Tess started teaching last week, which means Lanie and I have extra time together while Mommy's at work. Sometimes I decide to push my work back until after Lanie goes to bed so that we have more time to laugh and play and explore together. Other times she sits next to me as I type and schemes to pull my power cord out when I'm not looking. Occasionally, Lanie comes with me when I make my pastoral visits.
Now visiting is one of my favorite parts of my job. As I wrote about last week, I love to talk with other people and share in their lives in a small way. Visiting is one of the things I'm trained to do. I've invested a lot of effort in improving my ability to listen well, to understand others and help them feel understood, to share Scripture wisely, and to pray with and for others. Almost every time I visit, I come home reflecting on the previous conversation and critiquing myself, searching for ways to be a better pastor. Slowly but surely, I think I'm progressing.
Lanie, on the other hand, doesn't prepare for or reflect on visits. She doesn't worry about whether she's saying too little or too much. She doesn't feel bad if her mind starts to wander in the midst of a conversation. Honestly, I'm not sure how much she even pays attention to the person we're visiting. She seems much more focused on trying to explore all the new and different things in someone else's home. And yet, Lanie always brightens others' days and makes them feel valued. When Lanie and I leave, church members thank me for bringing her to visit. Despite my advantages in training and experience, Lanie seems to be the better visitor. I just can't compete with a baby. So I think I'd better watch out. At this rate, she'll make my whole job obsolete by Christmas.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, August 28, 2017
Monday, August 21, 2017
#50 Sharing and Caring
I've hit 50 posts! So, in grand comics tradition, I'm making this a special extra-sized installment of "The Adventures of Hofman." Thanks for your readership over the past year or so.
After about a year in professional ministry, I've concluded that being a pastor is the best job in the world. A lot of our lives are pretty isolated. We pay for gasoline at the pump (though not in Kanawha!), we check out our own groceries, and often we simply stay home and order things online. We keep ourselves occupied by looking at our individual smartphones. We keep track of friends and family through social media. We long for quiet nights spent at home. Many of us have learned to keep our struggles to ourselves. Rather than risk being perceived as weak or dependent, we try to solve our problems alone. Much of our conversation is little more than small talk, and we tend to ask how others are doing more as a way of being polite than as a way to start deep conversation. (I know that I'm generalizing freely here, but I think, dear readers, that these statements will hit fairly close to your lives, maybe with the exception of your relationships with a few close friends or family members.)
We can have strong tendencies to isolate ourselves—I know I do at times—but it's my job to share in other people's lives. As an introvert, talking to unfamiliar people isn't always easy for me. (Some of my congregation could probably tell you that!) But time and time again I find great joy in my conversations with others. As part of my job I get to talk to people throughout the whole spectrum of life and in a wide variety of jobs. Often I get to talk to others in their homes, and I don't even have to try to ask for money at the end. It's a blessing that's very different than a whole lot of professions. And because I'm a pastor, other people expect to talk to me about personal matters. I can't say I get strangers who come up to me on the street and start opening up about their whole life story, but because I'm a pastor I find many people do feel more comfortable sharing with me more quickly than I might expect.
In my young ministry career, I've had some of the most wonderful conversations. I've talked with teenagers feeling bold enough to stand before the church and make their profession of faith. I've spoken with parents about the grief of losing their adult children. I've listened to nursing home residents describing the challenges of adjusting to life with less freedom. I've chatted with middle schoolers raising interesting questions about faith and life. I've talked with children and grandchildren reminiscing about a beloved grandmother after a funeral. I've spoken softly with neighbors reeling from the sudden passing of a family member. I've chatted with children eagerly describing exciting events from their day at school and with parents proudly describing their kids' most recent milestones. I've sat with dear church members struggling with terminal illness, discussing the threat of death and the hope of eternal, resurrected life.
Sometimes these conversations can be heartbreaking. Many times I'm not sure what to say. But as I listen and try to understand, I find that God fills me with love for the people in front of me. I know that I don't love these people as perfectly or obviously as I should, but more and more I learn to love this congregation and this community. And even in the most difficult situations, again and again I see God at work. It's easy to be isolated. It's hard to enter into someone else's life or open up to another person. But just as Jesus promised, when even two or three gather in His name, He is there. That makes all the difficult loving and listening worthwhile. And this kind of wonderful gathering in Jesus' name is my job. It's the best job in the world.
Grace and peace,
BMH
After about a year in professional ministry, I've concluded that being a pastor is the best job in the world. A lot of our lives are pretty isolated. We pay for gasoline at the pump (though not in Kanawha!), we check out our own groceries, and often we simply stay home and order things online. We keep ourselves occupied by looking at our individual smartphones. We keep track of friends and family through social media. We long for quiet nights spent at home. Many of us have learned to keep our struggles to ourselves. Rather than risk being perceived as weak or dependent, we try to solve our problems alone. Much of our conversation is little more than small talk, and we tend to ask how others are doing more as a way of being polite than as a way to start deep conversation. (I know that I'm generalizing freely here, but I think, dear readers, that these statements will hit fairly close to your lives, maybe with the exception of your relationships with a few close friends or family members.)
We can have strong tendencies to isolate ourselves—I know I do at times—but it's my job to share in other people's lives. As an introvert, talking to unfamiliar people isn't always easy for me. (Some of my congregation could probably tell you that!) But time and time again I find great joy in my conversations with others. As part of my job I get to talk to people throughout the whole spectrum of life and in a wide variety of jobs. Often I get to talk to others in their homes, and I don't even have to try to ask for money at the end. It's a blessing that's very different than a whole lot of professions. And because I'm a pastor, other people expect to talk to me about personal matters. I can't say I get strangers who come up to me on the street and start opening up about their whole life story, but because I'm a pastor I find many people do feel more comfortable sharing with me more quickly than I might expect.
In my young ministry career, I've had some of the most wonderful conversations. I've talked with teenagers feeling bold enough to stand before the church and make their profession of faith. I've spoken with parents about the grief of losing their adult children. I've listened to nursing home residents describing the challenges of adjusting to life with less freedom. I've chatted with middle schoolers raising interesting questions about faith and life. I've talked with children and grandchildren reminiscing about a beloved grandmother after a funeral. I've spoken softly with neighbors reeling from the sudden passing of a family member. I've chatted with children eagerly describing exciting events from their day at school and with parents proudly describing their kids' most recent milestones. I've sat with dear church members struggling with terminal illness, discussing the threat of death and the hope of eternal, resurrected life.
Sometimes these conversations can be heartbreaking. Many times I'm not sure what to say. But as I listen and try to understand, I find that God fills me with love for the people in front of me. I know that I don't love these people as perfectly or obviously as I should, but more and more I learn to love this congregation and this community. And even in the most difficult situations, again and again I see God at work. It's easy to be isolated. It's hard to enter into someone else's life or open up to another person. But just as Jesus promised, when even two or three gather in His name, He is there. That makes all the difficult loving and listening worthwhile. And this kind of wonderful gathering in Jesus' name is my job. It's the best job in the world.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
#49 Do Me a Solid
Lanie started eating solid food on Friday! It's a big deal. She's been devouring some oatmeal each day. When Tess and I get a spoonful close to her mouth, she grabs the near end of the handle to help us and/or leans way forward to get the oatmeal sooner. Apparently Lanie thinks Mommy and Daddy feed her much too slowly. But eating isn't all business. Lanie enjoys blowing bubbles in her oatmeal and loves to wrestle the spoon away so that she can chew on the handle. For now, these antics are pretty adorable. Give us a month or two, and we'll probably be begging Babes to just eat her food. Until then, Lanie decies when it's time for fun and when it's time to gobble up everything. It's Lanie's world, and Tess and I are just living in it.
However, Lanie may have met her match tonight when we introduced her to sweet potatoes. She eagerly consumed the first bite, but her face soon darkened in confusion as she realized she wasn't chewing on oatmeal. She took another bite or two, but the faces she made grew funnier and funnier. After another couple of spoonfuls, Lanie attempted to refuse the spoon. She'd push it away or only take a little bit and promptly slobber it right out. Then we entered a fun cycle. I'd reach back for more sweet potatoes. Lanie, assuming I was fetching oatmeal would lean forward with visible excitement. As the spoon came closer with a load of orange mush, Lanie would sit back up and turn away, making a face that screamed, "It's not oatmeal! No! Not the orange stuff! Nooooo!" So we gave up for a night. We'll try the sweet potatoes again tomorrow. She'll probably love them by the end of the week.
Grace and peace,
BMH
However, Lanie may have met her match tonight when we introduced her to sweet potatoes. She eagerly consumed the first bite, but her face soon darkened in confusion as she realized she wasn't chewing on oatmeal. She took another bite or two, but the faces she made grew funnier and funnier. After another couple of spoonfuls, Lanie attempted to refuse the spoon. She'd push it away or only take a little bit and promptly slobber it right out. Then we entered a fun cycle. I'd reach back for more sweet potatoes. Lanie, assuming I was fetching oatmeal would lean forward with visible excitement. As the spoon came closer with a load of orange mush, Lanie would sit back up and turn away, making a face that screamed, "It's not oatmeal! No! Not the orange stuff! Nooooo!" So we gave up for a night. We'll try the sweet potatoes again tomorrow. She'll probably love them by the end of the week.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, August 7, 2017
#48 Traffic
I've done quite a lot of driving over the past week. As much as I enjoy driving, it can be ridiculously frustrating. Yesterday, as I-94W nearly turned into a parking lot in Indiana, I was struck by how glad I am that Jesus is coming back. I think if there's one thing we can learn from road construction it's that we human beings are absolutely hopeless on our own. We can't figure out how to efficiently merge when a lane closes or how to drive a reasonable speed once everybody has merged. I'm not even sure we've really figured how to build and repair roads properly. (Sidebar: Indiana, for all your arrogant billboards in Illinois about how you're a state that works, are you ever going to be finished doing construction on I-94? It's been going on for years, and I'm sick of it. I'm not sure I have the words to express how glad I am that I don't have to drive through Indiana to go home to my parents anymore.) Seriously, if we can't even drive on a highway without devolving into selfishness, rage, pettiness, and a host of other sins—to say nothing of sheer stupidity—what makes us think we have any real chance against things like climate change, poverty, or the threat of nuclear warfare? Spoiler alert: we don't. We can't save ourselves. We need to stop being surprised when we seem to take steps backwards as a society. That's what sinful, broken people do. Thankfully, our God is making everything new and perfect. Thankfully, He also brings goodness here and now and even uses our efforts as part of that. So let's be real, but let's not stop trying or give up hope. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Have mercy, and save us from ourselves.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Grace and peace,
BMH
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