A Wonderous Evening

That was Fun!

On Friday evening, an event I have been planning for the last ten months occurred. We celebrated Kadie’s upcoming birthday with a huge party. Since it is such an important milestone (her new age rhymes with “sporty”) I wanted to do something special.

I decided to fly in one of her closest friends (Linda, mentioned here) from the east coast to surprise her. And things grew from there. I knew our Sunday School class would come, as well as just a few others from our home church. In addition, old college friends from the West coast as well as from the great Mid-West all made their way, like salmon returning home to spawn, back to the Deep South.

Mom and Dad hosted the shindig at their Bed and Breakfast. They also graciously fed everyone. (As Scooter said later “Grandmother and Grandaddy throw the most wonderful parties”). 35 adults and 15 kids attended, so I paid a couple of teens from church to make the drive out to the B&B and watch the kids so the adults could actually talk.

After a series of lies (more on those tomorrow) I got Kadie out to my parents for the surprise. It went according to Hoyle. She was stunned and amazed. Actually she seemed to be in shock for most of the evening. (It helps tremendously that her birthday is actuallytwo weeks from now, she never saw this coming!).

Finally I had made plans for six of her closest friends to spend the night there with her and go shopping the next day in the town square. After the party, I brought the kids back home and stayed up far too late talking to Mister Ginger and Bobby. In fact, the last time I Was up this late I had a paper due the next day.

I think the greatest part of the gift wasn’t the actual party, but the tremendous outflowing of love she felt from all who attended. It was a special, special event.

Kadie told me that it will be something she remembers for the rest of her life…

The Suds Pit

Friday night our college had its annual College Social. You haven’t partied hard until you’ve spent a few hours with a bunch of Liberal Arts profs. Unfortunately I had to handle child care issues.

Kadie teaches a Senior High School Girl’s Sunday School class and was going to go out to Dallas on a shopping trip with them. Unfortunately, that meant each of our standard baby-sitters were going to be out too. So I checked with my parents, our other SS friends...and completely struck out. But I had to go to the social.

So I locked the kids in a closet my office with a DVD (Herbie: Fully Loaded) and my cell phone number. I instructed Scooter to call me in the event of an emergency. I then walked across campus and went to the social.

Two hours later I walked back to the office and passed a large foam pit that the Student Activities folks were setting up. It was essentially a large inflatable pit that was filled with soap foam, much like what is generated when you wash dishes in the sink. Loud pulsating music and a light show accompany the festivities.

There were only about 8 college students in the foam pit, so I hustled back to my office to grab the kids. And I opened my door to chaos. Apparently Squealer had been channeling Legion because the girls were desperate to get out. Skeeter had been begging Scooter to call me on the phone, but Scooter had decided that Squealer's obnoxiousness had not yet risen to the level of an emergency.

(Only at this moment did it occur to me that locking two children in a room with a four year old and a Lindsay Lohan movie might violate several articles of the Geneva Convention)

At any rate I took them down to the foam pit and watched them play for about 2 hours. The foam actually exceeded Squealer's height. Our campus PR person was taking pictures and I encouraged her to take a few pictures of the kids. I've included one below. (I have no idea who the student on the right is and what is growing out of her head). A grand time was had by all. On the way home Scooter had starry eyes and said "Daddy, I've just been to my first college party."

Of Eagles and Cockroaches

****Welcome to all who visit from Bowden's Blog Counseling Notes. Sorry for the mess! I would've tried to straighten up a bit if I had known company was coming.****


I am very fortunate to have a strong mentor on campus. Because he has been through so many campus wars over the years (he’s been here since the seventies) the junior faculty in the department refer to him as the Colonel. He has been a repository of academic and personal wisdom that has proven to be invaluable to me on numerous occasions. He’s also exceptionally gifted at sharing the oral tradition of how things have gone on here on campus. He knows, as they say, where all the bodies are buried. But the scars of battles fought have definitely affected his outlook on things.

Shortly after I arrived, he called me into his office for a bit of mentoring and we had the following conversation.

“Taran,” he began, “You really need to take stock of your career.”

I nodded.

He continued. “You see, there are two types of people on this campus.” Here he paused for a minute, deep in thought as he sought an appropriate metaphor.

“There are a very few go-getters around here who are a lot like eagles.” His speech began to grow stronger (not unlike a large bird taking flight). “Yes, there are a few people here who work hard, jump out of the nest and soar very high above the rest of us.”

I nodded again, seeing the direction that this advice was going.

He continued:

“They are majestic colleagues, these eagles. They work hard, provide quality in all that they do, and leave the rest of us peons down here on the earth.”

“They really excel!” I said, catching onto the direction of this conversation.

“Exactly!” responded the Colonel.

“But then,” the Colonel’s voice grew increasingly grave, “there are the others. They are not eagles, but ummmm… cockroaches.”

I wasn’t expecting a metaphorical segue of that nature and I must’ve looked a bit startled because he repeated. “That’s right, they are cockroaches.”

“How are they like cockroaches?” I asked.

“Well, they lay in the dark and scuttle about their business. They do all their work behind the scenes and generally stay away from the light. They focus on their own stuff.” he stated.

I started nodding again. “I think I understand your point. Eagles soar and are concerned about the entire organization, while cockroaches scurry around unseen and are only concerned with their own small corner of the world.”

The Colonel looked very proud. He said “Taran, you might have a future around here yet!”

I grinned back and said “Now I just need to start soaring like an eagle!”

Now it was the Colonel’s turn to look startled.

“What?!” he exclaimed.

“Well,” I said tentatively, “Since I want to excel and make an impact around here, I need to strive to be an eagle.”

At this statement, he leaned back against his chair and slowly rubbed his eyes. After a moment of regaining his patience he then began to speak to me like I was four years old.

“Taran, if you want to survive in this place, you’ve gotta think like a cockroach. Be the cockroach, not the eagle.”

He saw the confused look in my eyes and decided to try a Socratic tactic.

“What are there more of in this world, cockroaches or eagles?” he patiently asked.

“Ummm….cockroaches?” I replied.

“Yes,” he nodded condescendingly. “A lot more. The eagles attract the arrows and nobody pays any attention to the cockroaches. A nuclear bomb goes off and the cockroaches survive. But the eagle is on the endangered species list."

"You don’t want to be an eagle.”

He got up out of the chair and finished the conversation. “Remember Taran, be the cockroach.”

I was stunned.

All I could think to say was “But…..eagles get to fly.”

He paused at the door, slowly turned to me and said with a wink:

“Cockroaches fly too, Taran.”

And then he flew out the door!

On First Ladies and Pastor’s Wives

I am always amazed at the number of hits that postings on pastor’s wives generates. I have mentioned pastor’s wives here before.

Candy Cooper, the wife of the president of Drew University, has an article in today’s Chronicle of Higher Education on the role of “First Ladies,” the spouses of college presidents. I didn’t read too far into the article before it all sounded slightly familiar.

Cooper reports that as the spouse of a college president she often

--feels that she must put on a persona and act a part.

--has the impression that most colleges consider the First Lady to be free labor, thrown in as “part of the deal.”

--wonders if she can pursue other interests outside the university

--wonders if the First Lady can ever have friends from the campus

Some thoughts that this article generates for/about pastor’s wives--

*Develop friendships with other pastor’s wives. The insight Cooper gained occurred when she was at a meeting with other president’s wives. We all need fellowship. Pastors and their wives cannot always (if ever!) get that in their own church. Where possible they must seek it out in other contexts.

*Work hard at maintaining balance in your family. Kadie and I have had some hard discussions over my time allocation. She makes it known to me when my calendar priorities don’t match my stated (family first) priorities. All too often I'm driven to keep my career going at the expense of my family. She works to keep my attention on our wellbeing, instead of simpy my well being. Kadie's family force is cetripetal while mine is centrifugal, keeping me tethered during those times when I’m careening careering out of control.

*Develop interests outside the church family. Not every pastor’s wife has a job outside the home, but every pastor’s wife needs to have interests outside the home. Cooper wondered if she would need to give up her journalistic interests when she became a college first lady. Now she has found a new outlet for them. Every pastor’s wife I have met has had hidden talents (writing, singing, accounting, painting and others) that they are not always able to express at church. Join a club or advocacy organization. If truly desperate, write a blog (preferably anonymously).

*I struggle with this last thought. Cooper seems to have found some sense of herself with the idea of putting on the mask of a heroine and dashing off to be “Super First Lady”. Here I part ways with her. While pastors and their wives are often taught to wear masks as self-protection, in a certain sense I always want to push for greater genuineness. It seems to me to be for our greater emotional health when our public and private personae correspond. I think that Cooper tacitly recognizes this when she writes her article. Her article, in a very real sense involves unmasking. Unfortunately, few pastor’s wives feel that they have that sort of freedom.

To those of us who are not pastor’s wives, maybe this will stimulate some thinking on ways we can minister to pastor’s wives.

Other thoughts???

Fun With Homophones

Comments while walking to the Rippling Hills. No, there is no context for the initial question by Skeeter.

Skeeter: “Daddy, what does peace mean?”

Taran: “Well, it’s the absence of wa…” (But then I interrupt myself and remember that from the pulpit I’ve always used the line “The peace that passes all understanding refers not to the absence of conflict, but the presence of Christ.”) So I tentatively amend my statement, unsure of exactly how theological to take the conversation.

Taran: “Well, it’s actually the joy that comes from a satisfying relationship with Christ.”

Skeeter: “…”

Taran: “Doesn’t that answer your question?”

Skeeter: “I guess, but I thought it was a part of a tree or a rock or something.”

Taran: “…”

Scooter: “Dad, I think she means piece, like a piece of a sandwich.”

The clouds of confusion immediately evaporate.

Taran: “Ohhhhh…now I understand.”

Scooter: “But Dad, what does ‘a piece of hesitance’ mean??

This question puzzles me for a minute, but then for some reason it dawns on me. “I think you mean the piece de la resistance."

Blizzard

The strongest blizzards inevitably arrive in May.

But it’s not snow that whitens my world, but reams of paper. These are the days where quasi-administrators like myself are busiest (a fact no doubt made far worse by my otterish tendencies).

On the student side, life is very busy. It is the end of the Spring semester and every faculty member must begin the process of reading term papers, advising students, and preparing final grades. Some students request recommendations. Others come by to tearfully discuss their grades. It is also the end of the academic year, so we must gear up for Spring graduation. Along with graduation are the attendant initiation ceremonies (into various honor fraternities) that a department chair is expected to attend.

In addition, there are departmental responsibilities. This is the end of the fiscal year with all of its attendant last minute spending. (If we don’t spend it this year, then we might not get it next year.) Absurdly, purchasing requires us to get our requests in by April 5 so that they can get the item purchased by June 30, the last day of the fiscal year. So I have to decide in late February if the department will have enough paper the last week of June. The first year of my predecessor’s tenure as chair, he had $2,000 left to roll over into the next fiscal year. He then found out that he could not roll over state money and so it was given to another department that was 2K short. The message was clear, spend it all!

We also fill out our productivity reports where we gain points for various activities (presentations, classes taught, students advised, articles published, etc). If we get enough points we get to yell Yahtzee! may or may not be rewarded with a raise. I will sit down with each of our faculty members and discuss their year in review and then plan for their next year to come. I then have to complete our departmental 06-07 annual plans and submit the new ones for 07-08.

Each of these items, like the four paper-pushers of the apocalypse, descend on department chairs every Spring.

But the item on my plate at the moment is the Affirmative Action Profile. After every job hire, we are required to fill out a sheet that details the number of ethnic and gender minorities who applied for the position.

I understand the necessity of accountability in this area. For all its supposed progressive viewpoints, the Academy has lagged behind much of society in its hiring practices. Particularly in a Southern state, we need to have confidence that the search is conducted in a meritocratic process. It is a small penance to pay for decades of institutional racism.

But the end result is that I have to check little boxes that will identify the gender and ethnic make-up of all our candidates. I must ask myself if the woman I interviewed in New York, best fits the category of White, Black, or Other? Usually it is apparent, but not always.

What about the candidates we didn’t interview? How can I determine the ethnic make-up or even the gender of people I’ve never met? Names don't always tell. What to do with the Chien(s) and Lu(s) of the world?

The irony of the entire process, is that I’ve been extremely focused on the racial/gender make-up of the candidates; something I’ve been encouraged from birth not to do. (Although some colleagues and HR would no doubt tell me that I think of folks in racial and gender terms all the time, this process just makes that explicit. That does nothing to assuage my discomfort). The very process designed to help has the effect of categorizing individual profiles.

I’m not sure what the answer is, but we need to keep looking.

(For those counting at home, in the end we replaced a white male with a white female…)

Finally!!!!!

I received the news last Wednesday. It will now be a lot harder to get rid of me in the future.

The system vice-chancellor approved my tenure and promotion request and it will go before the board of trustees later in the month. In recorded memory, they have never reversed a recommendation from the system vice-chancellor. Fortunately I learned early enough in the day that I still had time to go around and given an obscene gesture to each of the upper level administrators.

I have several feelings in response. I feel very thankful for the acknowledgment that I’ve been doing quality work. I also feel a strong sense of responsibility as well. I am pleased that I am now in a position to begin to work to influence many others both inside and outside the academy.

And I understand how odd the isntitutiuon of tenure is. On Saturday I had an interesting conversation with a buddy of mine who has a refurbishing business that goes in after tornadoes, floods, etc. and rebuilds homes and businesses. He had no idea what tenure is. After I briefly explained it to him, he thought for a moment and said “I have jobs lined up for the next six months. That is my tenure."

For those in the academic, tenure is the pinnacle of the profession. In fact, the achievement of tenure is more sought and more significant than the only promotion left (to full professor). But in some sense this represents the end of a road that began for me as a graduate student. One of the odd things about tenure is that its achievement so often is accompanied by feelings of ennui. (See here for example). I suffer no such mixed emotions.

But it is a time for change. I recall as a graduate student doing the math (4 years for M.A., 4 years –turned into 5- for Ph.D. and 6 for tenure track) and setting a goal to get tenure by age forty. So now its time for new goals!! What a difference (exactly) one year makes.

Number One: Check

A Hard Conversation

I had known for a few days that I would be the bearer of much bad news. We have had a colleague who has been with us in our department for four years. This year we held a job search for his position and the department felt that someone else was the stronger candidate. As department chairman it was my responsibility to convey that news to him.

I’ve never done this before, and so I sought advice from a senior administrative colleague who has a lot of experience in sharing bad news. “How do you tell them?” I asked. He responded “Usually I just blurt it out.”

Oh.

So I asked my soon-to-be-former colleague into my office and muttered something about never having done this before. I then shared with him that the department had made the decision to extend an offer to another candidate and that his association with the university would end on such and such a date. I quickly added that I would stand ready to assist him in transitioning to a position in another institution if he wanted my help. I thanked him for his contributions and his professionalism.

But I’ve received life-altering news before. I know from experience on the other end of the conversation that he didn’t hear a word I said after “we’ve made a decision to extend an offer to someone else.” I could’ve discussed sheep grazing patterns in lower Patagonia for all the attention he subsequently paid to our conversation.

He lowered his head into his hands and slowly shook his head back and forth. “What will I do now?” he said. I tried to again offer my assistance in locating another job, but he understands the difficulties of finding academic positions. He shared with me a life threatening illness (from before his employment) that he said continues to plague his productivity. Then we sat there silently for some time not really saying anything.

Finally he sat up and looked at me and said “Taran, I’m really sorry. I didn’t do a better job.” I was stunned by this apology and reciprocated by suggesting that perhaps a more experienced chair could’ve found some means to motivate him.

Finally he got up and slowly left.

After he left I laid my head down on the desk for awhile. In a pastoral role, I’ve been in some sad situations before…usually after tragic deaths. But this was the most responsibility I’ve felt. Plus there is a tremendous chasm between the roles of supervisor and minister. It was a very painful experience.

I spoke with Kadie on the phone later and she sensed my melancholy. Unbeknownst to me she brought the three kids up to the office and announced that we were going on a family date. We went out to dinner and watched Meet the Robinsons. In 3-D.

Family is a wonderful thing.

Easter Weekend

We had a busy and chilly Easter weekend. On Saturday morning the kids went Easter egg hunting (amid snow flurries) at our home church. Squealer remarked at one point that it felt like Halloween (a feeling encouraged, no doubt, by our decision to recycle his frog basket from Halloween into an “Easter” basket).

The first thing we do on Easter morning is hold a lengthy Easter egg scavenger hunt for the kids. Kadie and I compose a series of clues which direct the kids throughout the house. They then get to read each clue and figure out where the next egg is located.

After finding all the eggs, and their three Easter baskets (hidden in the dryer) we had breakfast at our home church before I went out to Susan Song. Squealer had the line of the morning after he received his first punishment of the day. (I like to think that he was getting his time-out right about the same time Mary Magdalane would’ve been arriving at the empty tomb).

After his time-out (for throwing his Easter breakfast across the gym at church) I told him that he was being disobedient. I explained to him the importance of being obedient to his Dad. He responded (I kid you not) “Daddy, I like to be obedient, but I don’t want to be obedient.” A great line, which I promptly stole for my sermon at Susan Song.

At Susan Song we had over twice our normal attendance, filling the pews at 32 people (I told them we were going to have to go to two services next Sunday). I preached the Philippian Christ Hymn in 2:5-11. Following the sermon we held the Lord’s Supper. I read Psalm 22 (then we shared the bread) then Psalm 23 (then we shared the juice) followed by Psalm 24. We then placed red and white carnations on a cross and it was beautiful.

This afternoon we celebrated the Easter tradition by dining on roast and eating scads of chocolate candy. In the evening, we watched the wonderful film The Miracle Maker (see trailer here). It is to my mind, without a doubt, the best adaptation of the life of Christ to film. It also happens to be claymation. Squealer, finding the life of our blessed Lord a bit slow, instead watched the theologically more subtle Madagascar.

All in all, a wonderful Easter weekend.

Lessons From Mrs. Mozelle

As the months at Susan song have moved along, I began to hear about Mrs. Mozelle’s life experiences. I’ve always been touched by her great affection for Squealer. She always cackled loudest during the tales (especially the two cheese tales) about his energetic little life. It was only later that I learned her own son was killed in a car accident at the age of eighteen. When prompted, she speaks of him with powerful, maternal tones. She loved him dearly and his death marks her life to this day, when he would likely have had several children of his own.

In an almost unbelievable occurrence, Mozelle’s first husband died the following week of a heart attack. They were married twenty-two years. She found him in their bedroom shortly after his heart quit. On one occasion she shared with me how shocking an experience that was, to walk in and see the love of your life lying on the floor. I do not see how a soul could handle that shock. But she did. Her faith in God and in His ultimate goodness wavered, but never receded.

In fact, a few years later the Lord brought a wonderful man into her life and she married once again. Harold was a deacon at Susan Song and they had a wonderful time together. They had no children, but spent time traveling and working their little farm. After twelve years of marriage, Harold developed Alzheimers and began his long, slow decline. Life got very hard for Mozelle as she cared for someone who had been so strong and energetic. After three long years Harold passed away.

So after losing two husbands and one son, I am amazed at her faithfulness to God. I haven’t walked that road of pain and loss and find myself wondering how faithful I would be. I pray I never find out.

Two months ago, in her mid-seventies, Mozelle made the brave decision to marry again. After Harold’s death, she has spent over a decade single and happy. But she met Sonny last year and he pursued her with a suitor’s passion that is no respecter of age. Sonny refused to take no for an answer and wooed her for months. He fought across Europe during the second World War and loves a challenge. They were married last month and Brother Jones came back and did the service. Susan Song was packed and all in attendance agreed that they had never seen a finer wedding.

Mozelle expresses a childlike faith, but not a naïve one. She has not led a sheltered life, hidden away from the pains of this world. Rather her faith is the faith of one who has plumbed the depths of suffering and despair and has found God faithful even there. More than anyone else I know, Mozelle is aware of the pain that always accompanies love. And yet she decides to love and to commit once again.

And so at the send of each Sunday School lesson I hold up my finger and pledge to “let my little light shine” while completely aware that my light is all too often the size of a small Bic lighter running low on fuel.

But Mozelle’s light is like that of a city on a hill that cannot be hidden.

Mrs. Mozelle

Mozelle was the first person from Susan Song that I spoke with last summer. She has a delightful laugh and conveys an energy level beyond her seventy-five years. After we met, I learned that she teaches the Adult (which is to say only) Sunday School class. Since I want the church to continue to do as much as it has during the interim time, I declined the invitation to teach Sunday school and instead sit on the back row where I can observe and (very occasionally) comment.

Her classes are fairly predictable. They are full of bubblyness, shrill cackles of laughter and frequent Hallelujahs offered up with the constant refrain “Isn’t God so good?!” She reminds me at times of a Muppet, constantly smiling and throwing her head back in a boisterous laugh. She follows a rote teaching pattern, drawn from a careful study of the SBC adult Sunday School literature. (Last quarter, the wrong series of literature was ordered and she expressed such concern that we quickly ordered the traditional kind). Mozelle ends every Sunday School the same way. Each class member holds their index fingers aloft while she says “Let your…” and the class shouts back “little light shine.”

It is, at times, more than I can stand.

“There’s the Preacherman!!!!” she shouts whenever I arrive at Susan Song. Her outlook is soooo rosy and sooo saccharine, that I thought I could never relate to her. Surely someone who has only led a sheltered life could be that overly joyful all the time, right?

But I was wrong. Tomorrow, what I learned from Mrs. Mozelle.

Doug Dickens

Bruce sent me the following link. Doug was the long time professor of pastoral ministry at Southwestern Baptist while I was a student there. On Friday, his wife of three decades died from ovarian cancer. They kept a journal of their experiences through this difficult period of their lives.

It is both a joy and a sorrow to read. See here.

Update: Link now fixed. Thanks Bobby.