Month: June 2012 (Page 4 of 5)

Going to the chapel

June 16, 2012 / Michele Minehart

It’s T-2 hours until the bride walks down the aisle and I’ve had a sense of excited-nervous for at least half the day. I can’t help it. I. love. weddings.

Not all weddings, mind you. I am of the camp, based on the divorce rate, that we’re having too many. Or, at least too soon. But not this one, the next one or the last few I’ve witnessed. I’ve had a string of beautiful, amazing couples stand before friends and family who I believe embody the spirit of love and marriage.

Sometimes it’s that look of adoration by the groom when he sees his bride for the first time. Sometimes it’s the hiccups of ceremony and how the congregation graciously forgives nerves. Now that I’ve crossed a big age barrier, it could be the hopeful youthfulness of the couple. The last wedding it was the vows the couple penned, which made a statement of how they had watched and learned from their own parents’ and grandparents’ marriages, most of which were in attendance, relationships in full bloom. Not often today can a couple find a heritage of lasting marriages on both sides of the family, and JJ and I consider ourselves fortunate to be counted in that group.

Mostly I love weddings because I love marriage. It’s beautiful. I don’t buy into Jerry Maguire’s “You complete me” philosophy – I see each person complete in his or her own shape. I once gave a talk and shared the imagery of shoes: young people often go around feeling like they’re a shoe looking for its match. But no, we are, by ourselves, a pair of shoes, perfectly capable of running and completing a race.

Marriage means tying your laces with another pair with a huge honkin’ knot. The bigger and tighter the knot, the better. The more secure.

Of course, this means you’ll have to slow your pace a bit to learn how to run in sync. And the only way out is to cut the laces, which means that though you can tie them again, there’s still a piece missing.

So why do it? Why be bound up? Where’s the beauty that you mentioned two paragraphs ago?

I love the faith of it all. The trust. My cynical nature needs a drink of love water from time to time and a good wedding is like a fountain. Marriages become statements of faith, and saying “I do” to another person resembles the decision we made at one point in time or another about Jesus. No one is making guarantees about the ease of the road ahead. Indeed, we can be sure that our circumstances and even our personalities and who we are at our core, may (and probably will) change over time. But faithfulness rises above circumstances.

It’s been several years now since I watched this young man raise his hand to indicate that he was ready for God to move into his life. And today I’ll watch him slip a ring onto the finger of a beautiful woman and promise to never leave or forsake. I believe that as each of those oaths are lived out, they will strengthen the other. And the process of seeing them grow will be nothing less than a beautiful struggle.

Learning to succeed at failure

June 15, 2012 / Michele Minehart

I learned at Youth Director Camp that when it comes to helping develop people, it’s best to “set them up for success.” We were trained to put our volunteers and students in positions to do things well so they feel the energy that comes from completing a task. The theory says: by experiencing success, people will be inspired to try again in new endeavors. I believe it’s mostly true.

That being said, I’ve noticed a tendency in myself to set my kids up for failure. Kinda a little on purpose mostly.

Don’t get me wrong, I celebrate with my kids on their achievements. Just yesterday Miss M put her pants on (tag in the back!) by herself and high fives flew. They regularly hear how they are good helpers, good listeners, big boy/girls, and how I appreciate how they try so hard and listen so well.

But on the whole, when my kids ask me to do something for them, I request that they first try themselves. Sometimes more than once. When it’s clear they won’t accomplish their goal, I tell them that perhaps with some practice they’ll be able to do it someday, but I’m glad to help them right now.

Full disclosure: I do this with tasks in which I’m well aware they cannot succeed.

Perhaps it seems cruel. LP would probably inform me of the detriment to their psyche. However, I have little interest in how well they can actually climb into a swing or take the lid off of a toy. When they reach the ability to master the feat, I’m not sure I’ll propose a parade. While I do believe that we must celebrate life’s accomplishments – I’m all for a good party – I think we more often fail at failing.

My goal in parental-induced failures: to flounder enough that failing doesn’t scare them. I hope missing the mark won’t paralyze their attempts at trying. I believe, to an unknown extent, that by experiencing failure regularly, it will take the sting off. Perhaps not all the time, or in life’s gut check situations, but on the whole, I dream for times when my kids come face-to-face with an idea and someone says, “but you might fall!” that they can respond, “yeah, I might” while proceeding to give it a try. I hope that they remember how the momentary hurts fade into the background, especially when they succeed with a second, third or eighth attempt.

It’s not a foolproof plan. It could completely backfire. I could totally change my tune when they start setting sights on plans that include sharp objects, moving out on their own or large sums of money. And I’m not oblivious to the fact that helping them learn to fail well means allowing them to watch when I stumble and fall. It includes the lesson of how to get up gracefully and with dignity – and neither of those mean that you have to do it without tears. Hurt and pain and disappointment are real and allowed, but not the end of the story.

So if you see me refusing to open the pickle jar or button pants or put them atop a ladder, don’t be too alarmed. They’re learning a valuable lesson. And I’m sure after my first trip to the ER, I will too.

Come to the water’s edge all you, who are thirsty, come…

June 13, 2012 / Michele Minehart

I’ve spent the last several days near the water and on numerous boats. I used to think I was funny when I said I was most like Jesus when I was on, but not in, the water. But the past few days I have pondered the mystery of the water’s edge.

For some reason, sitting out and admiring the view of the lake (we’re fortunate to frequent two lakes regularly) has a calming effect. Everyone gravitates to the patio, looking out over the water. We remark about it’s beauty, we make statements about it’s tranquility. At Indian Lake we live in a section that the water is a No Wake Zone and people become flamboyant about letting others know when a white ripple escapes the motor. The practical folk liken it to the damage to the sea wall, but I know better. All the waves disrupt the calming effect.

What is it about the water’s edge? My mother-in-law has tried corralling my bigs away from the edge, trying her darndest to convince them the porch is just as fun. But the swing overlooking the ledge always wins. And none of us are huge swimmers – it’s not the recreational value. Nor do we feel the same sitting poolside. The chlorinated version simply doesn’t cut it.

As usual, I began to think theologically about it. Jesus spent a lot of time on the water’s edge, either preaching (by boat, no less) or, more famously, walking upon it. He even chose fishermen, Men of the Water, as his primary followers.

I thought back to my Hebrew class, when I memorized Genesis 1:1. As usual with language, the English version just doesn’t capture the essence of what is being said. In the verse lies a phrase – apologies for the horrible transliteration – “toe voo vah bo hoo” (sorry Dr. Overland!). We translate that monster of a phrase into “waters”. But water has its own word – mayim. So the phrase in Genesis contains more depth.

The TVVBH, from my recollection, seems to indicate “the depths”. It carried with it other ideas, this essence of chaos. Apparently the scene of Jesus walking of water wasn’t just amazing because of the physical feat, but when the disciples exclaimed “even the winds and waves obey him!” they indicated the common understanding that the waters, the depths, were the realm of the uncontrollable. Storms could blow up out of nowhere. The fisherman lifestyle meant danger and the unknown. The TVVBH domain was outside the controlled and controllable. Only God could (and can) change the weather.

So, back to the original question, now much more confusing: why do we feel calmed sitting at the edge of the water? Why do the unknown and uncontrolled depths bring us a sense of peace?

I’m wondering if it’s not so much the water, but the edge, that we’re drawn toward. We sense the chaos that could loom near but we realize our feet stand firm on the ground. While we sit so close to chaos, we rest upon creation. The ordered. If the storm were to arise, we’re gratefully not in a boat that would easily capsize. We’re not at the mercy of the unknown, but rather resting on the rocks of Everlasting to Everlasting.

Right now, as I enjoy my lakes so much, a group of pastors and clergy gather also at the edge of a (much larger!) lake to conference and connect. For many they seek refreshment and encouragement. But as a group, they come together to be empowered to back to their posts and live out a calling and a mission. Part of me finds it so fitting that they meet at the side of a lake. Because what is kingdom living, really, but putting into order the chaos of life? What is ministry, more than helping others rightly order their lives around the Rock that will not be shifted?

On Jordan’s stormy banks I Stand

On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand

And cast a wishful eye

To Canaan’s fair and happy land

Where my possessions lie

All o’rer those wide extended plains

Shines one eternal day

There God, the Son forever reigns

And scatters night away

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promise Land

No chilling wind nor poisonous breath

Can reach that healthful shore

Where sicness, sorrow, pain and death

Are felt and feared no more

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promise Land

When shall I see that happy place

And be forever blessed

When shall I see my Father’s face

And in His bosom rest

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promise Land

(Text by Samuel Stennett, 1727-1795)

Month: June 2012 (Page 4 of 5)

Going to the chapel

Learning to succeed at failure

Come to the water’s edge all you, who are thirsty, come…

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