Isn’t it amazing what a well-placed “good job” or an “I’m proud of you” can do? And isn’t it also true that one bit of negativity or perceived “judgy” behavior can quickly put doubts in our minds? Affirmations and discouragements—they’ve all taken on many different forms in my life, and have sometimes come from the most unlikely places. I’ve always responded well to praise (who hasn’t?) but one of the things I’ve begun to recognize is that, not only can I respond positively to criticism, I can learn and grow from it and eventually (ouch) even be grateful. When I decided to embark on a new journey a few years ago, I gained a lot of insight and help along the way from those who were my cheerleaders, but also from those who didn’t quite understand.
I’m relatively impulsive, but I usually don’t make major decisions based on a “whim.” However, when I first decided to follow in the footsteps of my new friend, Jan, that’s probably what many were thinking. When I first met her a few years ago she told me that she was a nurse . . . and a commissioned pastor. I knew that she was close to me in age and that the pastor thing was relatively new for her, and something deep inside of me said, “You’re going to do this.” Even I was shocked at the intensity of my reaction, but there was no turning back. I knew that his was no “whim,” but it was the Holy Spirit speaking clearly through my own passion.
When I brought the subject up to my husband, I barely had a chance to explain what I had in mind when he said, “Do it—I’m with you on this one.” (He had no idea that this was going to put him in the “time out” chair.) My close friends, my kids and my pastor all expressed joyful support which made my plunge into this crazy plan a lot easier.
And so, just a few short weeks after my sixtieth birthday, and feeling the weight of great expectations, I began my first classes. I loved studying and writing papers and I loved learning from some great pastor/teachers. All of the creeds and catechism that I had learned as a child came back and breathed new life into me. I was more organized than ever and believed that I was able to accomplish almost anything. And when my final paper was written and all of the oral exams were complete, I celebrated—with my friends and family, but also with a deep joyful satisfaction that God was completing a work in me that He had started many years ago.
But, as I’ve already hinted, not every part of this journey was filled with encouragement. I know that there were those who didn’t understand my decision and those who aren’t sure how they feel about women being pastors. I’ve wrestled with this myself and I can’t even say for sure how my parents would feel about my choice. I think they would be in that awkward place of “proud disagreement.” One of my required classes was a huge struggle for me because I felt “tolerated” but not accepted by the teacher and by the solid group of male students. As I fought my weekly insecurities, I gained a new level of appreciation for those who are misunderstood. I learned to speak up without giving up even when my voice wasn’t heard.
I learned a lot from those who were going through the program with me. I figured out what kind of pastor I wanted to be, and what wasn’t going to work. I also learned that not everyone was my fan. There was one classmate in particular that I suspected fell into this category. We disagreed on almost everything except a shared assessment about the way some people treat their pets. (Sorry if I just lost the animal lovers.) But when he and I started to talk about women as elders and pastors, the conversation was harder and more hurtful than I anticipated. There are many people in my life whom I love and respect who would agree with him to a degree, but when he told me that my call to become a pastor was merely a case of my heart deceiving me as scripture warns, I was dumbfounded. He also went on to tell me that my husband would be held accountable for allowing me to follow my “deceptive heart.”
I was kind of shaken by all of this until my pastor told me that my husband would only have to spend a little time in the “time out” chair when he got to heaven—whew! That’s a relief for both of us. Seriously though, during that painful conversation, I learned things that I never would. I’m continually examining my heart, to make sure I’m not being deceived; I‘m also learning not to question God’s call in other people’s lives—they can figure out their own hearts.
So that’s briefly a story of my recent adventure. I’m so grateful for the affirmations that came from everywhere: people from my church who were excited to hear about what I was learning and actually attended the oral exams; those who were patient when I was too focused on studying and got a little cranky; my family who insisted on throwing a “fancy” party in spite of my urgings to keep it simple. And the list goes on.
But I’m also grateful for the difficult times and the challenging people. Don’t get me wrong—I never felt persecuted, rather compelled to pause, pray and refocus before proceeding. If it had been too easy, I would believe that I had done this on my own and that’s far from the truth. There were lots of people who attended the commissioning service held in my church and I felt loved and affirmed. But I was also keenly aware of the “cloud of witnesses,” that surrounded me –especially those parents and grandparents who perhaps observed from that place where the “time-out” chair is no longer needed, remembered or mentioned.
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