Moms in Ministry
The Day I Met Her
Editor's note: In September of this year, Moms in Ministry editor Alex Hendrickson traveled to Ethiopia with Susan Olson, the founder of the Young Clergy Women Project. On this trip, Susan met and finalized the adoption of her daughter. For the second anniversary of Fidelia's Sisters, it seemed that sharing the story of the birth of a new family seemed most appropriate.
We got into the Addis Ababa Airport at about 11:30 am. Customs, security, and the ride to our guest home are all a blur to me. We checked into the guest home, brought our bags up to our room and called my attorney, Ato T. He agreed that we would come to the orphanage at 4 p.m. (after naptime, for those not in the toddler set). There was some confusion about how we were to arrive, but once that was resolved, we were on our way.
Slacker Parenting
Late that Saturday afternoon, my daughter’s well-being was the farthest thing from my mind. I had 30 teenagers spread across the front of the church, and we were frantically pulling together the details for a youth-led worship service. The musicians needed a piece of music transposed for a saxophone, the projected technology group was having trouble with the laptop remote, the drama team was having trouble with blocking, and a bunch in the front pew was simply bored silly.
Where my 2 year old had wandered off to was the least of my worries. In fact, it wasn’t even a worry until one of the youth group moms lip-whispered to me, “Where’s Zora?”
It is a testament to my church’s tolerance of my parenting style that no one called DCFS when I answered, “I’m sure she’s around somewhere…as long as she’s not in the parking lot.”
If I practice any particular style or method of parenting, it would be called, “Slacker Parenting.” I’m a full time pastor for children and youth with a two year old. My husband, who has the best of intentions and abilities to co-parent, commutes 50 miles into the nearest city to allow me to work where I am called. And so for most of the week, it’s me and the girl. In other words, my time and energy to be the model parent is limited.
A Mother's Morning Prayer
I have found that as a parent and a pastor, life is exceedingly hectic. Even when I am able to carve out time for prayer and renewal, it is hard to silence the noise of this busy, busy world and just be with God.
This poem came as I was letting go of all the excuses and distractions so that I could be still and know the goodness of God.
Being a Foster Parent
A little over a year ago, my husband and I made the decision to open our home to foster children. It had been something I always wanted to do, and it seemed the right time in our lives: we had no biological children, so we didn’t have to worry about this decision affecting them, we lived in a big house with three empty bedrooms, and we were working with schedules that made it possible. Added to this list came the organization that we decided to work with; they had an excellent staff, were on call 24/7 and did the training around our schedules. When we signed up to work with them we knew that we would be working with kids who required a higher level of care, but we also knew that we’d be getting the support we needed.
Review: Clergy Moms
Do not be fooled by its cover—a whimsical cartoon of a woman in full Episcopal clergy garb juggling a chalice and a baby as she walks a tightrope between her home and her church—Clergy Moms: A Survival Guide to Balancing Family and Congregations—is anything but whimsical. However, Clergy Moms is also not really a survival guide—only 21 pages are devoted to actual practical advice. In fact, Clergy Moms is not even exclusively about clergy moms, but addresses all members of kinds of clergy families--"traditional" clergy wives, male clergy spouses, and same-sex clergy families.
Being spoiled
Standing at the front of the sanctuary, feeling the Spirit, ready to do the benediction, a shriek rings out from among the congregation. Only I look to see who it is – because I know the voice. It is my daughter, Eden. At all of a year old, hearing my voice causes her to let out a squeal.
I watch for a moment, distracted, as she tries to wiggle out of the nursery worker’s arms. And then I begin, “Now as you go…” But before I can get to any amount of peace, I notice that is crawling down the aisle, trying to reach me. Unsure what to do, the nursery worker wrestles her to the ground. “May you go in peace,” I continue. Finishing the benediction, I begin to process towards my daughter. Forget the acolyte; forget the lay reader.
Just as I get close enough to hold her, a hand reaches out to grab me. “Pastor,” the older, grouchy woman begins, “you know, we would not care if she crawled down the aisle.”
Clergy Women and Infertility--Breaking the Silence
If I have to read the story of Abraham and Sarah’s miraculous conception of Isaac one more time, I will run screaming out of the pulpit. Because I know what it’s like to want a child. I know what it’s like to try everything under the sun to create one – frankly, if concubines were a legal possibility, I might go for that at this point. I know about barrenness. I do not, yet, know about the laughter which might follow.
I am an infertile pastor. As I write, my husband and I are undergoing fertility treatments, and have been for three and a half years. Thankfully, we have the resources to do this, and for that, I am deeply grateful. But they have not succeeded, yet.
In the meantime, I dread Advent. All those texts about babies showing up where they shouldn’t have: to Elizabeth, who thought she was too old; to Mary, who thought she was too young. And the hearkening back to the others whose barrenness broke their hearts: Sarah and Hannah, my sisters. It is hard to preach these texts. Some days, I dread baptisms; I worry that I cannot hold one more baby at the font and not mix my tears with the baptismal waters. It is hard to keep all of this a secret, but I do, because I cannot quite imagine another way.
There’s Not a Word Yet for Old Friends Who’ve Just Met
Editor's note: This article was originally written in January of 2009.
The tiny people and I are going to Minnesota. I cannot describe to you how excited the boys are. Aunty K, a dear pastor friend of mine, and I planned this trip back in … August? 2005? I'm not sure, but it feels like it's been on the books for millennia. And, considering that it's been planned for a high percentage of my two year old’s lifetime, he's about to blow his top he's so eager to leave.
Back in October, he would look at the clock and say, "It's January o'clock! Time to go to Minnesota!" We finally got him to understand that we weren't leaving until after Christmas. This gave him the distraction of Welcoming the Birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ so as not to get too stir crazy in the meantime. A few awesome presents worked well to defer the hourly questions about when we were boarding the airplane for Minneapolis.
Two parts of a whole
“Does the mommy guilt ever subside long enough to feel good about anything you’re doing?” This was the question that a new mom in my congregation who was returning to work following her all-too-brief maternity leave tearfully asked, and I resonated deeply with her grief, anxiety and, yes, her guilt. It wasn’t that long ago that I had returned to work after ten weeks of maternity leave with my second child. And just because I had done it once before hadn’t made it any easier—if anything it made it more difficult, because now I knew just how quickly the time passes and before you know it they’re not babies any longer.
Elizabeth’s question brought me back to my first day back and the first full day that that my son had been with his babysitter. I got a little more than an hour with him (just barely enough time to nurse him, change his diaper and, oh yeah, get a bite to eat myself) before I had to hop back in the car to fight the rush hour traffic in order to get to a community action. And I cried all the way there, thinking about missing my babies.
Family Business
I asked some pastor friends, “Looking back on your career, what would you do different?”
And one answered, “I would have never been a pastor. If I knew what kind of toll the pastorate was going to have on my sons, I would have never gotten into the job.”
“Really? Then, what would you have become?”
“Anything. A secretary in a law firm. Anything other than this, really.”
