October blues . . .

So, my friends. Here we are. November 2nd.

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

Thanks to all of you who have been so kind to visit during the past few weeks when my blog posts were a bit moany and groany about how busy I was. And those of you who are still visiting even though there have been dry deserts between my posts. Thanks for sticking in there with me. And please know that even if I wasn’t commenting on your blogs, I was sneaking time to read them as much as I could.

But this is a new month. Things are slowing to a much more reasonable pace at work, with the kids and just with life in general. And I’ve missed this. I’ve missed writing about more than just what is on my calendar. I’ve missed doing the kind of writing that stretches me, challenges me and makes me honestly express what’s going on inside though the gift of words.

So here goes . . . (excuse me as I climb back in my saddle, pick up the reigns and click my tongue at my creative self with a “giddy-up” old girl . . .)

I’m glad it’s November. October is my least favorite month of the year. A close second behind September. They are both crazy busy, but the difference is that October always seems to bring heartache and sadness with it. It started back in 1986 when my first serious boyfriend broke up with me in October. I spent a good portion of the month depressed, sad, angry and feeling very un-loveable. I was a freshman in college, still trying to find the me that was freed from the stereotypes of high school and overwhelmed by the new adult realities that lay before me. It was a bad month for me. Eventually the young fellow and I reunited, only to break up again the next October. Again, more heartbreak, sadness and tears as I realized this was it, he really wasn’t the “one”. (Happy sidenote: The fellow ended up marrying one of my best friends and we keep in close touch with them. They are so dear to us and I’m so thankful that we kept our friendship through everything that happened when we were young and stupid.)

There have been car accidents in October, lay-offs from jobs, and a fatal illness that took my Grandmother a few years ago. Nope – not a real fan of October. When I turn the calendar on September 30th, the superstitious British girl in me wants a drawer-full of good luck to ward off the October bad mojo.

But, I’m not a girl who really believes in luck anymore. I’m a girl who believes that a loving and powerful God watches me, protects me and walks beside me through the hardships of life no matter what month they come in. I’m his precious child and He’s never closer to me than when I’m hurting and crying out to him for help.

This October – the trial – de jour was one I didn’t see coming. (Okay – don’t know enough French to say “of the month”. Tara of Paris Parfait – maybe you can help me with this one?) This one hit me in the gut like a surprise sucker punch. I spent the month working through the news that my church was “releasing” (aka “firing”) a pastor that had played a significant role in my ministries. The letter that announced this decision was a frustrating example of not considering the needs of the audience when written and left me feeling like my parents had just told me my brother was moving out and now could I please pass the potatoes? What the heck?

This pastor had served faithfully for 16 years and was being let go because of philosophical differences, not a moral failure or even not meeting the requirements of the position. The announcement came at the end of a “state of the church” letter and in my opinion, the brief sentences offered just did not honor this man’s (or his family’s) sacrifices over the years. I would have expected my reaction to be, “Bummer – but I know he’ll be fine. Not my problem. He’s a great guy, extremely gifted, talented and passionate about ministry. He’ll find another job." That should have been it. But no; this news gnawed at me, kept me up at night, brought me to tears on more than one occasion. I just couldn’t get away from the intense feeling, that as the church, God’s church, we’re just not doing this right. There’s has to be a better way. A way that honors the authority of the senior pastor to choose the staff he wants but a way to express to the family of God – this is painful, and it’s okay to feel that pain, acknowledge it and honor the decision without dishonoring anyone’s service to God.

So came intense times of prayer, talking with God, writing letters, re-writing and re-writing letters and finally getting up the courage to send the letters to the senior pastor, executive pastor and chairman of the elder board. Now, think for a minute friends. I’m a ½ breed proper English girl with a mother whose mantra was, “Don’t make a fuss.” This was so out of my comfort zone, I couldn’t even find my comfort zone on the map! To make matters even more challenging, during the month I was invited to have follow-up meetings with all three of the “big fish” to talk about my concerns. As a gal who has chronic leaky eyeballs, these meetings were a challenge to keep rational, stick to the points in my letter and not just yell, “You’re all just being really mean!” It was during this time that I wished I could have the super-powers of draining my tear ducts before meetings so I could come out feeling like an adult and not an adolescent.

Well in the end, the pastor is still “released”, I felt like I was listened to and even “heard” on a certain level by the powers-that-be, but I’m still not convinced that the true heart of my concerns were understood and will be addressed so that policies and procedures are in place to make sure communications that go out to a mailing list of 1800 will be reviewed to consider the audience to which they are trying to reach. I guess only time will tell. It was an exhausting process which seems silly – it wasn’t like a life-threatening emergency or me losing my job, but for a gal who hates making waves, it felt like swimming across an ocean.

Well, this post is getting pretty long, so I think I’ll save the rest for tomorrow. I wanted to talk about “voice” - how the events of the past month have influenced what I think and how I feel about my voice as a woman, as a professional, as a follower of Christ, as a human being, as a writer, but I don’t want to scare you all off on my first real post for weeks.

Thanks again to those of you who have encouraged me over the past few weeks. You are all such a blessing to me!