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