Change is coming!

Beginning January 1, I will be consolidating all three of my blogs into one at melanishock.blogspot.com.

All previous posts from eatthisbooklogos.blogspot.com will now be available at melanishock.blogspot.com.  You will also find all previous posts from questmiles.blogspot.com as well as theparsonshouse.blogspot.com.

If you are a follower on any of these three blogs, please go to melanishock.blogspot.com and follow us there.  We want to continue to be able to continue to communicate with you!

The past five years have brought numerous changes and advances in technology.  Beginning in 2015, we will be expanding our web presence in several different areas, including online Bible studies, webinars, free downloads, apps, etc.  We will also be attempting to make our website more useful and interactive for you.

Please sign up at melanishock.blogspot.com or follow me on Twitter @melanishock or @eatthisbook and we will bring you news of the changes as they happen!

© 2009-2014 by Melani Brady Shock

the messiness of magic

The beautiful snow is melting and I see the dirty plastic bags of old mulch piled in the corner of the kitchen garden. It's messy. And I'm looking at the messy, but my mind is also seeing it with the snow piled high and hiding all of the imperfections and dirt and cracks and I'm remembering how fairy tale and ethereal the sight has been the past couple of days. And I'm quite okay with the messy because that is really a small price to pay for the magic.

Then I wince and shudder as my mind hears the words that have zinged and darted and catapulted from the bow and arrow and replays the pictures of expressions and averted eyes and disdainful head tilts and for a minute I am hopeless because of the messy that will probably always leave a stain even after it has been cleaned and cleared away. But the view backward and the view forward have huge piles of redemption and mercy and heaven and Spirit Song and soft, white blankets of forgiveness and from somewhere deep inside I am reminded that the magic doesn't even exist without the messy.

And in that mysterious, Divine way the King James English described as "quickening," the red letters lift up and drift off the pages of Luke 6 and I can almost feel the grass between my fingers as my spirit sits down to listen to the relevant, 21st-century sermon on the side of the mountain and verses 27 - 36 begin to fall softly and cover the messiness of my humanity with the magic of the spiritual.

And my heart practically bursts from within as I realize that the beautiful covering of mercy and redemption have again completely covered the muddy glob of the ugliness of the sin nature wearing my clothes and walking in my shoes so I am free to rejoice and laugh and sing and love and celebrate my brothers and sisters in the body of Christ because it is covering their messiness, too.

Luke chapter 6 verse 31:

"And as ye would that men should do to you,

do ye also to them likewise"

© 2009-2014 by Melani Brady Shock

20 Bewares for the Minister's Wife

It is the sum total of our lives which make us who we are.  It is our response to the good, the bad, the blessings, the curses, the nice, the ugly, the happy, the celebrations, and the grief that shape us and mold us and create the beings we become.

After having been in ministry for over 40 years and married to a minister for almost 30 years, there are a few things I wish I would have known without having to learn it the hard way.  I know we learn our lessons better by experience, but on the off chance that someone just might be able to learn by instruction, I am listing a few of the things of which someone walking this same ministry/minister's wife road might want to beware.  These are not in any particular order and are not all things I had to personally experience.  Hopefully, you won't have to experience all of them, either.

Beware of:

1. ANYTHING that takes the place of your Morning Time with God.  (See the post, "Filter of First").

2. Establishing your identity based on your husband's position.

3. Striving to achieve significance/acceptance/approval based on what you DO rather than on what you ARE.

4. Saying ANYTHING negative about your husband in public.

5. Being Über sensitive to criticism of your husband.

6. Women who would attempt to gain your husband's attention.

7. Driving your husband crazy with jealousy.

8. Constantly supplying your husband with details of what the church people are doing (Facebook/Twitter/IG).

9. Wanting to know details of your husband's counseling sessions/church business.

10. Trying to imitate someone else. NOBODY has your history/talents/anointing/experience/husband/home/children/etc).

11. Playing your role without being your role.

12. Concentrating on your weaknesses.  Build on your strengths and delegate your weaknesses.  Nobody has it all.

13. Cheating on recharging your inner self.  Introverts recharge alone, extroverts recharge with people.  You cannot change what recharges and what drains you.  Make sure you recharge on a regular basis.  Don't wait until you are empty--radical things usually happen.

14. Being too quick to defend your children.

15. Being too slow to defend your children.

16. Presenting ministry to your kids as exhausting, frustrating, stressful, a bad life.

17. Resenting the ministry and your husband's involvement in it.  (The key to this is making sure the communication between you and your husband is healthy, clear, and consistent.)  Embrace the good and come to terms with the unpleasant.  Every lifestyle has negatives.

18. Searching out spiritual answers from peers.  They are in the same stage of life with the same questions and frustrations.  The Bible specifically addresses this in Titus 2.  Search out someone who has been there--not those who are trying to figure out where they are.

19. Feeling inferior to older/wiser/opinionated women. Love, kindness, and respect covers a lot.  Never be ashamed of your stage of life.

20. Attempting to "instruct" without experience.  Every stage can share the goodness and love of God.  But attempting to instruct the widow stage when you are a young married is not wise.  Instructing moms of teens while yours are in diapers can also create a problem.  Never be afraid to talk about where you have been, but it is best to defer if asked to address where you have never been.

This list could continue on indefinitely; however, you are probably at your limit of reading a blog post.

As you ponder some things of which you should beware, also consider one of those cheesy quotes from Pinterest that just happens to ring quite true, "Forget what hurt you, but never forget what it taught you."

If you like, feel free to add your own "beware" in a comment below.


© 2009-2014 by Melani Brady Shock

I am a preacher's wife...

I am a preacher's wife.

Five words that carry a thousand possibilities and unanswered questions and negatives and positives with very few black-and-white pieces to the puzzle.  Five words that confuse, clarify, misrepresent, and identify.  Five words that can be embraced, rejected, celebrated, or mourned, but cannot be ignored nor refused nor resigned.

I am a preacher’s wife.

I am young and pretty!  In love and a newlywed, I am on a quest for my identity.  Will I be nurturing or ambitious? Will I be a conformist or a radical?  Will I build my identity around my position or build my position around my identity?  I often base my authority upon my title rather than my experience and, consequently, end up hurt and disillusioned by those whom I am called to serve.   I am watching and observing, wanting to be everything God wants for me to be, but not quite sure who that is.  More than anything, I need for older, more seasoned members of my congregation not to write what I say in stone.  Allow me to grow, to become, to mature.

I am a preacher's wife.

As I settle in to my new life and start my family, I am often overwhelmed by all things pastoral.  If I am involved in the ministries of the church, I find it hard to balance my home, my family, and my duties in those ministries.  If I work a secular job, I often become resentful of my job or my family or my husband or my little ones or my church or, sometimes, all of the above.  I pray, but am exhausted and try not to think about the fact that Jesus was a man and not a woman and didn’t have a spouse or family.  I thank God when my husband is understanding of my plight and often wonder who I can trust to help guide me when I am at odds with him because of the sheer weight of the burden.  Somehow my identity has become that of a mom and a maid, and I am convinced this season of my life is eternal.

I am a preacher's wife.

My children have become teenagers, and I look in the mirror and wonder when I became so old.  I am busy trying to teach my children how to have character and integrity, to love God and keep His commandments, to make good decisions and right choices as they begin to venture forth into the world on their own.  It is so hard for them to figure out who they are if they are continually reminded by the members of the congregation who their father is.  I sometimes resent the interference in our family life and wish my children could receive the grace that we have extended to the children of those creating the angst.  I’m not really concerned at all with my identity at this point, because I am a mother hen and nothing—not church, nor husband, nor identity—comes before my children.  I am finding that with more age comes less patience, and I become bolder in my interactions than I was in my younger years.   Many times, I am weary with the weight of it all and have to work at controlling my tongue and my reactions in order not to create more problems for my husband.

I am a preacher's wife.

I am tired.  I would much prefer to stay home with the grandchildren and just go to church on Sundays and Wednesdays.  Motivation and being stirred are not words that move me much anymore.  Been there, done that.  Bless you, dear.  If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that it will all be here again tomorrow.  And next Sunday.  And next month.  And the wheels will keep on turning, and it will all be as it was.  I’ve earned my place; let the younger ones do it.

I am a preacher's wife.

We retired last month, and he’s now the Bishop.  It’s nice to be able to travel about and let someone else shoulder the burden for a while.  We’re enjoying our golden years.  He spends hours in his study, and I enjoy helping out where I’m needed when necessary.  We’re enjoying the reduced stress and the lighter schedule.

I am no longer a preacher's wife.

He passed away six weeks ago.  I feel so lost.  I didn’t just lose my husband, I lost my entire identity.  Who am I?  What is my purpose here in this world?  What needs can I meet within my circle, my sphere, my environment, my world?  I based my growth on who he was.  We connected with our friends at the conferences, meetings, and special services.  I feel so out of place going there alone now.  Where to from here?  

Are you a preacher's wife?

It’s never too late for you to be better, to grow, to minister as you.  Your identity as a whole, emotionally healthy woman who knows who she is, where she is, and where she is going will complete him more fully than you ever could as an insecure, indecisive, unmotivated companion.  Your personal pursuit of God and the things of God which have nothing to do with your husband nor your congregation will catapult you into that celestial realm of fulfillment and God-relationship that no human companion can ever give.

I am a pastor’s wife.

I have an opportunity to partner with an incredible calling.  I will do so with prayer, with enthusiasm, and with gratitude.  But I will make sure that if called upon to stand alone, I can do so with integrity, conviction, and grace.

I am a pastor's wife.

What an honorable place from which to grow.

Stay in the closet

Matthew 6:6

But when thou prayest, enter into thy closet,

and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret;

Matthew 6:9

After this manner therefore pray ye:

Matthew 6:12

And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

Even though you may want to move forward in your life, you may have one foot on the brakes.

In order to be free, we must learn how to let go.

Release the hurt.  Release the fear.  Refuse to entertain the old pain.

The energy it takes to hang on to the past is holding you back from a new life.

What is it you would let go of today?

~Mary Manin Morrissey

I will only be forgiven by Him as much as I am willing to forgive my neighbor...every morning...every afternoon...every evening...

© 2009-2013 by Melani Brady Shock

When things break

15 months?...can you be serious?

15 months since last we spoke? I have lived and died and reinvented myself 8 times since then.

How did so much time just evaporate?

My re-entry into Blogville will probably have to resume slowly.  So, I will leave you with this little thought I ran across today...

When things break, 

it's not the actual breaking that prevents them 

from getting back together again.  

It's because a little piece gets lost - the two remaining ends

couldn't fit together even if they wanted to. 

The whole shape has changed.

~John Green

© 2009-2013 by Melani Brady Shock

escape

What shall we do today?

Ah, the joys of time away.  Nature, beauty, cool breezes.  No agenda, no calendar, no appointments.  Nor any guilt, because even Jesus rowed across the lake to escape the multitudes...

The pure air wafts around us as we seek to shake off the concerns, the tensions, the complexities, the pressures.  It blows through our souls as we open them to the cleansing of the Maker.  It softly breathes through our hearts as we slowly lower the walls to the soft whispers of His love. We are consciously aware of the tainted, polluted energy remnants draining out with simultaneous renewing of calm, comfort, and confidence.

The still, small voice has thundered through our souls for the past few days.  Some messages to be shared, others to be pondered in our hearts.  Some words for the world, others for the privacy of our time together with Him.

It is for this the Sabbath was created.  This renewal, this peaceful acceptance, this steady assurance of relationship.

Although He will leave with us, we will all return to this place again and again...

© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock

please close the door...

"There is always a moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in." ~ Graham Green The boxes are scattered throughout the dining room and into the reading corner.  Numbered 1 through 6. Taped and ready for the address labels and shipping.  They leave tomorrow, but I will have her a few more weeks.  Until August 1.  I will blink and it will be here. "Oh, Mom," she laughs. "I'll be home for Christmas.  Only four and a half months.  It will pass before we know it!" "Oh, I know." I'm bright. Positive. Filled with loving support and continual encouragement. The wind beneath her wings! I feel a piece of my heart break off... 10,000 miles. Ridiculous! What kind of mother lets her young push off from the nest to go live in a city of 17 million people over 10,000 miles away? I didn't anticipate this day on the April Sunday when she was five years old and her quivering lips told me she needed to be baptized that night because, "I really want to go to heaven, Mom, and I know I have to be baptized to get there." "Do you think we will be able to fit the storage shelving unit in, Mom?  I really need that for the closet."  Without thinking, I look and measure and mumble something about no, it won't, surely there will be some sort of shelving system that can be bought there... It's dangerous there.  She is so absent-minded and unaware of the dark side.  This day never even crossed my mind years before when we talked almost all night about the trip God had taken her on in prayer--the night I told her to always listen to the Voice and to always say "Yes..." A 16-year-old girl who knows God has called her to a life set apart is challenged by so many things.  Normal friendship advice and relationship advice and future college advice and "How to Plan My Life" advice just won't work in the lives of chosen vessels.  Hands joined with her father's, we prayed and carefully navigated the questions and turns and large boulders in the path.  I was beginning to understand that there was not a book available to me on how to mother a daughter who dreams dreams.  My smile stayed bright as I encouraged and pushed and applauded.  My heart turned its head when she wanted to talk about "What if?" I closed the door.  The day may come, but it wasn't now.  No need to borrow time from tomorrow. An epiphany occurred in my mind the other day.  Out of the blue, I realized that I am now the same age my mother was when I married.  I stopped peeling the potatoes and turned, startled, to see if anyone was there to feel my terror. The room whirled as the images of my entire life hurtled past, not stopping to chat or to rest there, just to remind me that while I had been cooking and washing and reading and writing and traveling and cleaning out the closet and making the meal plan for Thanksgiving and ordering homeschool curriculum and holding my head in my hands in exasperation over the to-do list, the years had silently filed out the door, one by one.  They left and didn't even say good-by. And I watch through the same kitchen window my mother watched through as a piece of my heart pulls into the driveway in the silver SUV and I hear the door slam as she calls out, already halfway up the stairs, "I'm only home for a minute." For a minute, for a minute, for a minute... The wind captures the ripples of her laughter as they drift back toward my place at the sink and sets them ever so softly in my heart with the whisper, "Don't forget the sound of this..." Jim Croce sang his heart out on the night of September 20, 1973 in the gym of the small-town college from which I would graduate seven years later.  He walked out of the back door into the waiting car that drove him 10 minutes to the airport.  The pecan trees on the edge of the landing strip snagged the wheels and after only having lived 30 years, Jim was just a memory. His two-year-old son waited at home for the daddy that didn't come and today says he doesn't remember him.  But he remembers his legacy and feels the love because of the song his dad wrote about him that still plays in his mind, his house, and occasionally on the radio.  "If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do, is save every day 'til eternity passes away just to spend them with you..." Twenty-two years.  I have had her with me longer than many.  But there is still so much I need to say.  So much I haven't had a chance to tell her yet.  About how if you let boiled potatoes sit in water too long they get slimy and how to fold a fitted sheet so small that it can fit in a shoebox and how if you put Clorox 2 in your towels in keeps them brighter and adds another few years to their life...you know, stuff that she may need to know on the mission field.  10,000 miles away.  Alone. Who will hear her if she gets sick in the night?  Who will be there to make sure she takes her medicine properly every day?  Who will be there to help her kill the inevitable creatures that will make their way in from the outside?  Who will hug her tight when the whole world is crying hazy, humid, Filipino tears and they are dripping down her face? I glance at the empty spot beside my pillow where she lay the night we brought her home from the hospital.  Two days old.  A six-pound, four-ounce bundle of limitless childhood whose days went far past where my eyes could see. Please, somebody.  Please close the door.

© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock

...I was sick, and ye visited me..."

Nothing had prepared me for our visit to the National Children's Hospital in Manila.

I will post these few pictures and attempt a few brief explanations, but this is a painful post and one that my mind tries to push away.

According to a private blog by an anonymous poster, "In this government-run hospital lie the sickest and poorest children from all corners of the Philippines.  Many of them are terminally ill and await a slow and often painful passing.  Many of them die due to the lack of medicine costing less than $20...   The drama and suffering in the NCH is beyond description.  Unimaginable is also the parents pain.  Many of them stay close to their children in the rooms, sleeping on plastic chairs night after night, on the floor or not at all, watching their children die before their eyes...

It is into this hospital that missionary Kelley Dibble goes every Tuesday.  She brings a gift of a couple of diapers and a small snack for the child or the parent.  She brings a touch, a smile, and a prayer.  And that is all she can do.

Care at the hospital is free, but parents must pay for the medicine.  And if no money is available, then no medicine is administered.

There aren't many pictures of this day because it almost felt disrespectful to take them.

I didn't take a picture of the man who angrily told me yes, I could pray for his tiny baby girl with the sweet smile who looked as if she would not last but a few more days with cancer.  He glared at me, and as I turned to leave I saw him bend to kiss her as the tears fell from his eyes onto her face.

I didn't take a picture of the young boy, perhaps in his early teens?, lying lethargically in a bed dying of dengue fever while his father sat in the white plastic chair and looked at us with desperate eyes as we prayed for his son's healing.  I didn't take a picture of my heart that broke as I realized that could be my own son lying there...who am I that God chose to allow me to live in America with enough money to pay for the best health care available for my son?  Who am I that I have knowledge of the healing power of the Savior?  Oh, God!  "To whom much has been given..."  I will answer at Judgment Day...

I didn't take a picture of the several grossly deformed children suffering from hydrocephalus--their heads so misshapen and huge it made me almost nauseated to look...the ones who could have a brand-new life with the medical procedures available to us, but who will have no life at all because they were born in the wrong circumstances.

I couldn't take a picture of the stifling, suffocating heat that rose in waves as we walked from ward to ward.

I couldn't take a picture of the smell of death that surrounded us regardless of the masks we wore.

I couldn't take a picture of the depth of the pain in the eyes of the children...and the parents...and the caregivers.

I am still processing the depth of the experience.

I'm finding it hard to blithely breeze back into my familiar surroundings and just chalk it up to an expansion of my world view.

I feel so helpless.  Is Matthew 25:35 my response?  A one-time pat and prayer?  What about tomorrow?  And next week?  What about those in America?  What does He require?

God help me...

The sick little girl may never play with the frisbee...
but her mom will try to create a soothing breeze to bring her
a small comfort...

Smiles.  Just because it's a relief to know that somebody cares.

Love and care has no language barrier.  Warm touches and tears are universal.

The room labels scream.

Each name represents a suffering child,
and a despairing parent.

Her mother's heart is so filled with pain. Not one, but two of her precious children--
in the same bed--tearing her heart in two. Prayer...our love...the Father's love...

The gift of a treat and a diaper or two.
How I wish we could package an effective treatment
in those pretty little bags...

From the outside in.
The world looks a lot different from the outside in.
We can walk away...back to our comfortable rooms...back to our privileged lives.

It's 2012.
And yet, communication between departments still fits in a blue plastic basket
that is transported back and forth between the departments
with a rope and pulley system.
The money is just not there to implement the available technology.
And you were complaining this morning about what...?

I understand the reasons for tracking the information.
But the numbers also angered me.
I wish there was a column for number of tears shed.
A column for number of hearts broken.
A column for number of agonized nights.
A column for ways to help.

© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock

happy mother's day

so many emotions...

so many approaches...

so many responses...

celebrations.  disregard.  grudging lunches.  token gifts.  lavish love.  extravagant attention.

2012.  

i choose deep, quiet gratefulness for the past, present, and future.

happy mother's day to those who make my day unforgettable.

© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock

the effectual, fervent prayer...

The effectual fervant prayer of a righteous man 

availeth much.

John 5:16

Pastor Tom.
Handumanan.
Interceding for his congregation.
When a pastor prays, revival happens.

Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities:
for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself
maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.
Romans 8:26

Pray without ceasing.
1 Thessalonians 5:17

And now, I pray you, beseech God that he will be gracious unto us:
this hath been by your means:
Malachi 1:9

Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest,
that he will send forth laborers into his harvest.
Matthew 9:38

Then were there brought unto him little children,
that he should put his hands on them,
and pray:
Matthew 19:13

Children praying for the pastor/father

Wherefore also we pray always for you,
that our God would count you worthy of this calling,
and fulfill all the good pleasure of his goodness,
and the work of faith with power.
2 Thessalonians 1:11

I pray not that thou shouldest take them
out of the world,
but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil.
John 17:15

Finally, brethren, pray for us,
that the word of the Lord may have free course, and be glorified,
even as it is with you.
2 Thessalonians 3:1

Pray for us.
Hebrews 13:18

Brethren, pray for us.
1 Thessalonians 5:25

Neither pray I for these alone,
but for them also which shall believe on me
through their word:
John 17:20

Pray one for another.
James 5:16

And all things,
whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer,
believing,
ye shall receive.
Matthew 21:22

I will therefore that men pray every where,
lifting up holy hands,
without wrath and doubting.
1 Timothy 2:8

Whosoever therefore shall humble himself
as this little child,
the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:4

Neither pray I for these alone,
but for them also which shall believe on me
through their word.
John 17:20

I will pray for them:
I pray not for the world, but for them which thou hast given me;
for they are thine.
John 17:9

And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly;
and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body
be preserved blameless unto the coming
of our Lord Jesus Christ.
1 Thessalonians 5:23

© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock

spotlight

This image deserves its own personal post.

Baptism in the Name.  The only Name under heaven whereby we must be saved.

Jesus!

© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock

images...just visiting...

What a happy reunion! We have visited several times and
it is thrilling to see the growth of this precious congregation.
I wish all could feel the heat from the picture--
it would add incredible dimension to the image...

The Sunday School room.
Only one.
Completed at great sacrifice.

Assembling a puppet stage for the Sunday School ministry

Window into the parsonage
(Total size approximate to a one-car garage)
The porch also doubles as the church "foyer"

Entrance into the upstairs Sunday School room
The plastic wrap covering the window frame
has been torn by the wind...

Another church is in process of remodeling--the sign must be protected.

Pastor's Kids.
Burdened because their parents are burdened.
Burdened because they feel the responsibility.
Burdened because they, too, see the lost souls that surround them.

Our driver from the conference--a leader in another of the churches.
Blessed with twins and a beautiful family.

Church bus ministry.
Note the church theme for the year above the motorcycle...
God is Able!

Handumanan.
My heart melts.
What will heaven be like...to truly be "home" with our global family?

Always hospitable...always gracious...always inclusive...

Gloria and Dorcas Ministries adding beauty to the village churches

Gloria and Dorcas Ministries delivers once again.
A beautiful curtain was made to hang behind the pulpit.
God's House deserves the best!

Regardless of the surroundings or circumstances,
growth only happens when we are intentional.
What gets measured, gets done!

Demonstration of how water is obtained.
Rain comes down the bamboo pole into a barrel.
Pray the city will restore the water supply to this church.

Sweet fellowship at the home of retired missionary,
Rev. Kenneth Fuller and his wife, Doris.

A sacred time. All felt the poignancy of the hour we spent together.

Rev. and Dr. Fuller, Kendra and I
When the saints of God spend sweet fellowship together,
all is well.
Thumbs up!

© 2009-2012 by Melani Brady Shock