I am not complaining about this. Not at all. My husband and co-pastor would have done the same thing most of our church community did yesterday if he weren't sort of stuck helping is preggo wife make church happen. I totally get it. But, there were few of us at worship last night.

We had a meditative and meaningful gathering where we explore beauty & chaos, the rhythms of creation, crisis, and re-creation in the Jesus story, and what it is to simultaneously wear ashes and the oil of anointing. 

We had an early Ash Wednesday service - but when sharing ashes, we also shared anointing. When applying ashes rather than saying: "Repent and believe in the Gospel" or "From ashes you came, to ashes you'll return." We said: "Child of God, turn from brokenness and join in the Gospel."

There were few of us, but it was a wonderful experience to be with those few and reflect on that strange juxtaposition we live amid of the original glory and beauty of this work, the brokenness that has come into it, and God's weaving of new glory in participation with all us beautiful and broken people.

Aaanyway, for those that were watching the Superbowl instead, I wanted to share our guided meditation and invite you to take some time this week engaging it as we prepare for Lent together.

Beauty
In the beginning there was nothing.
Then God made something.  God made the heavens and the earth.
The earth God made, at first, was formless and void.  It was chaos.
And then God began to write the story.
God began to write and life the story of beauty overcoming chaos.
God made the world.  God saw that it was good.  It was beautiful.
This story of chaos and beauty, though, had only just began.
God created humanity.  God saw that we were beautiful.
God rested to enjoy us and the world He had made for us.

Then, God handed the world to us.
God invited us to continue this story of chaos giving way to beauty.
God gave us the raw materials for a perpetual story of more and more beauty.
God invited us to a playful life of co-authoring the story with Him.
And God saw that this all was good.  It all was beautiful.  It was. And we were. And God is infinitely beautiful.

And the story continued.

Take a deep breath.
Feel where you are.
What does the air feel like around you?
What does your seat feel like?
How does the air feel as it enters your mouth and travels to your lungs?
How does your body feel as it miraculously takes that air and puts it into your blood and keeps you alive?
Feel where you are.

Take another deep breath.
Feel who you are.
Does your body ache?  Does it rest?  
Are you warm?  Are you cold?
Are you happy?  Excited? Tired?
Does your mind race?
Do you enjoy who you are?
Do you believe you are good?  Do you believe you are beautiful?
Do you believe God created you?
Do you know what it means to playfully co-author the story with God?

Take a third deep breath.
Feel the story of creation.
What has God created for you?
What have you created with God?
What do you long to create?
What is beautiful?
How have you seen beauty win over chaos?
Feel the story of creation.

Chaos
God made the world.
It was chaotic.
But then God wove a story of beauty chasing chaos away.
The height of this creation was a beautiful thing God called humanity.
God put God's self into this creation.
God created something beautiful that could continue co-authoring the story of beauty overcoming chaos.
And God invited us to co-author the story.

In many ways we succeeded.
We named the animals fun and playful and beautiful names.
We enjoyed each other.
We enjoyed God.
We made beauty.

But we also made chaos.
We chose independence over interdependence.
Then we fell pray to shame.
And we chaotically invited blame into the story.
Blame brought distrust along with her.
And distrust brought separation with him.
And separation is really just deep, spiritual death.
It is stepping into a deep abyss.  It is chaos.
You could say we took beauty and turned it into ashes.
The beauty God had made was shattered with new chaos.

We broke the beauty.
We shattered beauty.
We made chaos.

And the story continued.
We live amid beauty.
But we live amid brokenness.
We live covered in ashes.
We live surrounded in chaos.

Take a deep breath.
Feel where you are in relation to chaos.
How have you felt independence this week?
How have you been afraid of relying on others?  on God?
How have you felt shame this week?
Who have you blamed this week?
How have you developed distrust this week?  Distrust of others?  Leading others to distrust you?
How have you separated yourself from others this week?
How have you separated yourself from God?
How do these things feel like death?
Feel where you are in relation to the chaos.

Take another deep breath.
Feel where we are in relation to chaos.
How have you seen chaos in your family this week?
In your neighborhood? In the news? In our world?
How do these things feel like death?
Feel where we are in relation to the chaos.

Take a third deep breath.
Feel the juxtaposition of beauty and chaos.
Where have you seen beauty?
Where have you seen chaos?
How have you seen beauty shattered into chaos? This week? This month? This year? Throughout your life?

As you contemplate God’s on-going story, Feel the juxtaposition of beauty and chaos.

Return to beauty
God made a world. The world was chaotic at first.
But God wove a story of beauty conquering chaos.
Then God made humanity.
God sewed some of His spiritual DNA into us.
God said we were good.  and we were.  and we are.
God said we were beautiful. and we were. and we are.
God gave us the world and the story and told us to keep writing a long and inspiring tale of beauty chasing chaos away.

We did. We wrote some beautiful things.  Some good things.
But we also wrote some broken, chaotic things.  We shattered beauty and made chaos.
And the result of that shattered beauty is ultimately death.
God created life and we turned it to death.
God created beauty and we turned it to chaos.

But then God came to us.
God showed us how to write stories of love - stories that are more beautiful than chaotic.
God showed us how to live a life of revolutionary love and justice.
God showed us how to live a life of revolutionary beauty.
God showed us how to be the guerrilla soldiers of beauty invading lands chaos had long taken.

And, we were still chaotic, so we killed him.
The personification of love, justice and beauty had came.
And we shattered him. We killed him. Chaos seemed to have won.

But in God’s world, in God’s imagination, in God’s story, chaos can never defeat beauty.
God rose from the grave we made for him.
God defeated our brokenness. God defeated our death.
God defeated our cold shattered hearts.nAnd he gave us new hearts of flesh.
God gave us good hearts. God gave us beauty.

And God saw that it was good.  It was very good.
God saw that it was beautiful.  It was very beautiful.

But like any war torn land, our shattered world of beauty needs repair.
It needs rebuilding.  It needs restoration.  It needs re-creation.

And God invited us into this continuing story.
The story of love defeating sin.
The story of life defeating death.
The story of justice defeating selfishness.
The story of beauty chasing chaos away.

And the story continues.
We have lived in the ashes.
We continue living in the ashes.
But we also continue living in the calling to write a beautiful story.
We live in ashes and anointing.

Take a deep breath.
Feel who you are in God’s re-creation.
How has God re-created you?
How is God re-creating you in this moment?
How is God calling you to re-create his beautiful world?
Feel who you are in God’s re-creation.

Take a second deep breath.
Feel where we are in God’s story of beauty overcoming chaos.
How do you/how do we continue to contribute to chaos in each other’s lives?
How do you/how do we continue to contribute to chaos in the world?
How do you/how do we contribute to beauty in each other’s lives?
How do you/how do we contribute to beauty int the world?
Where do you feel chaos continuing to reign?
Where do you see beauty breaking in?

Take a third deep breath.
Listen to where God is calling you in the story of beauty overcoming chaos.
Just listen.
Deeply.
What thoughts come to mind?
What images?
What people and faces?
What concepts and movements?
What needs and resources?
What dreams.
Listen.
Listen to where God is calling you in the story of beauty overcoming chaos.
Listen to where the wild one leads us in this story of beauty chasing out chaos.

​I'm still waiting.

I love Advent. It's a season that speaks to my soul. The glory we are on the verge of. The hope that wants to be born amongst us. The despair that Israel was in. The despair we often find ourselves in. Darker, longer nights as we talk about brighter shining light. Waiting for birth. Waiting for the birth of someone and something that will change everything and set the broken things right. The birth and re-birth of the one who will beat our swords into plowshares and train lions to cuddle up with lambs for the coziness of a winter snuggle that is somehow warmer than the summer sun.

I love Advent!

And then I always struggle when it passes.

There's that empty feeling the day after.

I know God is painfully patient.
I know that at Advent we remember the story of Jesus first coming, long for Jesus' full coming, and spend our days on the look out for little comings - and ways we can participate in little comings.
And our Advent this year was filled with those little comings:
Neighbors finding a warm place and warm hearts at Our Common Ground.
Folks who have been done with church for some time showing up at Our Common Table.
More and more friends and acquaintances investing in fair trade products for Christmas.
Laughter over hot chocolate with my friend's eleven-year-old.
Our Christmas Eve service had people of all ages and all socioeconomic statuses from two churches and from a community of neighbors experiencing poverty. It was a holy moment. When we sang about Christ's coming, we could also see Christ's coming in the faces around the room.
There were lots of little comings.

When Advent comes to its fruition on Christmas Eve, and we pass light around the room like a delightfully contagious pathogen and sing "Night Divine," sing "Chains shall God break for the slave is our brother and in God's name all oppression shall cease," I am on the edge of my seat!

But when we blow the candles out and walk away, oppression has not ceased.
Syria.
Tamir Rice.
Rural Oregon.
The things that come out of the mouth of the candidate who shall not be named.
I grow weary from the labored breathing of mournful sighing.

Christmas morning comes and goes, and all that desperate waiting of Advent is still there. Unanswered.

And this year, I'm pregnant.
And my kiddo is scheduled for another two more moths chilling inside of me.
And she/he/ze keeps on kicking.
Kicking.
Somersaulting.
Dancing.
Hiccuping.
Throwing a party in my tummy each night when I'm trying to go to bed.
Stretching from inside and pushing my lap top a little further away even as I'm typing this.

And, maybe for the first time, I realize: What is gestating in Advent, yet unborn on Christmas, is not stillborn. Is not a figment of our imaginations. Is not an aborted hope. It's still kicking around. Gestating. Growing. Preparing. It is still coming. And we are still waiting. Still tending the hope and health of this new thing. Still preparing the way...in the desert if you are John or Isaiah...or in a womb and a nursery if you are me. 

Advent is still kicking around in there. Jesus' coming is still growing among us. New life is still being woven together, practicing breathing, stretching those forming muscles - that will work love and justice - against the stretching uterus of the church and of the world.

And we are not bereft because we are not fulfilled.
We are yet pregnant.
And so we keep taking those prenatal vitamins.
Getting plenty of rest.
Dreaming.
Seeking health.
​Waiting. 

Sometimes Advent is like a baby due in late February. Christmas might come. But we are still waiting. And ze/he/she is still coming. Just not yet

This morning, I woke up whiney. To be honest, I wake up whiney most mornings these days. Rolling over hurts when you have a wiggly bowling ball hanging out in your stomach. And we have baseboard heating. So we turn it off over night. And it was cold last night. And it is very cold this morning. I woke up whiney.

We grabbed some coffee. Ate a warm breakfast. Put on warm clean clothes. Defrosted the car painted white by the thin layer of ice hovering like an ineffective blanket over Everett this morning. Drove a mile to work. Walked into a heated building where I turned the heat up from 60 to 67. I like it better at 67. 

Then I went to let in a friend who helps us get set up every morning at Our Common Ground. At the door there were four neighbors bundled up trying to stay warm. One was so cold and tired that getting up to get inside the warm building seemed painful as he stumbled and needed some assistance getting up to get in.

They were kind. They helped us get set up. My neighbors were so much less whiney than me. I was humbled.

Now there is hot coffee on - hot coffee our friends and neighbors put on to help us get a quicker start. We were on our second extra large pot within 30 minutes of opening. There is toast toasting. There are some folks sleeping. There are some folks chatting. One guy is playing guitar. For another three hours, they get to hang out inside with warm coffee and friendship.

It's not enough. When we meet friends freezing waiting to get in on an icy morning, it's not enough. But it's something. It's what we have to share. Welcome. Warmth. Community. Coffee.

And I just wanted to take a minute to say thank you to everyone who partners with us to share these four simple things with our neighbors: Welcome. Warmth. Community. Coffee. It's not enough. But it's something. And we couldn't do it without you.

If you'd like to partner with us to keep this simple space open and warm, we are still about $3400 shy of our 2015 fundraising goals. Your partnership would not only help keep the doors open but help this whiney preggo woman get out of bed in the morning knowing that, in spirit, you are with us in this work of welcome. In spirit, you will be with us opening those doors and brewing hot coffee on too many cold mornings.

We are so excited about our Christmas Eve at Our Common Table!

Already, we are welcoming neighbors in need of warmth, safety, and friendship this Christmas Eve. 
We'll stay open all day until our host church hosts a shared dinner between our church, theirs, and neighbors in need of a meal.
Then, we'll transition to our shared Candle Light service.

As we walk from the nutritional feast in the fellowship hall to the spiritual feast in the sanctuary, we will share in this Christmas litany of welcome. If you are wondering who is welcome to worship with us, the answer is resoundingly: EVERYONE!

One: As Jesus’ mother was heavy with child and weary from traveling, she and Joseph went from inn to inn looking for a place of welcome.
Tonight as we remember this holy night, we will be people of welcome.

Two: I want to welcome everyone.
I want to welcome people who are young.
People who are very young. People who are older.
People who are very old.
People who are so young you haven’t been born yet.
Will you all join me in exclaiming welcome:
Welcome!

One: As Mary was feeling contractions increase and longing for a place of rest, she and Joseph heard again and again, there is no room. Tonight as we remember this holy family, we will make room for all.

Two: I want to welcome everyone.
I want to welcome people who are married.
People who are in relationships but aren’t married.
People who are divorced or somehow separate or no longer with partners.
People who have lost their partners.
People who don’t have partners.
People who want partners.
People who don’t want partners.
People who would prefer partners of a different gender than their own.
People who would prefer partners of their same gender.
People who prefer partners of either gender.
And I want to welcome people of all genders.
I want to welcome anyone missing in that list. And I want to apologize if I missed you.
You are welcome here.
Will you all join me in exclaiming welcome:
Welcome!

One: As Joseph was probably losing hope that there would be a safe space for this holy child to be born, he came to one last inn. It was full as well. You can just imagine his pain and worry as he walked away from one more closed door.
Tonight as we remember Jesus coming with no place to be, we open the doors to this building, to our community, and to our hearts.

Two: I want to welcome everyone.
I want to welcome people who have a lot of material resources.
I want to welcome people with little or no material resources.
I want to welcome people in the middle.
I want to welcome people who live in houses.
People who live in apartments.
People who share houses with roommates.
People who don’t live in houses.
I want to welcome neighbors who live outside.
Will you all join me in exclaiming welcome:
Welcome!

One: Just at the last minute, the inn keeper calls back to Joseph: I have no room but you’re welcome to sleep in the stable. It may somewhere. But it wasn’t the extravagant welcome befitting Emmanuel, God come intimately close to us.
Tonight, as we remember the God who comes close, let us extend extravagant welcome to one another.

Two: I want to welcome everyone.
People who have African heritage.
People who have African American heritage.
People who have Hispanic or Latino heritage.
People who have Asian heritage.
People who have Island heritage.
People who have European heritage.  
People who have first nations heritage.
The Snohomish People who have belonged to this land long before European people came - whose land we are gathered on right now.
With them I want to welcome all the other people groups that were grouped together as the Tulalip people at the treaty of Point Elliott - many of whom are not individual recognized by our government but who are recognized and welcomed here in this space.  
I want to welcome anyone I’m missing in that list and I want to apologize if I missed you.
You are welcome here. Will you all join me in exclaiming welcome:
Welcome!

One: And as Jesus was born in the stable, there was almost no one there but the animals to greet him. Some shepherds came. Dirty. Considered unclean. Themselves unwelcome most places. They came to welcome and be welcomed by the Christ Child. Tonight as we remember this mutual reception, we welcome all people.

Two: I want to welcome everyone.
People who are Christian.
People who like Jesus but wonder about Christianity.
People who have been hurt by Christianity.
People who like church.
People who are scared by church.
People who are atheist or agnostic.
People who have other faiths but still wanted to come tonight.
People who are cynical about faith but still willing to hang out as we talk about Jesus.
I want to welcome anyone I’m missing in that list and I want to apologize if I missed you.
You are welcome here.
Will you all join me in exclaiming welcome:
Welcome!

One: And as we bask in that holy moment the meeting of God and humanity, face to face, we again welcome God:
Two: And at the center of all of this, I want to welcome God and God’s Spirit!
Welcome.
Speak to us.
Gather us.
Change us.
Will you all join me in exclaiming welcome:
Welcome!

Welcome.
Everyone.
Let’s enter and share in the story of the God who welcomes us and is welcomed by us.

So, you should just brace yourself for several posts on pregnancy and delivery over the next two months. Holy wow - I only have two months left! But this is where I am. And it is a spiritual thing. 

My pregnancy app told me I should start putting together a birth bag - with all the things I'll need. So I googled for a checklist.
Here are some of the things I found that should be included. Notice an almost liturgical refrain:

• Socks that can be ruined.
• A sweater that can be ruined.
• Pajamas that can be ruined.
• A change of clothes for your partner or support person that can be ruined.
• A pillow and pillow case that can be ruined.

Oh! and the bag itself should be one "that can be sacrificed for the cause."

It's almost like a call and response from prayers of the people.
Basically, everything present at the birth of my child will be ruined.
In many ways, I will be ruined.

Caveat: After my last blog post, I heard from a few angry women who told me childbirth is wonderful. Painful, yes. But wonderful. They said that they were overwhelmed with a sense of peace the whole time. They were upset - upset might be a gentle word for several of them - that I insinuated that Mary might not have had that peace. Or that Mary would have shouted expletives in the heat of the painful moment.
1) I am so glad for all those who were overwhelmed by a sense of peace in childbirth. That is wonderful! I hope that for myself.
2) I know plenty of wonderful women of God who did not have that sense of peace. And they are not less because of it. Their birth stories are not less because of it. I know women who, years later, are still recovering mentally from the trauma of it. I'm not okay with saying that their experience was less Christian because it was less peaceful. I'm not okay with saying Mary was good and Jesus was good, so probably Jesus' birth story was one of those peaceful stories. Because that inherently infers that my friends with traumatic stories are not good. And they are. They and the children they traumatically birthed are equally created in the image of the God who birthed us all. I reject this concept.
3) However, I still think childbirth will be wonderful. I think it will be painful. Chaotic. Beyond my control. Possibly traumatizing. In many ways destructive to my body. But I do think it will still be wonderful.
So much of life that is wonderful is also destructive. Let's not try to separate these often wedded experiences - pain and wonder - with a false dichotomy that makes other women feel less. That would be the bad kind of ruin.

In a couple of months when I meet this kiddo face to face, in many ways, I will be ruined. And it will be good. And as I am ruined I will be made new.

As we are working to bring a new church that is a place of welcome and justice into the world, as daily we are working to join in God's work of bringing liberating love and justice into the world, we could have the same refrain....that can be ruined.

A few days ago, as we were packing up for the day at Our Common Ground, a woman from our host church asked me to examine the toilet. Some neighbor who I love and who I am so happy we could welcome had left some waste on - not in - the toilet. So, I took my pregnant tired body and cleaned up poop. Today, as we were leaving, I went to do my day-end tidy of the women's restroom. There was a man in there. He was entirely unresponsive to me telling him to leave. He eventually did leave without event - but in the mean time, I was, honestly, a little scared. When he did leave, I went into the stall he had been camped out in for over and hour and cleaned it.
And then there is the time spent listening to heartbreaking stories and being with people in the pain they've experienced and are experiencing in life. Everything on the outside of me may still be clean and in-tact. But, walking with these friends and neighbors, my soul is in the delivery room and things are getting messy.

This is what being a pastor looks like.
This is what being a neighbor looks like.
This is the Gospel.

Whatever we bring along with us  in this work of seeking God's Kingdom of liberating love and justice must be something that can be ruined.

To participate in the coming of God's kingdom is to, like every item in that birth bag, be prepared to be ruined...
...And saved all at once.

I struggle with Paul saying that women will be saved through childbirth. But, I do believe the church will be saved as we give birth. Allowing glory and goodness to utterly ruin us. Allowing pain and wonder to hold hands.  Allowing ourselves, our buildings, our possessions, our clean little lives to be ruined by love of God and of neighbor and by welcoming the mess our neighbors always bring along with them...not to mention the mess we are always carting along with ourselves!

Let's get messy and be a part of this birth!
...and bring along only things that can be ruined. 
Amen.

There are two things on my mind this morning:
1) Advent!
2) Mark Driscoll is apparently starting a new church again.
There is a former Mars Hill literally one block from the church where I pastor.
While this new church will be far away in Phoenix, it is hard not to feel the closeness of Driscoll starting something new without any real signs of repentance or change...and certainly not change on how he views women. A favorite complaint Driscoll likes to make is that the church is "pussified."
And I am a woman pastor.
Literally one block from a former Mars Hill.
And as I ruminate on Advent and Driscoll...and the "pussified" church....
...Somehow, this Advent of Jesus seems to speak to this new advent of Driscoll's broken pastoring.

I love Advent. It is restful. Sacred. Slow. Contemplative.
Soon it will be Christmas Eve. We'll light some candles and sing Silent Night as we reflect on the miracle of God being born in human form. It will be restful, hopeful, bright, and still.

But here's the truth: for Mary, this miracle was not restful or still. It was painful. The night was probably not silent but filled with more angry words and shouts than anyone suspected sweet young Mary capable of. (Have you seen this?)

Ok. I apologize. But here comes another post about being a pregnant woman out and about in the community. Bottom line: A lot of the time it just sucks.


A lot of the time it's great! My favorite barista gave me a feminist pep talk as she rejoiced over my pregnancy! People help out with things I can't do anymore and there is something glorious to receiving assistance from a stranger in the neighborhood. I get to hear stories from all sorts of people about the joy they had bringing their kiddos into the world. A lot of the time, it's great.

And a lot of the time it just sucks.

One man today came up and told me: "I bet you're tired of being pregnant. I bet it makes you emotional. Always feeling so fat and ugly."

Yes. Thanks. This is a hyperbolic case. The only time someone has suggested I'm not only "big" but actually "fat" and "ugly."

What usually happens is people tell me just how big I am. They ask: Am I sure it's not twins? They say: I'm really big for how far along I am. They suggest: Oh, there's no way I'm carrying that baby past seven months if I'm that big already.

Okay, so first off, this is just annoying. Often hurtful but almost always annoying. My reality is that I'm a small short person. This kiddo has nowhere to go but out. So, I feel like maybe I get this more than your average pregnant woman in the community. But it is pretty nigh constant for me. And I would love for it to stop.

But I still struggle to be kind. To smile. To look for the good behind what someone is saying. I'm generally nice about it.

Still, there is a deeper reason for this post than to vent: For a lot of women, this is an unhappy and unnecessary side effect of gestating new life.

And there is a deeper reality I want to address with this post, one that I'm guessing many folks are entirely unaware of when they say these things: Being big for your gestational age is an actual condition. One that medical professionals take seriously.

Midwives and doctors measure you at every appointment. If you are measuring big, it can mean a lot of things. Some are innocuous - like, it's just a big kid or your stomach muscles are loose.

But some are troublesome.

1) Measuring big can be a marker of gestational diabetes which makes both mom and kiddo susceptible to developing diabetes later and also often leads to an early induced delivery. Early induced deliveries often work out fine. But they are not idea. A lot happens for the kiddo in those last few weeks leading up to 40 weeks. And being premature increases risks of infant death. Gestational diabetes also increases chances of birth defects, birth injury, C-section, and respiratory distress for baby.
Gestational Diabetes is by far the most common cause of measuring big for your gestational age. If a woman is actually big for her gestational age and not just a shorty like me, this is very likely what you are reminding her of when you comment on her size. If a woman is measuring big and it is because of gestational diabetes, trust me, she doesn't want strangers or acquaintances pointing it out.

2) Another possible cause is uterine fibroids. These are often not a problem but, if they are big, they can lead to C-section and several discomforting symptoms after delivery.


3) Another reason a woman might be measuring large is that she has too much amniotic fluid. Keep in mind, a good portion of that belly is not baby but all the stuff that comes along with baby. Too much amniotic fluid can be a marker of genetic abnormalities. It can be a marker of fetal abnormalities. While the kiddo is in there, she/he/ze prepares for the big world out here by practicing breathing by swallowing amniotic fluid. If a woman is measuring big, it can mean that her baby has stopped practicing breathing. This is scary. It can cause or be caused by issues with baby's kidneys. It can also be cause by baby having a gastrointestinal blockage or even some neurological problems. Again, if a woman is measuring big because of this, she really doesn't want to be reminded of it by acquaintances and strangers.

4&5) You can also measure big because your baby is breech (dangerous for delivery and often leads to C-section) or you have placenta previa (another condition that usually results in C-section).

6) Or, again, you might just have a big healthy baby.
But, if that big healthy baby is too big, he/she/ze may need to be induced to come early to avoid birth defect and birth injury. And, generally, moms don't want baby to come too much before their due date because babies need to stay in there and grow stronger and healthier.

7) And then, of course, maybe you've just put on more weight during pregnancy than you ought. And, maybe there is no risk to the kiddo - or minimal risk - but generally speaking, women don't like to be told we are putting on more weight than we ought. Certainly not as small talk in line at the coffee shop or over snacks after church.

I made the mistake of drinking too much water before one midwife appointment. My full bladder caused me to measure big. My midwife said if I measured big next time, we might need another ultrasound to make sure everything is okay. I had to spend the next month waiting for the next measurement. Wondering what caused me to measure big. Hearing every day how large I am. Wondering each time if my precious little kiddo is okay and knowing I had no way to even know for the next few weeks. It was hard. It was hurtful. Even though I scored in the 100th percentile for extraversion, I wanted to avoid people during that month.

And then I measured just perfectly again. Sigh of relief. (BTW, let's read that again: I measured perfectly. I am not big for how far along I am. I am a short woman. That is all.). But not every woman who measures big gets that sigh of relief.

There was one woman I had just met that insisted that, if I am this big now, there is no way I will make it a day past seven months. And with all the love and kindness in the world, I want to say to her: "Please stop. You are scaring me. That would be very harmful for my baby. Pregnancy and parenthood is already hard enough. I really don't need this grim prediction from someone I just met added on. Please. Stop."

But, I know that the average person who tells someone she's "big" doesn't mean to scare a mom or to hurt her feelings. A friend suggested I try to reframe it in my mind that people are just saying: "I'm so glad you have a healthy growing baby in there." And, generally, my guess is that that is what people mean. But then, why not say that? Why say: "You're big." "Are you sure that's not twins?" "There's no way you're making it to full term if that baby is that big now!"

Why not say: "Congratulations. You look healthy! Looks like that baby is growing big and strong! I'm so happy for you!"

Of if you can't say that, why not say nothing. Take a lesson from Thumper's mom: If you can't say anything nice ("Congratulations! You look healthy! Looks like that baby is growing big and strong!") don't say anything at all (don't start out a conversation with: "You are big!").

I think, generally speaking, we all love the pregnant women in our neighborhoods, churches, and lives. We want them to enjoy and treasure pregnancy. We want to celebrate with them. We can't wait to coo over that coming kiddo. So, all I'm suggesting is: choose things to say that express these sentiments! This will result in a pregnant mom feeling loved, respected, celebrated, proud, supported - - and drawn in closer to strangers and acquaintances rather than wanting to find a way to politely step out of the conversation. Let's give each other that gift of kind and encouraging words that form healthy community!

This is not a post I want to post. But this is a post I think I have to post. 

We just watched Spotlight. I lived in Boston when it all happened. So not a ton of it was new news to me. But as we were leaving, Luke told me that someone from his childhood church was recently discovered to be a child molester. And some victims have been very brave in being very public about it.

​And this began to stir things up for me. Stories few people know. Stories related to church. Stories that deserve to be told.

And then I read this and the first story paralyzed me and I realized I needed to tell these stories._

Story #1.
My mom and dad are getting ready to go out of town. I'm not sure how old I am at this point. I have to be less than 2.5 because my baby brother isn't along for the ride yet. My parents are going to leave me over night with an elderly couple who are leaders in our church. This couple have essentially been my nannies - and more. I called them Grandma and Papa. And Papa was easily one of my favorite people in the world.

As they are getting ready to leave town, Grandma and Papa's daughter knocks on our door. This is a little strange. They talk with her. She has something heavy to share. Something she'd rather not. But she can't not. So she lets my parents know that her father has a history of molesting very young girls.

Obviously, my parents' trip out of town is canceled. They sit down with the couple. Grandma knew. Papa swears he's a changed man. Grandma promises that she won't leave me alone with Papa. This isn't really good enough for my parents. So things change. I go to a church day care - from a different church. More on that later.

But things also don't change. Grandma and Papa stay "Grandma" and "Papa" for years. They are a part of the family. Papa stays my favorite person. I was too young to know if he ever did or tried to do anything to me. He is my Papa. For decades. 

A favorite story Papa tells me is that he has a tape of me laughing as a toddler that he listens to over and over. That story seems precious to me. Because I don't know. As far as I know, Papa has always been the one man in my life who has loved me well.

Until one day when Papa attacks me for being a woman in ministry, for not being married yet, and for being overweight. I call my mom in tears. Papa was the only man who had loved me well and now...

My mom can't bare to hear me saying what a good man he is. So she tells me the story.

I remember the story of the tape of a small girl laughing and suddenly is it a menacing story...
He says he is better. He says Jesus fixed it. But at our next family gathering, I notice an overly attentive eye on my cousin's daughters.

And I have a lot of work to do to heal from all this and figure out this new terrain.
And it isn't until my husband and I watch Spotlight that it dawns on me: We should have told Papa's church. Others should have known. What might have happened because I didn't know and when I did know, I didn't say anything? It's soul crushing.

Note: We ended up switching churches not too long after this - so if you grew up going to church with me and you are worried that this was our church, it wasn't!

Story #2.
In need of a new childcare option, after my mom goes back to work after having my brother, I go to a church ran day care. They have very little kids like my brother. And they have older kids coming by after school gets out.

The day care has a coed bathroom. They allow an older boy to go to the bathroom with my three-year old self.

He molests me in the bathroom.

As soon as he lets me leave the bathroom, I run straight to the teacher. Sesame Street told me that if someone touched me inappropriately, I should tell a grown-up. So I do.

She says nothing.

She says nothing to my mother.

My dad is out of town. That night at dinner, I start crying and my mom doesn't know why. Three-year-olds do this sort of thing. I stand up next to the table. I am so small that my eyes are just level with the table top. Through tears, I tell my mom what happened. I already told the teacher and she ignored me. And now I have to tell my mom.

My mom does the exact right thing. She comforts me. She told me I did the right thing. She calls the teacher on the total crap that was her handling of it.

The teacher says: "They are just being kids. It's normal."

My mom says no.

She has me visit a child psychologist. The psychologist says I'm handling it well and just to keep an eye on it. And she did. She brought it up regularly. Gently. Allowing me to set the pace for it. Allowing me to feel what I felt. Creating space for me to process. And always reminding me I did the exact right thing and none of it was my fault or anything for me to be ashamed of or to minimize.

My mom was a tenacious hero in this story. She was a strong woman in the face of darkness. She showed me how to become the woman I am today. The woman who could stand up to a gun outside of a Target years later. I can't tell this story without pausing to say thank you to my mom.

We switch day cares.

The CHURCH preschool remains open with no policy changes as far as I know and I am told again: "He was just being a kid. It's normal."

The Ongoing Story:
These are fairly mild stories given the atrocities that happen to kids. All too often at church. 

Things could have been worse. But things were not okay.

The worst part of all of this is the excuses and the secret keeping. Keeping the victimizers safe at the cost of the victims. But it doesn't keep the victimizers safe - it keeps them broken. Ashamed. Telling me it's normal. Shaming me for thinking it's not normal. Keeping "Papa" in my life. Keeping "Papa" a leader in the church until his dying day.

When we don't offer victims space to bring these things to light - or honor a 3-year-old trying to bring it to light - we do harm.
When we don't offer victimizers the gift of shining light on their darkness, we do significant harm.

According to this article on child molestation in the church, One study suggests that a perpetrator will molest an average of 12 persons for a total of 71 acts of molestations. It's not a one-time slip up that saying a prayer to Jesus will fix.
Another study suggests that 38% of women and 16% of men are molested before turning 18 and that only 5% - FIVE OUT OF 100 - acts of child molestation are reported to law enforcement.
Many - most - children never report molestation. I was one of the minority who did. And I was ignored. At a church.

Changing the Story
And so I'm sharing these stories. That daycare is gone now. "Papa" is gone now. I'm not sharing to point out these individuals or that organization but to point out the importance of honesty.

I'm sharing this to be honest myself.

And maybe this invites others to be honest as well.

These things happen in church communities far too often.
​This is not okay and it will not become okay unless we face it.
Until we grieve it.
Until we search out transformation rather than a rug to sweep it all under.
Until we stop using the transformative power of Jesus to say that repentance is enough.

I believe progress has been made since the mid-80's when these stories happened. I believe we are working on writing different stories. Let's be diligent in that work. Let's be honest in that work. Let's change the story.

Fair warning: If you read this post you cannot. ever. again. say "the only thing that can stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun." You simply can't. I'm not saying you have to become a pacifist. I'm not saying you have to be pro-gun regulation. I am, though, saying with all the firmness and that a blog post can muster: You. Cannot. Ever. Again. Say: "The only thing that can stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun."
So, if you keep reading, be prepared to lay down that argument and never bring it up again. If you do read this and you do bring this up again, I will appear magically and shout at you: "Hey! Stop!"

Ok, with the warning behind us, let me tell a story. But first, let me introduce myself. Really. Not just me the blogger. And not just me the woman pastor. Really me:
I'm not strong.
I'm strong-willed. I am opinionated. I express my opinions. I work in a profession that many people (one called me just this Sunday to remind me) believe is only for men. I stand up for things I think are right. But I am not strong. 
I cry. A lot. My feelings get hurt. A lot. I am scared. Most of the time. I don't stand up for myself when I ought to...though I do usually go home and stand up to the mirror in retrospect. I'm not strong. I am almost always afraid.
But maybe where I am strong is that I keep going despite all of this...

What you really need to take away from this for the sake of this story is that I am a small woman. 5'3" if we're being generous and previous to pregnancy pretty small all around. My voice is small. Every time I preach people tell me I need to speak up. I am a small woman with a small voice who is always afraid and cries all the time. You need to know that about me before we start this story.

And here's the story:
Something like 6 years ago, I was walking out of a Target store. I had my dog, who was just a puppy, inside my basket. I was that girl. At target. With a puppy. As I approached my car, I noticed that there was something weird happening. I walked closer. Then I noticed a man with a gun attacking another man next to my car.
Honestly, I just wanted to drive away. Abandon my cart. Hop in my car. Fly. As I said, I am not strong.

But my puppy was in my cart. And she's kind of a great puppy. And I knew I wouldn't have time to get her out of the cart and in the car without being involved in what was happening between my car and the next car.

And below that, I knew that doing nothing was not the right thing to do. Small and scared as I was. It still was not the right thing to do.

So, I shouted: "Hey! Stop!" Eloquent. I know.

Now, when you are imagining this story, please don't imagine your stalwart German great aunt shouting "Hey! Stop!" with a strong deep voice that makes you freeze instantly.

No, imagine that girl from speech class who barely passed because her voice was so quiet and she shook every time she spoke and when the instructor told her to speak louder, she thought she was but really she only spoke higher. Imagine that tiny high pitch voice barely squeaking out: "H-h-h-hey! S-s-s-s-t-o-o-o-p! ...? ...!"

He looked me right in the eye. Lowered his gun. And ran away.

The other gentleman thanked me. Then told me, like a concerned parent, to get the F@#K in my car already and drive home! 

I drove home. Shaking. Scared. In shock. Realizing maybe I should have called the police, but I think my words were spent with simply "Hey" and "Stop." And all I had left in me was to drive home, draw a warm bath, and sit in it shaking until some chamomile took over and I calmed down enough to just stop shaking.

And my poor traumatized puppy had no idea what was going on except that I shouted and then completely lost my s#@t.

I am a small scared woman without a gun. I am committed to nonviolence, believing, as one who trusts in Jesus, that there are worse things in this life than death. So, I will be nonviolent even when I am scared and even when the stakes are high.
​And I stopped a "bad guy"* with a gun.

You can never. again. say: "The only thing that can stop a bad guy* with a gun is a good guy with a gun." You can't. So don't. Or I'll show up with my puppy and shopping cart and shout - more strongly - "Hey! Stop!"

Let me conclude by also adding that my husband has stopped men armed with knives with only words. And I know many other stories of de-escalating violence by way of non-violence. This is not extraordinary. This is one story of many that forever takes away your ability to say "The only things that can stop a bad guy* with a gun is a good guy with a gun."

*I hate this term "bad guy." He was a guy. He was obviously desperate. Or angry. But something in his life must have been terribly broken for him to have resorted to pulling a gun on someone in a Target parking lot. He's not a bad guy. He's a guy. Who needed to be stopped. Who heard my small voice, looked me in the eyes, and stopped. And I firmly believe we are both better for the moment we held eye contact.

As I mentioned Wednesday, last Sunday we had our first gathering for worship.
Here is my sermon:

Advent Story 1: Pregnancy
Pregnancy, if you are unaware of what’s actually going on, looks a lot like death.  I’ve heard the story over and over again from my dad - the great relief they felt when he found out my mom was pregnant with me - because he believed she was sick - cancer maybe?  Something serious.  
This year, I’ve experienced it first hand. I was sick for four months. If I had not known I was pregnant, I would have assumed I was dying. Even knowing I was pregnant, from time to time, I wondered if I still might be dying.
The symptoms are severe.  You can’t keep food down.There is lot of pain.  Women become emotionally unglued.  Your joints become loose.  Everything swells.  You are exhausted.  Something from inside is kicking you and sucking nutrients from you. It’s not entirely unlike alien. Sometimes when this little one is moving while I’m in a meeting trying to concentrate, it reminds me A LOT of alien.
If you are unaware that life is growing inside that aching, breaking body, you would assume the symptoms were pointing toward death.
Then birth happens.  It happens painfully and dangerously.  Again, if you were somehow unaware that new life was breaking violently into the world, you would assume the woman was on death’s - and not life’s - door step.

But what is happening is hope.  
Life.  
Light.  
Something new and beautiful -
something that will change the world -
has come into existence.
Beauty from chaos.  
Life from death.  
Light from darkness.  
Hope from pain.  
The story of being heavy with child.
This is the story of gestation.  
This is the story of Advent.  
All outward signs, to those who are unaware of what is really happening, point to death.  
But those that know the hope of new life wait  - 
not with dread for death to come - 
but with hope for life to come.
...so, as a pastor, I have this commitment to always being honest with you all. So let me be honest: as I wait for life to come with this little one, I maybe do also wait with a little dread. New life is a little scary. How it is born, is a little scary.
But glorious.
Worth it.
Game changing.
Universe changing.
In ways of beauty I cannot fathom.
So, we’ll say I wait in dread-filled hope.

Advent Story 2: Isaiah & The Hebrew People
Isaiah, who we read together today, speaks to a hopeless Israel.
Their situation is bleak.  
They are exiled and occupied.  
Isaiah looks at this situation that looks like death.
All outward indications said this people, Israel, would wither and fade and they would disappear from the face of the earth.
He sees what looks like death and remembers that:
God is the God who made the world out of chaos and darkness -
out of nothing.   
This God says “let there be light”
when light is inconceivable.  

The author of Isaiah sees a bleak situation and, because of this God, he sees that Israel is not desolate - barren - but pregnant with God’s dreams for her.

All outward signs, to those who are unaware of what is happening, point to death.  
But those that know the hope of new life wait -
not with dread for death to come -
or with cynicism that life cannot be growing in this desolate place -
but with hope for life to come.

Just as the story goes with pregnancy, Israel was indeed on the verge of new life.  
King Hezekiah came along.  
Jerusalem was rebuilt.  
Exiles returned.  

Advent Story 3: Jesus
That brings us to our third story: the first advent, or arrival - of Jesus.  
When Jesus comes, the world is dark.
It looks like she is dying.  
Not only is Israel occupied, but much of the world is occupied by Rome.  Rome has instituted a census.  The point of the census: not just to make people journey to their homes to be counted - at this time in world history, the obvious reason for any census was taxes.  Count the people so you can tax them.  In the Roman mind, you taxed them so you could have
more money
for more war.  
Times are dark.  
But,
God is the God who made the world out of chaos and darkness -
out of nothing,
saying “Let there be light”
when light is inconceivable.
God acts when things seem bleak.  

So, in this time that looks like death God is literally gestating hope
in a young,
unwed
woman
of a small,
occupied,
over-taxed,
insignificant people.  

As she, and as her people -
and as the world in many ways -
appears to be dying,
She and her people are heavy with child.
The world is heavy with
new
and
unparalleled
life.

All outward signs, to those who are unaware of what is really happening, point to death.  
But those that know the hope of new life wait -
not with dread for death to come -
but with hope for life to come.

...And like me with this kiddo - maybe also with some dread...

And, when that life comes, he grows into a man.
He leads some people.  
There’s some energy around him.  
It looks like he just might lead in the changes and hope the Hebrew people have been so thirsty for.

And
then
he
dies.

If there was ever a moment in history when cynicism was warranted, it was the moment Jesus died.
And yet through this literally darkest night in history
came the brightest sunrise -
resurrection.

From what not only looked like - but was - death,
came life.
Death was defeated by way of death.

This is the kind of God we follow! We follow the God who literally uses death to bring life. 

And so, pregnancy looks like death but is the gestation of life. Israel looked like it was in death-throws but God was bringing life. Jesus died in order that
life.
could.
be.
victorious.

Maybe, as Christ-followers, we should be becoming increasingly suspicious of the appearance of death, of failure, of loss, of hopelessness.  Because time and time again God. has. shown. us. that. death is the humus of life.  What looks like death gestates life.  What looks like darkness incubates light.

Story 4: Advent 2015
And the fourth story of Advent is our story.  The story of Advent 2015 and of the waiting for the consummation of advent when God’s inclusive kingdom of liberating love and justice for all fully comes.

So, let’s re-read Luke 21:25-28
There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

Ok...so lots of scary sounding things there.  This is the kind of passage that you see misquoted in a scifi movie.  The kind of passage that - if we are honest - we’re a little embarrassed about and hope no one brings up when we talk about our faith.

And then it’s the lectionary text when we have our first church gathering...so...here we go...

But, moving past the mythic language, there is an over-arching point to the passage.
The point is essentially the words of Jason Webley, a local musician who I’ve heard lives in a tug boat on the Snohomish river:
"We say that the world isn’t dying.
We pray that the world isn’t dying.
just Maybe the world isn’t dying.
I’ve been looking at the symptoms for a while.
Maybe she’s heavy with child."

If your faith is in the redemption Jesus brought and brings,
you will see these things that look like death and you will hope.
Like a pregnant mother,
you will be suspicious of the signs of death
and those signs will gestate hope in you.

This is Advent.
Light from dark.
Hope from despair.
Welcome from exclusion.
Return from exile.
The impossible becoming gloriously possible.
This is Advent.

As Christ-followers, we should be suspicious of the appearance of death, of failure, of loss, of, of hopelessness.   Because time and time again God. has. shown. us. that. death is the humus of life.  
What looks like death gestates life.  
What looks like darkness incubates light.

This Advent season - as we wait for Christmas -
may we be palpably aware that we are pregnant with hope -
that, even when signs seem to point to darkness, light is coming.  
that even when signs seem to point to death, life is coming.  
even when cynicism abounds, hope.
is.
being.
gestated.
in.
us.
in.
you.
May we be palpably aware that we are pregnant with hope.

May we stand.
May we raise our heads.
Our redemption is near.