">National office doesn't choose your pastors.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red;">You do.</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">You.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Do.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<i>*lowers bullhorn, steps gently off soapbox, carries on with previously scheduled day*</i><br />
<br />
#NeedforLeads #yeswomencanbepastors #yesLeadPastors #thisishappening #sharefreelyPattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-81081517708858633392017-07-21T17:08:00.001-04:002017-07-21T17:08:28.094-04:00this is happening.<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
The other day I posted a whole #NeedforLeads thread on Twitter, based on my last blog post. And then ... well I guess I wasn't done. <span style="font-family: 'Apple Color Emoji'; line-height: normal;">😳</span> So, I'm just gonna keep going.</div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: red;">Again - this is #PAOC-specific.</span></b></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: red;">No disrespect to those in other traditions</span></b></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: red;">who have a different view.</span></b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">What makes me sad:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> Anytime I post something like this, I hear from women who tried - they TRIED - and couldn't find a pastoring path. Frequently and explicitly BECAUSE they were women. Trust me. I know the stories. It happened. It still does. It was/is terribly harmful and wrong. Bottom line is, some of us maybe have some repenting to do.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #454545;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">Not you of course.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">Someone else.</span></i></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<b><i><span style="color: red;">👀</span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">What makes me glad:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> There are more and more people saying out loud that #yeswomencanbepastors #yesLeadPastors. And there are more and more female Lead Pastors clearing that old path again for others. I'm proud to be one of them, but I'm not the only one. Not by a long shot.</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;"><i>Somebody called me a "trailblazer" yesterday.</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;"><i>I prefer "weedwacker". </i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;"><i>Just tidying the existing path.</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;"><i>🍃 </i></span></b></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">And here's what I see:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> There are more and more people looking startled when I talk about this, saying, "What? This still happens in PAOC? This is a non-issue, for goodness' sake. Why is this still a thing?" And most importantly - "What can I do?"</span></div>
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<i><span style="color: red;"><b>I'll come back to that.</b></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: red;"><b>📌 </b></span></i></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">Here's what I suspect:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> More and more people in congregations are fine with the idea of a female Lead Pastor. They don't care. Some of them LOVE the idea. If they aren't sure, they just have a few honest theological questions, and they genuinely appreciate answers. </span></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: red;">Congregations who DO have female Leads</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: red;">tend to celebrate it publicly, by the way.</span></b></i></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;"><i>#foodforthought </i>🤔</span></b></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">And here's what I think:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> This is happening. <b>It's tipping.</b> There are FAR more women in staff pastor positions than there used to be. They are joyfully qualified and competent worship leaders, preachers and visionaries. They care deeply about people and God. And their Leads will shout from the rooftops that they get the job done. These women are *this close* to being Leads. </span></div>
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<b>So this is happening. </b></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: red;">Soon.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: red;">Maybe now.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: red;">That's what I think.</span></b></i></div>
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So to answer the question, "What can I do?"</div>
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<b><i><span style="color: red;">*deep breath*</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b>Leads</b></span>:</span><span style="color: #454545;"> Let your board and congregation know that PAOC doesn't have gender-specific credentials, and we have no debate about this. It's settled. Celebrate that we are a fellowship that DOES believe women can be pastors. Remind them what a huge, positive statement that is to our world. If/when you ever leave - leave your church fully comfortable with the idea that their next Lead could well be a female. </span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">Boards:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> Don't be afraid. </span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: 'Apple Color Emoji'; line-height: normal;">😊</span><span style="color: #454545;"> I know there are voices out there that disagree, that worry that maybe it's wrong. But PAOC isn't one of those voices. We've taken a long time and worked this through, with wisdom and humility and accountability. We are convinced it's right. If you need some resources to help answer the questions, ask. And don't be afraid of your congregation. </span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: red;">They might be just fine.</span></i></b><span style="color: #454545;"> </span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">Church Members:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> If your church has a Lead Pastor vacancy, let your Board know you'd be open to a female OR male Lead. Your Board carries a heavy responsibility and they don't want to get it wrong. Help them know you're ok with it. </span></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: red;">Only if your church has a vacancy, though.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: red;">Don't do that if you currently HAVE a Lead Pastor.</span></b></i></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;"><i>That's not kind. </i>😕</span></b></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">Leads - Talkin' To You Again:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> Initiate the conversation with your staff pastors, especially the female ones. If they aren't ready to be Leads, help them get there. Maybe push them a little. </span><b>We have a #NeedforLeads.</b><span style="color: #454545;"> </span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><b><span style="color: blue;">Female Staff Pastors:</span></b></span><span style="color: #454545;"> Um ... how do I say this ... ? Step up. It's time. Take the risk. Yes, if you tell your Lead you might be ready for more, the conversation might get awkward. Yes, you might question if you're ready to Lead - we all do. Step up anyway. Yes, you might get hurt, and people might say ridiculous things. Don't get bitter. Own your space, deal with your own issues, and keep moving. Learn to lead a board meeting, to create a budget, to navigate conflict, to think big-picture and long-term. Talk to your District Sup. If you're not ready, get ready. We have a #NeedforLeads. And the need is growing. This isn't a luxury. </span><b style="color: #454545;">We need you.</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Listen - this is happening. It's tipping. We're closing in on the tipping point. </span></b></div>
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And hey - if in 10 years it turns out I was wrong, just come to Montreal and I'll treat you to a nice bowl of hot, melted chocolate at <a href="https://en.julietteetchocolat.com/" target="_blank">Juliette & Chocolat</a>. ☕</div>
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<b><span style="color: red;"><i>It's the least I can do. </i>😎</span></b></div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34480037.post-85446656415999328302017-07-19T11:06:00.002-04:002017-07-19T11:06:50.341-04:00coffee, chocolate and conversations<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
Last week, I went for coffee. Which is not, in itself, unusual but this coffee was accompanied by a conversation.</div>
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<i><b><span style="color: blue;">Actually, we were at <a href="https://en.julietteetchocolat.com/" target="_blank">Juliette & Chocolat,</a> so my "coffee" was a hot chocolate.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: blue;">Which is to say, it was literally a bowl of melted chocolate.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: blue;">Try not to be distracted by that.</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: blue;">It's just what we do in Montreal.</span></b></i></div>
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<b>That conversation has had me thinking for the last few days.</b></div>
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The conversation revolved around the widely acknowledged, nation-wide need for Lead/Senior Pastors in our slice of Christian faith - <a href="https://paoc.org/" target="_blank">Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada (PAOC)</a>. Boomers are slowly retiring, and there are a lot of them. Simple demographics, right? </div>
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The conversation also revolved around women who are pastors, usually in a staff position.</div>
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<i><b><span style="color: blue;">A lot of my conversations revolve around women who are pastors.</span></b></i></div>
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I mused between sips of melted chocolate <i>(stay focused - don't get distracted)</i>, "Are there female staff pastors who are on track to becoming Lead Pastors?" And the response was, "Maybe a few. But they're waiting quietly. Or it hasn't occurred to them. Or they think it's arrogant to consider it. Or their own Leads don't want to lose them."</div>
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I got a little speech-y, as I sometimes do.</div>
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<i><b><span style="color: blue;">Possibly because I had reached the end of my bowl of chocolate.</span></b></i></div>
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And then the question came back across the table to me. "Well Patti, YOU have two female staff pastors, right? Could they be Leads?"</div>
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I gasped. "I just GOT them, and they are AMAZING! Don't take them away!" </div>
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And my friend smiled and said, "That's what all the Leads say."</div>
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<b><i>#Boom</i></b><i> </i><b><i>#OhComeOn #TotallyGotMe </i></b><b><i>#NeedForLeads</i></b></div>
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So.... two days ago, I told those two amazing women (both of whom are quite happy as part of our team) that I would be thrilled if they stayed forever, but the truth is, there's a need out there, and the truth is, they each absolutely have the potential to be Lead Pastors at some point. And I told them that if they ever wanted to explore that, they were welcome to talk to me about it, or talk to our District leaders, start working out what the path might look like. </div>
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And then I tweeted this:</div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">"Hey #PAOC female staff pastors:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">The need for Lead Pastors is growing in Canada.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">There's no reason you can't be one of them."</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;"><i>The response was ... significant.</i> </span></b></div>
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<b>So I'd like to put a couple more thoughts out there.</b></div>
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One for other Leads - yep - <b>#LookinAtYou</b>.</div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">"Hey #PAOC Lead Pastors:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">The need for Leads is growing in Canada.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">Female Leads are still a minority, so the path for your female staff pastors can be unclear.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">They need you to show the way & encourage them to consider it."</span></b></div>
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That one's <b>#TooLongToTweet</b>. This one fits. </div>
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<span style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><span style="color: red;">"Hey #PAOC Lead Pastors:</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><span style="color: red;">Female Leads are a minority, so the path for your female staff pastors can be unclear.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed;"><b><span style="color: red;">Give them some pointers."</span></b></span></div>
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Here's another, for Boards that just aren't sure if it's ok... <b>#WeveNeverDoneThatBefore</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">"Hey #PAOC Boards:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">Our fellowship fully supports women as Lead Pastors. It's NOT controversial for us.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">There are churches across Canada being pastored by women.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">There's no reason yours can't be one of them."</span></b></div>
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I'll have to shorten that one to 140 characters somehow. </div>
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And back to those female staff pastors I was talking to in the first place: <b>#WhatDoIDo</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">"Hey #PAOC female staff pastors:</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">Have the conversation with your Lead, with your District leaders.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">It's not presumptuous.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">It's normal."</span></b></div>
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Coffee. Chocolate. Conversations.</div>
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They lead to <b>#GoodThings</b>.</div>
Pattihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13575007011115306127noreply@blogger.com