What to believe

I cringe inwardly when I hear someone demean a preacher or his wife. For one thing, it's against Scripture because God wants us to honor those in spiritual leadership. For another, it flies in the face of Paul's teaching about the body of Christ.

Pastors and their wives are gifted people - but God threw in the element of variety: they are all gifted differently. Each will have ministry priorities that will come to the forefront during their pastorate at a given place. God has created it this way so that different areas of church life and administration will be addressed as time goes by. Our likes and dislikes don't really matter because preachers and their wives answer to God, not their fellow preachers or their congregations. Granted, there may be some times when, sadly, a pastor may really fail his church in some way. God has provided for these situations to be addressed in a biblical way, but I'm not speaking of these BIG failures but of more miniscule areas of misunderstanding.

I hope you adopt my attitude, and pay little attention to the criticisms you hear about other colleagues in ministry. God does not want us listening to gossip or slander. And, of course, you know that the person relaying the information sees the news from his or her own spiritual, emotional, and historical viewpoint. All these variables may color one's perception.

So, the old adage bears much truth -- "Believe nothing you hear and only half of what you see." The church of Jesus Christ would be so much more effective if we followed this sage advice, don't you agree?

The Piecework of Ministry

The pastoral ministry is like a patchwork quilt.

Our grandmothers and great-grandmothers were quilt makers. They saved scraps left over from dress patterns and bits and pieces acquired elsewhere and turned them into items that provided comfort and beauty.

When you and I, as pastor's wives, reflect on our years in the pastorate, we can identify with the pattern of those long-ago quilts.

In the first squares, we see the hesitating stitches of the first pastorate, the brilliant color swatches of youthful zeal and high hopes.

In the later design, we contemplate the pastel-shaded blocks that represent new babies and the parenting years.

Then come the dotted and striped patterns of new ideas our husbands so exuberantly introduced to the congregation.

Further inspection shows us the dark tones of disappointment and trials, and maybe a few patches of double-knit fabric with its stubborn texture and bland personality -- we've all had seasons of life like this!

Scattered throughout are color bursts of bright hue that tell the story of good times -- pastor appreciation days, retreats, campmeetings, family vacations, souls recovered and discipled. The mix of bright and dark forms a pattern as complex as the realities of life.

Yes, someday, you and I will examine the design of our ministry patchwork with awe -- for then we will see the plan of the Master and observe unmistakably that the thread of His presence encompasses each carefully-chosen section of our lives.

Site will be updated after Inter-Church Holiness Convention!

Today was a sunny Sabbath.....

I just adore sunny Sundays. Though God never changes the Scriptures tell us, the sun beaming down seems like a heavenly smile that blesses His special day.

Sundays are a celebration of all that is good. Faith, family, feasting. God created this special day just for us, so that we could revel in His blessings, take a break from labor, and lift our worship to Him.

Soak up these words from Ecclesiastes 3:13 "And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God."

Every good thing comes from Him. And a sunny Sunday is one of them. Thank you, Lord.

May the glorious power of our risen Lord
rest on you as you lead in worship today.

His death brought our redemption.
His life gives us hope.
His presence is with us always.

Happy Easter

Easter Hoppers

"Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

That's what my grandfather said preachers should use as a sermon text when they behold the congregation in their Easter finery!

The Easter phenomenon is about to take place. Like tulips finding out that there is life above the ground, many people suddenly discover that there is still a church in town and decide to make their Easter appearance.

Similar to Easter bunnies, they hop in, sniff the air a bit, and settle down for an hour. Then, with a twitch, they scuttle back out into the big open world.

Like all of you, we're glad to take the "hoppers" when they come. But how much better it would be if they could understand that all the carrots Satan dangles before their nose are nothing compared with the garden of God's grace available all the time. And He doesn't tease us with grace -- He gives it abundantly. That's certainly a better existence than dodging Mr. McGregor's pitch fork throughout life! (maybe you better re-read The Tale of Peter Rabbit......)

Sunday Dinner -- the Zenith of Parsonage Meals

Somewhere in the annals of Christendom, it was decreed that Sunday dinner was to be the best meal of the week. And all the preachers eagerly agreed.

As long as I can remember, Sunday dinner was always a big deal. I remember hearing family members talk about Sunday dinners of long ago (and how they had so many guests that the children, who ate last in those days, would often only get the pickin's). I recall many a Lord's Day where we gathered around my mother's fabulous homemade meals, always with hot yeast rolls and many times, steaming mashed potatoes. These times were warm, seeming to enfold my brothers and me in the embrace of our parents, our Heavenly Father, and the assurance that there was food from Mom's kitchen and a bright future for us all. Sometimes the district superintendent and his wife were visiting our church and the table was extra special and there was a luscious dessert as well.

There were other days when our church work placed us in revivals/campmeetings on Sundays or maybe it was one of those Homecoming Sundays in the South. On these grand occasions, we shared Sunday dinner with other families in "dinner-on-the-ground." Maybe it was a dining hall, maybe a picnic shelter, or maybe just folding chairs in a circle and some tables holding foil-wrapped casserole dishes -- but, however it was presented, it was always the very best every family could offer. Each cook usually brought her signature dish -- baked macaroni and cheese or fried chicken or pecan pie or chocolate cake. If it was the home church, you knew what to look for -- "Did Sister Jones bring her cornbread salad today?" The men loaded their plates and, with looks of bliss, retreated to their chairs to eat with the other husbands, who cared more for what their wives had cooked than for conversation. The women pulled back plastic wrap, stirred up the vegetables, shooed the flies, corrected the children and asked for each other's recipes while they ate, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing (women multi-task everywhere!) The children ate as little healthful food as possible, sneaked rolls, and gorged on desserts in this heavenly freedom from the "clean plate club." Church dinners are a glorious institution.

These days, dinners on Sunday are still a reason to celebrate:
~ the grace and goodness of God and the sacred day He has given to us
~ His provision of food and the skill to prepare it
~ the gift of family and friends who share the meal

It is true that one does not need to indulge in a bountiful Sunday meal to make the day special. In fact, the cook might be more rested if she served soup or sandwiches. But, the tradition of saving the best for the Sabbath seems somehow appropriate. Traditionally, we have worn our best clothing on Sunday and reserved our best behavior for the sanctuary (at least we teach our kids this!). It just seems to make sense that we share the grandest of our culinary efforts with our families on the day we also give our best worship to the Father. It fits. And be it roast beef or chicken or meatloaf, it tastes great when Dad says the Sunday blessing and little hands that drew pictures in Sunday School now are folded for a quiet moment. Mom breathes a sigh or relief -- another Sunday triumph.