Leanne Friesen

Until yesterday, I had been living with three men.  Yesterday, the really tall one (as opposed to the tall one, and the not-at-all tall one) moved out. I will miss him.

You may wonder how I ended up with three men living in my house.  The first I married 12 years ago.  The other two are a bit more of a story. This week I realize the story is rather relevant to a lot that’s going on in the world right now, so I’d like to share it.

We live in what I would consider a big house.  Many in the world might consider it a mansion. Our house has four bedrooms, a living room, dining room, eat-in kitchen, and large den/play room.  On top of this we have a huge basement, mostly unfinished.  In this basement were two spaces (without walls when this story began) that we really didn’t use.  One we made a sort of catch-all “office” and the other became a room where the kids did art.

There are four in our family, plus one small dog.  After a couple of years living in our house, I became really aware that we had more space than we needed.  It felt greedy to have so much space in our house that we didn’t need.  I mean, seriously, do kids who have their own bedrooms PLUS a playroom PLUS a big backyard really need their own art space?  I think “no.”

Dallas and I had each also been very thankful for the hospitality of others we had received in our lives.  As an undergraduate student, I used to come every single weekend to stay at relatives in Hamilton who I had not even met until moving to Ontario.  They would not only welcome me, but each weekend I was coming they would buy my favourite cookies and – wait for this – LEND ME THEIR CAR so that I could get to my job on the other side of the city.  A couple years later, I lived with them for a year.  Dallas and I had also each lived with older siblings during seasons of transition.  We could see looking back how important these seasons were.  We had always tried to live the lessons they taught us about hospitality.  When we had a one bedroom apartment, we once had someone stay on our couch for a month after a break-up.  In our first house, our good friend lived with us for a year, also after a bad break-up.  And now here we were with an entirely unused empty basement with no one living in it?  It just felt wrong.

So in the winter of 2014 we talked to a friend, who would soon be graduating from McMaster and wanted to stay in Hamilton. We told him that he could turn one of the downstairs spaces into a room and stay with us until he transitioned into whatever would be next.  We put up some drywall to separate the two rooms, and in May 2014 he moved into our “basement suite” –  which was really very flexible of him as he is 6”6.

I have to say that I was surprised at the reactions that a lot of people had to this scenario.  Many people were just plain shocked that we would share our space like this.  Common questions were: “Does he EAT with you too?”  (Yes and no.  When he was here, he ate with us.  But he’s in his mid twenties, so he often ate out with friends).  “Does he, like, HANG OUT in your living room and stuff?” (Yes).  “Doesn’t it bother you having someone else in your space?”  (Once in a while, but mostly – no).  The biggest question was: “Why?”

Why would you want someone else to live with you?

Why wouldn’t you keep your space to yourselves?

Why would you inconvenience yourselves like that?

Our answer was always the same:

“We have more space than we need.  Why wouldn’t we?”

I can’t pretend that it was always perfect, or easy, on any of our parts, but I will tell you that there was far more gained than was ever lost during the sixteen months he lived here.

    We gained a family member.  

All of our family lives far away.  Now, we had another family member who lived WITH us.  After just a couple of months, our kids would tell people that our family had five people in it.  They would draw him in family pictures.  He was the tall one.

    We gained a friend.

Yes, he was already a friend, but now we had another friend with us all the time.  Our kids had someone who would play Rock Band with them.  I had someone who would watch Community with me, which my husband hates to watch.  Also someone who would order wings with me.  We talked about life and ministry and shared books and resources.  When we needed one, we had a live-in babysitter.

   We gained perspective.

Having someone else in your life teaches you. Like living with any roommate, you have to learn how to communicate and understand each other.  You have to make space in your heart for differences.  You have to be considerate of others in a different way.  These are great things to learn for us, and for our children.  (ie.  “Kids – stop stomping so loud!!  Someone is sleeping downstairs!!”).  

So there we were, with a really-tall guy in our basement, in un-used room number one when in February 2015 Dallas comes to me and says that he’s told another guy we know that he can move into un-used room number two.  “Only for a month!” he assures me.  “Just until he finds an apartment!” he tells me.  

Well.

I admit – it felt like things were getting a little out of control.  

“Dallas,” I said, “I really think we are doing our part here.  I don’t think we have room for anyone else!”  

“It’s just for a little while,” he says, “And we do have room.”

And of course we did.  

Within a couple of weeks our kids were telling people there were 6 in our family.  And it was great.  7 months later, tall guy still lives here.  I’m so glad – it would be really sad to go back to just the four of us now that the really-tall-guy has moved out.

Where am I going with this?

Like many of you, my heart has been breaking over the past few weeks as I learn about the refugee crisis in Europe. Once again I am often surprised by the comments I hear about it.  Most people want to help, but there is fear.  One person I heard commenting on the radio said:  “It’s sad but we have to be careful that we get the right people living here.”  Another “We don’t want to take away from Canadians.”  

I do get that it’s scary to open our hearts and our lives to others, but let me tell you what I’ve learned these past 16 months: We always have more room than we think.

We have room in this country – it’s completely ridiculous to suggest that we don’t.  We have room in our hearts and our lives to make space for people who need somewhere to go.  It may be complicated and messy – isn’t life always? – but when it comes to the question of why we should address this problem, I can’t help think of the answer I’ve given so many times over the past year when asked why we opened our home:

“We have more than we need. Why wouldn’t we?”

These are real people.  These are the world’s children.  AND WE HAVE ROOM.  So often, we just don’t realize it.  We get mixed up and start thinking that we NEED a room where we store overflow office junk.  We’re afraid it will get awkward having to share our space. We’re worried there won’t be enough food for dinner if we have to share it.  And it’s just not true. 

Really-tall-friend, we’re going to miss you. There will always be a place for you at our table, and in our hearts.  Tall friend, stay as long as you need.  Thanks for buying the kids slurpees.  Sorry they’re still so stompy. We’re working on it.  Not-at-all tall husband  – thanks for the push to make space for “just one more person.”  It was a great call.  

Anyone who has flown knows that it’s hard to fly without having layovers.  I’ve had lots of layovers through the years.  I have spent the night asleep on the floor of an airport in Vancouver when I didn’t get a standby flight to Prince Rupert and 7 hours grounded in the St. John’s airport when a pilot accidentally hit the brakes before take-off.  I’ve had so many layovers at Halifax airport that I have a favourite bathroom there.

But I’ve never liked layovers.  Usually they are a total pain.  They are boring and tedious and, if I can avoid them, I always do.  It is just so much easier to go from Point A to Point B without having to stop on the way.

I feel the same way about what I call “life layovers” as well – those seasons when you are between one thing and the next, and there’s not much to do but wait.  Life Layovers happen to us all the time.  They happen between finishing school and finding the right job.  Or when you have moved to a new place and you haven’t settled in.  They happen when we are sick or when we are grieving.  They are the times that we have left things as they once were…but we’re not at the next thing yet either. Sometimes we don’t even know if there WILL be a next thing, or what that next thing might be.  We are in between, and what we would most like to happen is to have it all end quickly.  We want to get on to the next thing.  We want to get out of the in between place that is tricky and uncertain and into certainty and comfort and whatever we think should happen next.

There is actually a real word for these seasons of life.  They are called “Liminal Spaces.”  Liminal comes from the latin work “limens” which means “threshold.”  Liminal Spaces are like life layovers. Liminal spaces are very real, and they are often hard.

In the Bible there are many stories of people who find themselves in Liminal spaces.  The liminal spaces in the Bible include pits, graves, jails, desert, wilderness, seas, and whale bellies.  There is story after story of people that God loved finding themselves “in between” the things that once were and the things that will, eventually, be.  

One interesting liminal space in the Bible involves an entire nation.  It is a popular story.  The Israelites, the people of God, had been living as slaves in Egypt for hundreds of years when God sent them a leader to take them out and bring them to freedom – to the promised land.  The Pharoh (or king) of Egypt lets them go, only to change his mind and chase after them.  This brings us to a pretty intense scene. The Israelites find themselves with the Red Sea in front of them and the army of Pharoh right behind them. They were literally between the army and the sea.  Now THAT is a liminal space!

And like many of us in our liminal spaces, they get angry.  They don’t want to be there.  They turn to their leader, Moses, and cry: “Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die?…It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than die in the desert!”

Their liminal space was scary.  It was so scary that they figured going back to the old way – even if it involved being slaves – would be better than going forward. I get it. How could anything good be on the other side, when the only thing in front of them was a whole sea of water???

I love Moses’ response to these people in the in between.  I think it is “write-it-on-a-post-it-note-and-stick-it-on-my-bathroom-mirror” good. God says:  “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today… The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”

“You need only be still.”

Yup, I can totally read that every single time I brush my teeth.

Making good on his promise, God then parts the sea in two, and they do the impossible and walk on dry ground to safety and freedom on the other side – and end up a little closer to the promised land.  

It’s hard to be stuck in liminal spaces.  “Before” or “After” can seem much more enticing than “middle,” especially when we don’t know what is on the other side of the sea.  It can certainly be hard to be “still” in those spaces, and recognize that God is not just the God of “before” or “after” but that God is also God of the liminal.  In fact, the liminal space is usually the exact space God needs us to be.
You can’t get from St. John’s to Vancouver without a layover in Toronto, or Calgary, or Halifax. But the layover isn’t there to drive us crazy.  It’s there to get us where we need to go.   It’s one of the most important parts of the trip.  

Sometimes we can’t get where we need to go next without the liminal space.  We can’t get to the other side of the Red Sea until we walk right through it, walls of water around us, army behind us, the unknown before us. But with us, always, God

A Parent’s Reflection on Planning For a New Year

Sometimes God smacks with you a question at the most unexpected moments, like when your dune buggy-ing along the Oregon sand dunes.

We just returned from an Oregon Coast vacation.  Many of you will know already that the Oregon Coast is absolutely beautiful.  It has everything from rain forests to long white beaches to – a real favourite for me – 54 miles of sand dunes. You can rent an ATV or take a dune buggy ride through the sand dunes, which is exactly what we did.  I realize that sand probably doesn’t seem all that impressive, but these sand dunes were massive and breath-taking.  I was in awe.

It was also SUPER fun!

Beautiful moments in nature often turn my heart to God as I enjoy His amazing creation.  This day, however, it was something else that God used to challenge me: ocean grass.

On our tour, we saw a lot of ocean grass.  I actually think it’s kind of cool looking. But then the tour guide explained the history.  The ocean grass (it’s actually called European Ocean Grass) was planted in the early 1900s as a means to prevent the sand from blowing into the local settlements.  People wanted to build near the coast, and the blowing sand was a daily frustration.  Locals came up with what they thought was a wise solution: they planted this very hardy grass along the edge of the dunes, hoping to create a barrier that would prevent the sand from blowing.   Unfortunately, not only did it not prevent the sand from moving (turns out it was the tides, and not the wind, that caused this to happen), the ocean grass became a real menace. It proved as strong as they had thought and it grew…and grew…and grew.  By the 1980s, 80% of the dunes were covered in ocean grass.  And they can’t get this to stuff to stop.  It’s very resilient and even when they burn it off, it just comes back.  Although they are working for solutions, the tour guide said that if they can’t find a way to deal with this, it is estimated the sand dunes will completely disappear within 150 years.  This made me feel very sad.

I thought about the people who had planted that grass many years before.  I’m sure they had good intentions. But I wondered if they took the time or did the research to consider the impact of what they planted in the years to come. A little part of me felt annoyed with them. After all, didn’t they know that planting without considering the future can be dangerous?

Then I felt this question, this little tug, a small voice that said:  “What are YOU planting?”  And I knew God was reminding of something important.

I think of this particularly as a parent, and especially this time of year.  For many of us as parents, August is sort of like “planting season.”  We are making all those decisions about what activities our children will do in the fall.  We are planning the schedule.  We are determining what will be most important for them.   Often as I’ve made those decisions, I’ve found myself making them based on simple ideas.  I don’t want my kids to fall in a pool one day and drown, so I put them in swimming lessons. I think learning music is a great life skill so I put them in piano.   I flip through program books and choose things based on what nights work best for our family. And I admit I feel the pressure of all the voices in our culture that say things like:  “You HAVE to give your child every opportunity.”  “What if you don’t put them in something and it turns out they would have been great at it?”  “If you don’t put your child in ______, they may fall behind other children.  Then they might not get in good classes….and then they might not get into University…and then they might not get a good job…so you will basically ruin their life…” etc.

Rarely do I ask myself what I should be really asking:  “What do I want to reap?” Because as we know, and as the Bible teaches, we reap what we sow.  I don’t throw random seeds in the ground of my garden in spring and see what turns up, but plant the seeds of the vegetables and fruit that I hope to enjoy later.  Shouldn’t I do the same when it comes to my children?

For me, the deepest desire of my heart is that my children grow to know God, to understand they are a part of a bigger story and to see their place in it.  I hope they will be people of character – that they will be kind, have integrity and look to help others.  I realize that if THAT is what I want to sow, then it begins with what I plant.

It begins with what I plant this August, and every August.

It begins when I say what will be most important for our family, and when I make decisions about what they will do based on that.

I spoke on this in church on Sunday.  It’s not an easy thing to say.  There’s a lot of pressure around us to sign our kids up for a lot of different things, and making sure that we are planting time for them to learn about God or practice their faith often falls lowest on the list.  After all, the team is ONLY practicing on Sunday mornings!!  What can other choice do we have?

But we ALWAYS have a choice – it’s just a matter of what we want to plant.

This isn’t meant to be a judgement of the choices you make as a family.  It’s an invitation.  It’s an invitation to think a little differently as you start the “signing up” process this year.  I put together a handout with a list of questions for any parents to consider as you select how your family will spend its time.  The handout is at the end of this post.

For now, I am signing my kids up for music (it teaches them discipline and uses their brain in creative ways – seeds I want to plant), but no swimming lessons this fall. I felt guilty for a while, but with all the changes in our family I knew two things were too many if we wanted to also make time for us to do things as a family and enjoy Sabbath rest.  Maybe in the winter we can manage swimming…or maybe not.

When I doubt myself about this choice, I remember that incredible ocean grass – planted with good intentions, but ultimately damaging to what was most beautiful around it.  I remember that I am making space for what I most want to plant.  I breathe. I pray.  I trust. I plant. I hope.

Here is the handout from this Sunday.  I recognize many of you may not share that desire for your children to know God.  You can still consider these questions from the perspective of your own family’s values and what matters most to you. I also think these questions are helpful for not just parenting but for any area of our life.

What are You Planting?

Our children’s time is precious.   As we/I consider signing children up for activities, ask:

• What “seeds” do we/I want to plant in my child?

Values

Character traits

Identity

What activities would help plant these seeds?

If having a relationship with God is something we/I want for my child, what are we/am I doing to create space for that?

• Is this activity God’s best for our family?

How does this activity align with our families’ values?

Why do we/I want our/my child (ren) in this activity?

What character traits will it help develop?

How will it impact my child(ren)’s relationships with others?

Will this activity teach values or ideas that conflict with the teachings of Jesus or our values?

Will this activity put an unhealthy strain on our family (financially, time, emotionally)? If so do the benefits outweigh the consequences?

Is my desire to “keep up” as a parent driving my decision to sign my child up for this activity?

Will this activity consistently distract from our family’s spiritual or church life?

Is this an activity driven by a desire for our/my child(ren) to have fame or wealth? Why is this important?

Is this activity an attempt to re-live or fulfill my dreams or missed opportunities?

If there is more than one parent, are parents in agreement about doing this activity?

• Have we/I taken time to pray and seek wisdom about this decision?

Today is the last Monday that Dallas and I will work together as pastors of Mount Hamilton Baptist Church. When I mentioned this to Dallas, he said: “Are you going to say that for each day this week?” I said: “Yes.”

One of the tasks before us this week is the packing up of Dallas’ office. You may wonder why I say this involves “us.” It is because while we have separate offices, they are right next door to each other and we share our resources between both of them, specifically our books. One of the things we will have to do this week is figure out which books stay with me and which go with Dallas, which is a bigger deal than it might sound.

It was almost thirteen years ago now that I met Dallas on our first day attending McMaster Divinity College. Three weeks later, we began dating. It’s a small school, so we had almost all of the same classes in that first year. When we got to our second semester, we had already been dating a few months when the time came to buy books for our classes. I believe we had three classes together that term, and as many of you will know, University text books are EXPENSIVE. So we were faced with an interesting litmus test in our relationship. Should we share our text books? We often studied together anyway, but were we ready for such a big move? What if we broke up?

In the end we did decide to only buy one set of books for the classes we had together, but we (somewhat jokingly, but somewhat seriously) came up with a “book prenuptial agreement.” We agreed on who would keep what books in the event of break-up. I don’t know who got what book anymore, as the agreement proved unnecessary when we got engaged a couple of months later and married a few months after that. Two years later, we finished school and ended up working at the same church. Once again all of our commentaries, theology books and ministry resources were in the same spot, passed back and forth across the alcove that connects our offices as they were needed.

(Knock! Knock!)

“Just grabbing that Mark commentary!”

(Knock! Knock!)

“Do you have that Wright book in here?…”

Or if the doors are open:

“Hey Dallas! Can you pass me that book you were using yesterday?”

And now Dallas is going to start a new job in a new city and after nearly thirteen years together our library is going to be divided.

This is a lot for me to take in.

Besides the sheer inconvenience of it, it’s an emotional symbol for me of the massive change about to happen in my life. As I’ve said before, I am so thrilled for Dallas for his new opportunity and believe from the bottom of my heart that it is where God wants him. I guess there is still some part of me that just wishes that Dallas could do this new thing and everything could also stay the same at the same time. Is that really too much to ask for?

My guess is that a lot of you have felt the same way when a new thing is upon you. You’re open and ready and maybe even excited about what’s coming…but then you realize that your books are all going to be split up and the reality of change all feels a bit overwhelming.

Back in January our women did an exercise together as we faced a new year. I invited them to each choose a “word of the year” – a word that they felt was meaningful and that could help shape and guide them for the year to come. Do you know what word I picked?

New.

It was the only word that felt right. I had been doing ministry at Mount Hamilton for nearly ten years and I sensed that God was saying to me that I had to be open to new things – new ways of doing things, new ministries, new ideas. I even made a little piece of art to remind me of my word and put it in my office – right on my bookshelf.

I had no idea at the time all the “new” things the year would bring, and today I look at that little painting and remember that what I felt God telling me in January is still true. Be open to new things. They are not better or worse; they are just different.

So now all our books won’t all be in one space. We will need a new way to keep track of our resources. I’m guessing we’ll probably keep a list of which books are in what office, and I’ll have to be a little more organized to let Dallas know when I need a book ahead of time. The truth is that I’m not “losing” half my library. My library is just being organized in a new way.

No enforcement of the “book pre-nup” is necessary!

Just grace. And patience. And hope.

P.S. Dallas adds: “If you have borrowed any of our books, and are able to return them, that would be great!”

Yes, this is a blog post about packing lunches.

(Well sort of…I am going somewhere with this…I promise).

This may seem like a weird thing to write about, unless you are a parent with a kid in school, in which case – like me – my guess is that you also have very strong feelings about packing lunches.

Some of you actually seem to like this most-annoying-of-my-morning-tasks.  Yeah, I see you with your pictures on Facebook showing me how beautiful your lunches are.  Let me say quite sincerely – good for you.  You have found some semblance of enjoyment in something completely infuriating to me and for that I applaud you.

(Pause to politely applaud parents who enjoy making lunches and take nice pictures of them.  Also to those of you who write nice notes to your kids in lunches.  Also to those of you who make those really fancy snacks in shapes of kid-friendly characters when you are asked to bring treats into school.  Etc.).

Now in my case, I assure you that you will never see a picture of one of my children’s lunches on Facebook.  This is not because I wouldn’t if I made something worthy.  I’m telling you, I’d post the heck right out of pictures of lunches like some of you can make.  There will be no pictures of lunches from me because I have never made a photo-worthy lunch.  Unless you count that one time that I full on forgot to put my son’s lunch IN his actually lunch bag.  But that’s kind of photo worthy for a different reason…

ANYWAY

By now you can probably guess that my strong feelings towards lunch making are not because I like it.  No, I do not like making lunches at all.  Making lunches for my kids is like spinning a roulette wheel called “What Will My Kids Actually Eat Today?” – only on the roulette wheel, at least half of the spaces say NOTHING AT ALL.

I thought I could pack them that sandwich exactly like the one I made yesterday?

NOT TODAY!

I thought I could pack that fruit that they told me they LOVED when they saw it in the grocery store?

NOT TODAY!

I thought if I bought a thermos that they would eat pasta, which is their favourite food at home?

NOT TODAY!

Please note here that I am, of course, very thankful to have the resources I need to feed my kids. I’m not saying that this is the biggest problem in the world – far from it.  All I’m saying is that lunch packing roulette is just a bad start to the day.

Which is why today I did a happy dance – and I know all you packing-lunch haters danced with me.  Today was the last day of school and with JOY I packed their last two lunches!!

I almost took a picture.

But then I didn’t – because I had another moment as I was going on and on to them about how this is your “last lunch” and “isn’t this exciting?”  and “no more lunches for two months!”

This was the thought that gave me pause:

“I still have to feed them lunch tomorrow.”

I smiled to myself as I remembered: I never actually get to STOP making them lunch.  Yes, in our case, it is a little easier to come up with options at home – but there is really no such thing as a “last lunch” on this parenting journey.  They’re going to wake up tomorrow and dangit if at about lunch hour they won’t be hungry again.

So what I want to say here is not really so much about packing lunches.  It’s about saying “Way to go” to all the Moms and Dads and caregivers out there of any kind.  Because the job does just keep going.  Because there will always be jobs that you don’t like doing that you will do anyway.  Because we all need to celebrate each other a little more – and if you need to celebrate by posting a picture of a great lunch you made, have at it.  And if you need to celebrate because you survived a year of lunch making roulette and you’re getting a break from it for a couple months, that’s great too.

(Pause to cheer).

Either way, families, celebrate.

We have a group of moms of young kids that meet at our church every two weeks. The kids play a bit and then (thanks to some awesome people who provide childcare) the moms get a little adult time.  Each time when we gather I start by saying “What was your Mommy WIN this week?”  In other words, what did you do well?  What can we celebrate with you?  The moms usually find this hard.  They have lots of ways they feel they lost: The kids are out of control. Their baby is still not sleeping. Their house is a mess. They lost their patience. They gave their kids lunch-ables four days in a row.

“Ah,” but I ask them, “Did you get your kids out the door this morning?”

“Yes.”

And then we all say together: “WIN!!”

“Did you manage to get you and your family here, all in one piece, even with crying babies and exploding diapers and kids lunches to be packed?”

“Yes.”

And we all say together: “WIN!!”

“Did you feed them all today?”

“Yes.”

And we all say together: “WIN!!”

Before some of you get all freaked out at me, I’m not saying that we set the bar low here.  Obviously as parents we need to do more than feed our kids and get them out the door.

AND

Sometimes we need to celebrate because that’s exactly what we did.

So today, I’m throwing myself a little party in my head – no more packing lunches!! I survived a whole year of it and most days I didn’t do too bad. Wahoo!

I know I’ll still have to feed them tomorrow, but for today I remind myself: WIN!!!
And for today I say “Thank-you God.  Thank-you for being with me on the journey. Thank-you that you say to the faithful: “Well done.” Thank-you that sometimes being faithful is as simple as packing lunches.”

(And we all say together…) WIN!

There has been a big response to my last post about Dallas’ moving to a new job and leaving his current role at Mount Hamilton.  Thank-you to everyone who has taken the time to encourage us and join with us in the grief and joy that comes with a season of change.

There have been three questions I have most frequently been asked since making our big announcement.  They are, in order of frequency:

1. How are YOU doing? (which I wrote about last week)
2. Is he going to COMMUTE? (the answer is yes)
3. You’re not going anywhere, are you?

To which I answer – no.

While I of course can’t say what plans God has for me in the years to come, I can say that I am confident right now that I am exactly where God wants me.  I love this church and I feel honoured to get serve here.  I look forward to what God is going to do through Mount Hamilton in the future and am excited that I get to be a small part of that.

As I’ve thought about it more over the last few weeks of being asked this question so many times, I realize that what it also boils down to is something very simple: I love being a pastor.

Let me say it again:

I LOVE BEING A PASTOR.

I feel like this is worth saying twice because I think it often doesn’t get said enough.  It’s true that being a pastor can be hard, lonely, and exhausting.  I have experienced all of those things.  For this reason, I have noticed a real influx in the last few years of blogs and articles with titles like “What Your Pastor Needs You to Know” and “The Five Hardest Things About Being a Pastor.”  These types of messages are so important.  For a long time, I think pastors didn’t always have a way to share the challenges of their journey and it’s good that we have a way to do that now.  I hope that if you have a pastor you’ll take a few minutes to read these types of blogs or articles when you see them.

AND

I also feel like I need to say something that is not said as often.  Being a pastor can be, and often is, truly wonderful.  Yes, we may work brutal hours, with lots of nights and weekends (after all, we literally work EVERY Sunday!).. Yes, we hear a lot of complaints.  Yes, most of what we do people never see and may not appreciate.  Yes, we feel like our hearts are constantly full, and we live with the tension of trying to find enough love and grace and time for everyone that needs it.  Yes, we let people down – and yes, there will be people that don’t like us and who will spend the rest of their lives feeling like we’ve failed them. It’s hard.

AND

It is joy.

I’ve thought about this, about why I don’t want to leave pastoring this church anytime soon, and I’ve come up with a list.  It is my list that I call “Things That Are Super Great About Being a Pastor/ Why I’m Not Leaving.”  These are no particular order:

1. I get paid to study the Bible and learn about God

Every week part of my JOB is to study and learn more about God’s word and what He is up to.  This is such a privilege. Then I get PAID to talk about it for half an hour each Sunday. How can I not be grateful for the grace that I somehow found a job where I’m paid to TALK???

2. Dedications, Weddings and Funerals

I have the great honour of being part of some of the most significant moments in people’s lives.  I get to hold babies and bless them and remind the family that they are part of the story of God.  I get to declare a couple married and journey with them on their life together.  It may sound weird to say funerals are a favourite, but they are.  No, officiating funerals is not fun, but I cannot explain what a privilege it is to join with a family in helping them say good-bye to their loved one, and to help them see God’s love in one of the hardest season of their lives.

3.  Flexible Hours

Yes, my hours are super weird.  I work Sundays.  I work lots of nights.  I get called in the middle of the night sometimes, and lots of times on what is supposed to be my day off.  But I am also able to go to my kid’s concerts at school in the middle of the day or jump in to help a friend when I’m needed or move my days off around any time I need to.

4.  The Lost and Found Bin

For the last few years, guess who has emptied the lost and found bin at our church?  ME!  That is probably on that list of things pastors do that people don’t see…But you know what else this means?  I haven’t bought sunglasses in YEARS!! (*please note that you should tell me if you think I may be wearing your sunglasses and I will give them back).

5. Baptisms

Getting to baptize someone is so my favourite.

6.  Communion

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Sometimes you get to the end of a week in ministry and wonder “why do I even do this?” and then you stand in front of the people God has entrusted to you, and one by one you get to say: “Christ’s Body was broken for you. His blood was shed for you.”  And you remember: “This is why.”

7.  The Stories

I get to hear so many amazing stories.  I hear sad stories and happy stories, painful stories and stories of redemption.  People tell me stories they may not feel like they can tell someone else.  And I can always see God in those stories, I surely can.

8.  Transformation

It often happens slowly, but I get to be a small part of people’s lives’ changing.  I have been witness over and over to the transformation that happens when people start to try this whole Jesus thing.  I have seen people who are hateful find love and people who have been broken find healing.  Oh, I could tell story after story.

9. The Laughs

I wish I could tell you how many times I laugh. Most stories I can’t tell you, but I’ll tell you one because this couple has long since passed away so I don’t have to worry about embarrassing them.

Once we went to see an elderly couple because the wife’s sister had just passed away from cancer.  As we were talking I asked what type of cancer she had.  The wife paused for a minute uncertain, and turned to her husband: “It was the same one you had, right?”  “Yes,” same as me,” he said, “Now what was that called?” They paused.  After a moment the wife smiled happily:  “Testicular!!” she declared.  “Yes!” said her husband, “she died of testicular cancer.”  They both nodded proudly, happy they had remembered.

We nodded solemnly.  “That must have been very hard for her,” we said.

See, that kind of stuff is too good to miss.

10. The Love and prayers

I get the gift of much love and many prayers.  Now, I know this is not the case for many pastors.  Sadly, for too many pastors, their church doesn’t love them well. But I feel well loved through my people.  And I know I am prayed for.  I know my family and I make it to many more prayer lists than the average person, and we feel all those prayers.

One of the greatest joys of my week is Thursday prayer meeting. Each week at noon we meet to prayer with our staff and a couple of people from our congregation.  Most weeks, as it’s hard for people to get out at that time, it’s just one couple that comes to pray.  But I am buoyed by those prayers EVERY week.  I can’t imagine life without Thursday prayer meeting. And that’s part of my JOB.

So, to answer question, number three: I’m not going anywhere.  On the contrary, I’m pretty thrilled you’re letting me stick around.  There are too many stories and prayer meetings and communion Sundays to come.  How could I miss them?  Thanks for having me, MHBC …I’m looking forward to more laughs, more stories, more transformation and more love for all the days God gives me here.

No, I am not pregnant.

(But our “big news” does sometimes make me feel like vomiting!).

The big news in our life, bringing me back to the blogosphere after too long a hiatus, is that after 10 years of serving as Co-Pastors of Mount Hamilton Baptist Church Friesen and Friesen will be changing to Friesen and….we don’t know yet.

Dallas announced this Sunday that he will be taking a new position as Director of Congregational Development with the Canadian Baptists of Ontario and Quebec. He will begin his new position on July 13. I am immensely proud of him. I can’t think of anyone better for this role, or with a better mix of gifts, skills, experience and education to do it well. Way to go, hubby!

We’ve been asked a lot of questions over the last three days since announcing our news: What will the job be like? (Dallas can answer that one). Will he commute? (Yes). When and how will MHBC hire someone else? (TBD). For me, I have been asked the same question so many times now that I thought I should take some time to answer it: “How are YOU doing?”

I am so touched when people ask me this. It shows the thoughtfulness and love of people in our lives. I appreciate that you get that this is a pretty big deal for me, and that you want to know how I’m holding up as the one who will be left behind. (No Revelation pun intended there, Mount Hamilton friends!).

The short answer is that I am excited. And I am nervous. And I am sad. And I am happy. And I am completely freaking out. And I am at peace.

You’re welcome!

Okay, I’ll elaborate. I truly am excited. I am excited because this is such a good thing for Dallas. I am also excited because this is a good thing for me, and for MHBC. Change is scary, but it also forces us to re-assess, to ask good questions, to seek God in new ways. It is clear that God has led Dallas to this role, which also tells me that God is leading us at MHBC to something new. I’m excited for the challenge that lies ahead for me personally, as I learn to negotiate this ministry in new ways, and I’m excited for our church to come together to discern and seek God together.

I am also nervous and sad. I met Dallas on my first day of Seminary. Three weeks later, we started dating, and 11 months later we were married. We have been doing ministry together ever since. Now, here I am, facing the reality of coming into work each day and not being able to yell out my door: “Dallas! My computer is frozen!” – and have him come and help me. I won’t be able to bounce ideas off him in the middle of the day, or get him to make my handouts look fancier. I won’t have him to give me that “You’re talking too much Leanne” look that he gives me in meetings when I need to stop talking. I will have to work with people who don’t speak “Friesen-eze” (a term made up by a past administrator and embraced by each one since to describe our ability to communicate with each other while often being unable to express those same ideas to non-Friesens). I won’t have someone to play guitar for me on the fly when I need it. I won’t be able to eat his lunch if I forget mine.

Most people I know seem to think that working with your spouse would be awful. People actually tell me that all the time. “I could never work with my husband! How do you do it?” But I have loved working with Dallas, every single day. I have loved doing life together in every part of lives, from raising to kids, to hosting people in our home, from marrying people to doing funerals, from getting breakfast in the morning for our family to walking in the church doors a few minutes later and planning a worship service. It hasn’t always been perfect or easy, but it has been joy.

Not working with Dallas is a huge loss. The truth is Dallas keeps a lot going around here. For example, the other day someone from the daycare asked me for a plunger. Not only did I not know where to find a plunger, I did not even know where the key to the Janitor’s closet was to search for said plunger. When Dallas later returned from a meeting I lamented: “I don’t even know where the plunger is!! Everything is going to fall apart!!” Then Dallas said: “I can tell you where the plunger is.”

And, well, there it is.

I know I will figure out. Because I really do believe that the will of God will never take us where the grace of God can’t keep us. Because it is always God who is doing the work, and not us. Because a minister leaving can’t stop what God is doing.

We’re going to do this together, MHBC. By God’s grace, WE WILL FIND THE PLUNGER – and all the other stuff, too.

A few weeks ago I preached about embracing the word AND. This season is a great example of using that word. Let me show you:

My co-worker, and my husband, is leaving AND I’m not being left alone.

Things are changing AND God is good.

I will have new responsibilities AND God will lead me.

We will all miss Dallas AND we will be blessed by the ministry of someone new.

I’ll find the plunger AND the key to the Janitor’s closet.

It’s been a beautiful, challenging, exciting, fun, growing ten years of ministering together AND…

So, so, so much more.

I’ll miss you Reverend Doctor Dallas! (and now, can you come in my office and tell me if it’s okay to post this?)

It never ceases to amaze me the role that clothes play in my life. It’s not always a good thing, mind you.  I think WAY too much about what I should wear to this event or another.  This is an ongoing frustration of the woman minister in a church that doesn’t do robes:  What should I wear to perform that wedding? That funeral? As I preach that sermon?  As a young(er) woman in ministry, it’s also a fun game to find clothes that are somewhat fashionable while looking appropriate (showing off my cleavage isn’t exactly the look I’m going for as I visit a funeral home). Just last week when I wore a dress that was on the shorter side, I brought a “back-up” in case I got to church and decided it was too short after getting some feedback from my friend that comes early (we decided that it worked as I was wearing thick tights).  I remember once trying on a suit while shopping with a friend.  “This would be a good suit for funerals,” I said.  The salesperson looked horrified.  “I’m a pastor,” I explained to her. She looked even more horrified.

So, yes, full confession: I spend too much time on Sunday morning thinking about what I should wear.  I’m not proud of this.

This week, however, there is one day that I won’t have to make this decision.  This week is Holy Week, the week that as a church we remember Jesus journey to the cross.  We will gather on Good Friday for a quiet service as we reflect on Jesus’ death.  On that morning, I will not stare at my closet contemplating what to wear.  I will not analyze skirt lengths or get my husband’s opinion on what looks nice.  I will wear my Good Friday dress.

It has not been my Good Friday dress for very long.  It began only a couple of years ago, on Good Friday 2013, when the dress was still new (to me).  Just a few weeks before I had traveled to Newfoundland to spend the weekend with my my sister Roxanne and my other siblings.  It was a significant weekend. We were gathering because Roxanne had a terminal cancer diagnosis and we wanted to enjoy a fun weekend together before she began another treatment.  Now, if there’s one thing that a trip with Roxanne always involved, it was shopping. I still have not met anyone who loves to shop quite like Roxanne did. I went on that trip VOWING that I would not get sucked into buying anything. I even only brought a small carry-on suitcase to help hold myself to my convictions.  But then Roxanne took us to this super-cute consignment store in St. John’s.  It was full of great high-quality stuff, and I think I tried on half the store.  I ended up buying a sweater, a blouse and a wrap dress (so much for the small suitcase!).

When Good Friday came a few weeks later, I put on the wrap dress I bought that day.  The main reason was that it was a black checkered dress and I like to wear dark colours on Good Friday.  It was an appropriate dress.

Then came Good Friday 2014.  By then, my dear sister had already been dead for nearly a year.  On that Good Friday, I cried as I looked at that dress.  I remembered buying it with Roxanne.  I remembered how she raved about it how it looked, said I simply had to get it, that I’d regret it if I didn’t.  I missed her so much.  I hated that we would never shop together again.  I hated that that trip to that consignment store was the very last time we had ever shopped together.  For a moment, I hated that dress.

And then I put it on, that Good Friday 2014.

I put it on because it is still a very appropriate Good Friday dress.  It is a dress that makes me lament.  It is a dress that makes me grieve.  It is a dress that makes me sad to the very deepest parts of my heart.  It is a dress that makes me miss my sister.  It is a dress that makes me say: “I hate death.”

It is a dress that reminds me of why we need Good Friday.

Good Friday was a day of death – but a day that also meant that death would be defeated.  On Good Friday we grieve and lament the death of Jesus, but we also hold on to the hope that came because of His sacrifice.  Our hearts are heavy, but they are not without hope.

So I will wear again my “Good Friday dress.” I will go to our Good Friday service.  I will be sad. I will remember what Jesus did. I will remember my sister.  I will lament, and pray, and grieve, and hope.

Then I will come home, and I will hang that dress back up, and it will be ready again another Good Friday.

Here is my confession:  I have a hard time getting rid of clothes that I bought with my sister. This is tricky, because most clothes just aren’t made to last forever anymore.  My sister has been dead almost two years already.  Many of the clothes I bought with her are at best out of style and at worst stink of body odor from frequent wear. Lately, I have been trying to let more of these things go.  I am reminding myself that I don’t need to keep smelly old clothes to remember my sister. Yet, with each piece that I give away or cut into rags, I feel a sadness at what feels like another good-bye.  I pause.  I remember.  Sometimes I cry.  And then I let them go, and I know that it is good.

But I have no plans to let go of  my Good Friday dress. Every time I see it I will remember trying it on in that little consignment store and Roxanne’s excited voice telling me I had to buy it.  Every time I wear it, I will remember the pain of loss, and the gift of remembering.

As usual Roxanne was right – I am so glad that I bought that dress.

What we wear can be a way to help us honour, celebrate, or think about a significant occasion in a deeper way. Besides wearing black on Good Friday, I like to wear purple during the season of advent. I have found each of these practices meaningful.  What might you wear to help you think about the significance of Good Friday and/or Easter this year?  

In honour of Andrea Cains.

Last night, my 34-year-old cousin died of cancer.  We were never especially close and I hadn’t seen her for many years, so it wouldn’t be fair for me to say that I am deeply affected by this loss.  Mostly, I am very sad for my family – her dad, her sisters, my mom, and my aunts who have to grieve yet another loss in our family.  This is the second “grandchild” in that line to die of cancer – and the third to get it – in less than two years. My aunt (my cousin’s mom) died of cancer a few years ago.  My grandfather died of cancer a few years before that.  Two of my other aunts have each had double mastectomies because of breast cancer.  (That’s three aunts – of four – with breast cancer, if you’ve lost track, as well as one sister and two cousins – with different cancers).

I recently read a letter written by my cousin’s doctor outlining our family history for the purpose of relatives getting cancer screenings and genetic testing.  There was one line that said in essence: “There seems to be a likelihood of a hereditary link to cancer in your family.”

Ya THINK?

Here is what I know:  hereditary, or not, there is altogether too much cancer. In my family.  In a lot of other families.  Too. Much. Cancer.

Today a few people have asked me how I feel as I process this next loss, and you know what I feel?  I feel sick and I feel tired and I feel utterly annoyed with CANCER.  I’ve buried too many. I’ve prayed for too many.  I’ve cried with too many families.  I’ve watched it do too much.  I am so totally over cancer.  Part of me just wants to scream:  “Thirty four??  Really cancer?…REALLY?”  Give me a break!!  Enough is enough!

Last year a dear friend lost her sister to cancer.  A mother, with two young children.  Really cancer?

A few years ago a beloved member of my congregation lost her four year old grandson to cancer and not long after that another congregant lost her younger brother – in his early twenties. Really cancer? REALLY?

Less than two years ago I lost my sister to cancer.  The most full of life person I’ve ever known and cancer slowly took her life away. Really cancer??  REALLY?

I’ve got a few things to say to you, cancer.  It’s time to listen up.

Cancer, you have ticked me off an awful long time.  Tonight, I want to say clearly: ENOUGH.  I say to you:  NO MORE.  No more of your savagery.  No more families gathering around hospital beds. No more burying children.  No more sleepless nights waiting for test result.  No more “I”m sorry – it’s bad news.” No more mastectomies.  No more tumors.  No more surgeries. No more treatments.  No more destruction.  No more heartbreak. No more dead 34 year olds.  Oh, you are a cruel one cancer. I know you don’t want it to end. So I scream at you tonight: ENOUGH!!!  My heart does not have room for any more of you, cancer. Enough. Enough. Enough.

I HATE YOU.

Oh, I know it doesn’t make a difference, cancer.  I know you grow and spread and kill in spite of my rage, my yelling, my anger at you.  I know there will be more.  I know I will rage again.

But (and this is the other thing I wanted to tell you), I know more than that, deep down.

I know – KNOW – that you do not win. I know the end of the story.  Have you read it?

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”  

That’s how the story ends, cancer.  Not in a hospital bed. Not in a palliative care ward. Not with you.

No more mourning. No more crying. No more pain.  No more of the things that you are best at.  No more.

You, who seem to take so much, cannot take eternity.  You cannot take my hope.  You cannot take my heart, no matter how much you ask of it.  To you, tonight, by God’s grace, I say: You have already done enough. I will not give you anymore.

You lose, cancer.

You can take all the cousins, aunts, sisters, friends, and grandchildren that you want.  You don’t get to keep them – and you still lose.

I just wanted to remind you, cancer. Thanks for reading.  

Number of times I have a won a “roll-up-the-rim” coffee this season:  2

Number of cups of coffee purchased since beginning of roll-up-the-rim: 3

Number of people who live in our basement: 2

Average height of people who live in our basement: 6”3

Average height of the people who live upstairs: 4”4

Number of spare rooms left in our home: 1

Length of icicle hanging in front of kitchen window (in feet): 3

Number of days until it is officially spring: 19

Volume at which my children speak on a day-to-day basis (out of ten): 11

Number of food options our youngest will eat for lunch: 3

Number of times our oldest discusses Minecraft in a day: 67

Number of times I won Candyland yesterday: 1

Best percentage on Rock Band to date (drums): 96

Calories I burned when I went to the gym most recently: 230

Number of calories consumed in post-gym snack: 300

Number of days since I went to the gym: 4

Number of days left to justify bad eating because of said trip to gym: 3

Number of times my dog woke my up snoring last night: 2

Number of computers and/or tablets that recently broke in our house: 2

Rating of anxiety level that my online Scrabble rating is plummeting due to lack of ability to use tablet (out of 10): 6

Number of musicals I am helping oversee at my children’s school: 1

Number of musicals in which I have previously been involved: 0

Amount pledged for TrueCity at recent conference (in dollars, approx): 8800

Rating of joy felt at pledges (out of ten): 10

Number of sermons I will write this week: 1

Number of books about Passover read this month: 2

Number of books about the Beothuck Indians read this month: 1

Number of nights I have meetings this week: 4

Baskets of unfolded laundry in my house: 2

Rating of motivation to fold laundry: 0

Number of friends who made our family supper tonight: 1

Number of children this friend has: 4

Rating of love for this friend: 6 billion

Number of people who will read this blog: TBD