meeting with the pastor

Joel and I, though not entirely willingly, have kinda-sorta decided that we need to find a church. In the process of looking, we kinda-sorta have found one. Joel is very happy and ready to settle in.

Me, not so much.

It's not that it's not a great church - we already know a good chunk of people there. It's not that I don't love their mission. It's just that I'm not totally sold on the whole idea of a traditional "church". I believe in the "C"hurch with my whole heart. I believe in the Kingdom of God with everything in me. I believe that I'm called to live both of those things out.

I'm just totally unsure of the way we do it in our current American culture.

But the problem is, I don't have a better answer. I know that both Joel and I are encouraged to love more when we go to this place called church. I know that I'm forced to reflect on my image of God when I'm with other people.

But I have questions - lots of them. And often times at traditional churches, they only seem to have answers - and I don't feel like my questions are satisfied by those answers.

I won't tell you what was being talked about at church yesterday, but it was a hard topic. But, as most pastors would do, ours broke it down into very simple terms. After he was finished, the girl in front of me took a big deep breath, and did a fist pump while she mumbled to her neighbor "YES". I think she meant that she felt satisfied - that this question that had bothered her was finally answered.

I did not have the same wave of relief, and I definitely did no fist pumping.

See, my problem is that I don't think we are meant to have the answers - at least not all of them. I didn't agree with the answers that were given, but I didn't have better ones. I think we, as Christians, HATE being uncomfortable. We do everything in our power to make sense of things that don't make sense. We want to be able to hold it in our hands, in our minds, and in our hearts, so that if someone asks us a question, we have a quick and swift response.

I'm uncomfortable with this.

And I'm okay with that.

But the pastor, who we are having coffee with today, might not be. We'll see if I even have the guts to lay it out there.

inspiring words

I used to be inspired more. Maybe it was working with teenagers or children - they see things that we (adults) tends to miss. Maybe it was reading more - Twilight is fun, but not necessarily inspiring. Maybe it was being outside of the 3 1/2 walls of my cubicle. Walking with people, talking with people. Sitting in coffee shops watching the world turn. Sitting in parks watching children play. Making your life work about the act of inspiring people.


I like what I do. I like working for Disney. And having a regular schedule is what is important to me. So, this is where I will stay.


But recently I have re-connected (through Facebook and Twitter) with some of the people I worked with in the act of inspiring teenagers. They all inspire me to remember that the world is bigger - and that thinking about it, and God's hand all over it, is part of what makes my heart pump. It makes me want to soak up words and stories again.



But my favorite inspiration lately is my family. Managing two families has been an adjustment to me, and has meant that we haven't seen everyone as much as we'd like. This last weekend we were able to get down to Chicago - my siblings both there - and spend some quality time.

This quality time involved baseball and reunions.


Now, some people may not agree with me, but there is something about getting to go to a baseball stadium and see your favorite team play. And it's better when your favorite team (mine being the White Sox) - demolish the New York Yankees. I believe this may have been the best game I've been to in a long time at "The Cell" (which I recently learned is what people call good ol' Comiskey Park). 14 - 4 White Sox. No homeruns, but lots and lots of hitting. And I even got to see Bobby Jenks (my fave) come trotting out on the field.





But, better than that, my family was all around me, smiling and laughing and joking with each other. Sharing a few drinks. Eating a few dogs and polishes. Standing and clapping. Making memories. The feeling of excitement that comes when "Thunderstruck" starts playing and the players run out on the field. Watching my Dad and the memories that brings for him.


And then there was the Carpenter Family Reunion. Now, most people have a weird negative connotation with "family reunions". This doesn't exist for me. My family has always been solid and welcoming - even those we only see once a year. The conversation is light and fun - we play games and eat - and share our lives.


But back to inspiration - my grandparents, within the last 10 years, have been a constant source of inspiration for me. My grandmother passed away a year and half ago and most days I think about her in some way or another. I keep a few small replicas of her paintings on my desk at work. As Joel and I pulled up to the house on Sunday - I had a sudden and forceful set of emotions hit me. Most days, my memories of her are just that, memories. But when they come to life, like at her house, I can't help but miss her. She aged so beautifully, and she tackled cancer as if it would never take her down. Grandma and I shared a relationship like I have not seen much between a Grandma and her granddaughter. If you're interested, check out the blog we started to keep memories of her alive http://www.carpentertradition.blogspot.com.





As I walked through the house looking at pictures of her and remembering our sweet time together (especially the 3 years before she died) - another set of emotions washed over me. I had this thought and I think it often - she would be so proud of my grandpa. He has chosen to live through his incredible loss. He works and plays with great joy. He rides his new bike. He travels like a trooper. He keeps up with his chores (which he does on a very regimented schedule). And he continues to gather his family together. I am proud, and she would be too. She has left a deep mark on me and my cousins that will continue to inspire us for our lives. I look forward to telling my children the stories of her courage. I am grateful she shared them with me. And my grandpa continues to inspire me each time I see him.



My inspiration comes differently now, but no less true and colorful. My heart is filled to overflowing.


(Don't miss Grandpa's inspiring words on his shirt!)














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