Squealer has lately begun using words both as a cudgel and a scalpel against his sisters
An example of each:
A cudgel…
Squealer: “Daddy, is chickenhead a bad word??”
Me: “Ummm…..no, not really.”
Squealer (turning to Scooter) “You CHICKENHEAD! You’re a CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD, CHICKENHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!”
And as a scalpel
Squealer: “Skeeter, you’re a BUTTon-HEAD”
Me: “Squealer, you’re one syllable away from a spanking…..”
"Head" is the preferred suffix of choice, rendering most any word into an expletive.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Home
I never realized how big our house is. It’s far too large for one person.
Earlier this week I took Squealer to spend a few days with his cousin Grace an hour away. Then Kadie, Scooter and Squealer left for the Gulf Coast on a mission trip with our church. They are going down to assist in the ongoing recovery effort from hurricanes that passed through years before.
When we compared our schedules a few months ago, Kadie expressed an interest in taking the girls on the mission trip. I want to get them involved in these activities at an early age and this one seems appropriate for an eleven and an eight year old. Squealer presented a problem, but PT Girl (Kadie’s Sister) and her husband Sully, agreed to keep Squealer locked away until everyone returns on Saturday.
Since I’m teaching this summer term, I couldn't go and that is why I'm left alone in a big, quiet house for the rest of the week.
Its odd that I can run the dishwasher once and that the sink stays clear for hours...I can walk barefooted down the hall and not impale my foot on a Sorry game piece...Washed clothes don’t spontaneously regenerate in the dirty clothes hamper only minutes later…I can take hot showers…For the first time in a few years, the Rangers don’t have to compete with Hannah Montana for attention on the television…
And yet…it’s hard not to get three hugs when I get home (or four if I can catch Squealer)...The only laughter I hear is my own as I read a funny joke (like this one)...I miss the completely rational (from a kid’s perspective) explanation for why there is—at this very moment as I discovered this morning—a plastic locket (from Skeeter’s necklace) inexplicably sitting next to the ice cube trays in our kitchen freezer.
So often our house seems barely big enough to hold the five of us. Its seams burst as it struggles to contain all the laughing, shoving, screaming, snuggling, frogging, loving, wrestling, feeding, weeping, zerbertting, praying, yelling, eating, spanking, chasing, hugging and living that goes on around here.
But this evening the little house seems huge and I am reminded again by the silence that a house isn’t a home.
Earlier this week I took Squealer to spend a few days with his cousin Grace an hour away. Then Kadie, Scooter and Squealer left for the Gulf Coast on a mission trip with our church. They are going down to assist in the ongoing recovery effort from hurricanes that passed through years before.
When we compared our schedules a few months ago, Kadie expressed an interest in taking the girls on the mission trip. I want to get them involved in these activities at an early age and this one seems appropriate for an eleven and an eight year old. Squealer presented a problem, but PT Girl (Kadie’s Sister) and her husband Sully, agreed to keep Squealer locked away until everyone returns on Saturday.
Since I’m teaching this summer term, I couldn't go and that is why I'm left alone in a big, quiet house for the rest of the week.
Its odd that I can run the dishwasher once and that the sink stays clear for hours...I can walk barefooted down the hall and not impale my foot on a Sorry game piece...Washed clothes don’t spontaneously regenerate in the dirty clothes hamper only minutes later…I can take hot showers…For the first time in a few years, the Rangers don’t have to compete with Hannah Montana for attention on the television…
And yet…it’s hard not to get three hugs when I get home (or four if I can catch Squealer)...The only laughter I hear is my own as I read a funny joke (like this one)...I miss the completely rational (from a kid’s perspective) explanation for why there is—at this very moment as I discovered this morning—a plastic locket (from Skeeter’s necklace) inexplicably sitting next to the ice cube trays in our kitchen freezer.
So often our house seems barely big enough to hold the five of us. Its seams burst as it struggles to contain all the laughing, shoving, screaming, snuggling, frogging, loving, wrestling, feeding, weeping, zerbertting, praying, yelling, eating, spanking, chasing, hugging and living that goes on around here.
But this evening the little house seems huge and I am reminded again by the silence that a house isn’t a home.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Forum
Professional organizations exist for almost all occupations. Tailors (Professional Association of Custom Clothiers ( PACC ), court reporters (National Court Reporters Association) and sales professionals (National Association of Sales Professionals (NASP)) each have their own organization.
In the field of Biblical Studies, the Society of Biblical Literature is the primary professional organization. In recent years, the SBL has taken a more active role in disseminating its scholarship to a larger audience through an online journal called “The Forum”. Readers of this blog might be interested in the current issue.
In the field of Biblical Studies, the Society of Biblical Literature is the primary professional organization. In recent years, the SBL has taken a more active role in disseminating its scholarship to a larger audience through an online journal called “The Forum”. Readers of this blog might be interested in the current issue.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Birthday Lunch
Nothing like working on your birthday. Since I'm teaching this summer, I didn't get to take the day off, but did go out with the family a few days ago. We went to our favorite family restaurant and had a good time. They gave me three birthday cards, all of which I loved. There was also an appropriate level of good natured ribbing by the hostess after Kadie told her we were celebrating my birthday.
Her: “Don’t tell me your age, let me guess. I bet your turning 18--No no, I got it: 21!!”
Me: “If you add your guesses together you’re close.”
The family got me an iPod broadcaster so that I can force everyone in the car to listen to my music. (On the way to church Wednesday night I turned on Air Supply’s Greatest Hits. It was, perhaps, the singular most merciless act of my parenthood…All out of love indeed).
But lunch time conversations can be oddly surreal at times. Scooter loves to talk about anything and Skeeter tries to keep up with her big sister. Most of the time, Squealer is simply trying to master his bladder control. Kadie (the good parent) has been taking the kids to the library a lot this first month of summer. They have apparently each inherited my interest in history as Scooter has been reading some British history while Skeeter has been reading about the American settlers.
Skeeter: Our family is a lot like Laura Ingell’s family in Little House on the Prairie. They had a Dad and we have a Dad. They have a mom and we have a mom. Scooter is like Laura and I am like Mary. Squealer is like one of the stinky boys who lived near the Big Woods.
Me: “But didn’t they have another sister??”
Skeeter: (aggravated) “It doesn’t have to be perfect”
Scooter: “Well I think our family is a lot like the Tudors. Daddy, you are King Henry VIII, Skeeter is Elizabeth, I’m Mary, Squealer is Edward, and Mom is Jane.”
Me: “I’ve often called your little brother a Tudor.”
Kadie: “Who is Jane?”
Scooter (patiently): "Mom, Jane was Henry’s last wife, the only one who gave him an heir. She died.”
Me: “Actually they all died.”
Scooter: “DAD!! You know what I mean.”
Skeeter: “How did they die?”
Scooter: “Well, Mom died the same year Edward was born and then Edward died when he was nine. Oh, (turning to Skeeter) and then you killed me. Isn’t it sad that the younger sister killed Mary?”
Skeeter: (Looking stunned) I cannot believe that Laura Ingells killed her sister Mary!!”
Edward Squealer: (Standing up quickly in his chair) "Daddy! I gotta tinckle!!!"
(I've never thought about how to spell tinckle before)
Her: “Don’t tell me your age, let me guess. I bet your turning 18--No no, I got it: 21!!”
Me: “If you add your guesses together you’re close.”
The family got me an iPod broadcaster so that I can force everyone in the car to listen to my music. (On the way to church Wednesday night I turned on Air Supply’s Greatest Hits. It was, perhaps, the singular most merciless act of my parenthood…All out of love indeed).
But lunch time conversations can be oddly surreal at times. Scooter loves to talk about anything and Skeeter tries to keep up with her big sister. Most of the time, Squealer is simply trying to master his bladder control. Kadie (the good parent) has been taking the kids to the library a lot this first month of summer. They have apparently each inherited my interest in history as Scooter has been reading some British history while Skeeter has been reading about the American settlers.
Skeeter: Our family is a lot like Laura Ingell’s family in Little House on the Prairie. They had a Dad and we have a Dad. They have a mom and we have a mom. Scooter is like Laura and I am like Mary. Squealer is like one of the stinky boys who lived near the Big Woods.
Me: “But didn’t they have another sister??”
Skeeter: (aggravated) “It doesn’t have to be perfect”
Scooter: “Well I think our family is a lot like the Tudors. Daddy, you are King Henry VIII, Skeeter is Elizabeth, I’m Mary, Squealer is Edward, and Mom is Jane.”
Me: “I’ve often called your little brother a Tudor.”
Kadie: “Who is Jane?”
Scooter (patiently): "Mom, Jane was Henry’s last wife, the only one who gave him an heir. She died.”
Me: “Actually they all died.”
Scooter: “DAD!! You know what I mean.”
Skeeter: “How did they die?”
Scooter: “Well, Mom died the same year Edward was born and then Edward died when he was nine. Oh, (turning to Skeeter) and then you killed me. Isn’t it sad that the younger sister killed Mary?”
Skeeter: (Looking stunned) I cannot believe that Laura Ingells killed her sister Mary!!”
(I've never thought about how to spell tinckle before)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Three Universal Laws
- For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
- A body at rest tends to remain at rest.
- Churches think they will save money during their interim time without a pastor.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Wait....
December 2002
The cellphone went off around 6:15 on Sunday morning, waking me up from a blissful slumber. I was disturbed by the ring, but decided to wait for Kadie to answer the phone. Kadie’s hospital always called around than time. She works as an RN (part time) whenever she wants. They often call her early in the morning and ask if she will work and then she decides whether or not to go in. Most days, she decides not to do so.
And she deserves it.
Throughout our long days in graduate school she had worked full time. But now that I have a full time job (for the first time in ten years of marriage) she has cut back to two shifts a week. It’s been great for our two kids as Skeeter and Scooter love the extra time they got to spend with their Mom. And now Mom is pregnant. (Squealer, as we would later find out, would be born a short month later.)
The phone rang again and I reached out to jostle Kadie awake. But as I reach out, I realize I’m alone in bed…
And then I remember I’m not at home.
I’m in a Motel Six off I-35 in Waco, Texas. I groggily come to my senses as my hand fishes around on the night stand for my phone. I’m in Waco using the Baylor library as I wrap up my dissertation. For the last four months I’ve been going down to Waco every other weekend to complete the project. Every Thursday through Sunday I’ve left the family to make the lonely trip along Highway 31 so that I can live and work in a small carrel tucked away on the third floor, in the bowels of Moody library.
But this would be my last time to make the trip. Since it was at the end of the semester, I planned to stay for a whole week to complete the beast.
As I pick up the phone I confirm on the caller ID that it is Kadie’s hospital. I say hello and expect to hear the familiar voice of Kadie’s supervisor asking for her to come in to work.
But instead I hear Kadie’s voice telling me hello. She explains to me that she began to have intense contractions the night before and went up to the hospital with Scooter and Skeeter. My mom also came over and spent the night in the cramped maternity room. (The girls, then 7 and 4, thought it was an exciting camp out).
I’m stunned and concerned for her health and for the baby’s health. I tell her that I would pack immediately and if I hurry, I’ll be home by early afternoon. No doubt sensing the rising concern in my voice she simply replied
“Wait.”
Kadie “How much longer until you finish?”
Me “Finish what?!”
Kadie “Your dissertation.”
Me “Given the circumstances, I really don’t think….”
Kadie (patiently) “How much longer?”
Me “Uhhhh…I could get it done by Wednesday.”
Kadie “I think you should stay in Waco until you finish it.”
Me “I’m not going to stay in Waco while you have a baby!”
Kadie “I’m not having a baby. They’re just premature contractions. They’ll probably release me today and your mom can make sure we get home safely. We’ll be fine. You need to finish.”
Me “There is no way I’m going to be able to write in a library while my wife is being hospitalized in another state.”
Kadie “Taran…we can do this.”
What do you say to that?! (Besides yes ma’am). She was released that afternoon and I stayed and worked on the last two chapters. I finished my first draft of the dissertation that Wednesday and then graduated a few months later.
I could not have made it through graduate school or parenthood…or pastoring…or teaching…or (fill in the blank) without her support these last fifteen years of marriage. She doesn’t appear as often as she deserves in the stories on this blog, but does appear more often than she wants. Kadie’s been an incredible force for my own personal and spiritual growth in the twenty years we’ve known each other.
(And as I’ve mentioned before, she never reads this blog…thus demonstrating once again her exceptional taste).
The cellphone went off around 6:15 on Sunday morning, waking me up from a blissful slumber. I was disturbed by the ring, but decided to wait for Kadie to answer the phone. Kadie’s hospital always called around than time. She works as an RN (part time) whenever she wants. They often call her early in the morning and ask if she will work and then she decides whether or not to go in. Most days, she decides not to do so.
And she deserves it.
Throughout our long days in graduate school she had worked full time. But now that I have a full time job (for the first time in ten years of marriage) she has cut back to two shifts a week. It’s been great for our two kids as Skeeter and Scooter love the extra time they got to spend with their Mom. And now Mom is pregnant. (Squealer, as we would later find out, would be born a short month later.)
The phone rang again and I reached out to jostle Kadie awake. But as I reach out, I realize I’m alone in bed…
And then I remember I’m not at home.
I’m in a Motel Six off I-35 in Waco, Texas. I groggily come to my senses as my hand fishes around on the night stand for my phone. I’m in Waco using the Baylor library as I wrap up my dissertation. For the last four months I’ve been going down to Waco every other weekend to complete the project. Every Thursday through Sunday I’ve left the family to make the lonely trip along Highway 31 so that I can live and work in a small carrel tucked away on the third floor, in the bowels of Moody library.
But this would be my last time to make the trip. Since it was at the end of the semester, I planned to stay for a whole week to complete the beast.
As I pick up the phone I confirm on the caller ID that it is Kadie’s hospital. I say hello and expect to hear the familiar voice of Kadie’s supervisor asking for her to come in to work.
But instead I hear Kadie’s voice telling me hello. She explains to me that she began to have intense contractions the night before and went up to the hospital with Scooter and Skeeter. My mom also came over and spent the night in the cramped maternity room. (The girls, then 7 and 4, thought it was an exciting camp out).
I’m stunned and concerned for her health and for the baby’s health. I tell her that I would pack immediately and if I hurry, I’ll be home by early afternoon. No doubt sensing the rising concern in my voice she simply replied
“Wait.”
Kadie “How much longer until you finish?”
Me “Finish what?!”
Kadie “Your dissertation.”
Me “Given the circumstances, I really don’t think….”
Kadie (patiently) “How much longer?”
Me “Uhhhh…I could get it done by Wednesday.”
Kadie “I think you should stay in Waco until you finish it.”
Me “I’m not going to stay in Waco while you have a baby!”
Kadie “I’m not having a baby. They’re just premature contractions. They’ll probably release me today and your mom can make sure we get home safely. We’ll be fine. You need to finish.”
Me “There is no way I’m going to be able to write in a library while my wife is being hospitalized in another state.”
Kadie “Taran…we can do this.”
What do you say to that?! (Besides yes ma’am). She was released that afternoon and I stayed and worked on the last two chapters. I finished my first draft of the dissertation that Wednesday and then graduated a few months later.
I could not have made it through graduate school or parenthood…or pastoring…or teaching…or (fill in the blank) without her support these last fifteen years of marriage. She doesn’t appear as often as she deserves in the stories on this blog, but does appear more often than she wants. Kadie’s been an incredible force for my own personal and spiritual growth in the twenty years we’ve known each other.
(And as I’ve mentioned before, she never reads this blog…thus demonstrating once again her exceptional taste).
Monday, June 18, 2007
Father's Day
A great Father’s Day, in both genealogical directions.
Sunday mornings still feel a bit awkward as I step back into the Sunday School teacher role. In my more honest moments, I suspect that part of my dissatisfaction with decision making in our church is because I’m making the transition from interim pastor back to church member.
But Sunday morning was filled with kids having fun with Dad. All three of them presented me with my Father’s Day gift and then two of them gave me sweet picture/cards from their Sunday school classes. Before Sunday school began, there was a “Doughnuts with Dad” time in which the children’s SS classes were stocked with both Kispy Kreme doughnuts and with Dads of ample girth. (Mother’s Day is a more healthy affair offering “Muffins with Mom”).
Oh, I forgot to mention my best Father’s Day gift. A pair of Speedos!!! With summer swim season arriving soon, Kadie and the kids decided than I needed a new pair. I debated whether or not to post a picture of me wearing the Speedos, but decided why not!! Fun wins out over propriety…I'll include the picture of me in my new Speedos at the end of the entry.
After SS and church we returned home and hosted my own Mom, Dad, and youngest brother Miguelito. Dad, mom and I had a politically charged conversation and simply enjoyed spending time together chatting about a lot of nothing. My brother Miguelito is 16 going on 25 and a lot of fun. He decided to spend the night with us and then gave me a great gift when he offered to baby sit the kids and let Kadie and I escape to a movie. We saw the third installation of the Pirate movie and were pleased. (Sidenote, Geoffrey Rush is absolutely amazing. To me, he was more interesting in this film than Jack Sparrow).
I hope that you enjoyed your Father’s Day!!!!
Sunday mornings still feel a bit awkward as I step back into the Sunday School teacher role. In my more honest moments, I suspect that part of my dissatisfaction with decision making in our church is because I’m making the transition from interim pastor back to church member.
But Sunday morning was filled with kids having fun with Dad. All three of them presented me with my Father’s Day gift and then two of them gave me sweet picture/cards from their Sunday school classes. Before Sunday school began, there was a “Doughnuts with Dad” time in which the children’s SS classes were stocked with both Kispy Kreme doughnuts and with Dads of ample girth. (Mother’s Day is a more healthy affair offering “Muffins with Mom”).
Oh, I forgot to mention my best Father’s Day gift. A pair of Speedos!!! With summer swim season arriving soon, Kadie and the kids decided than I needed a new pair. I debated whether or not to post a picture of me wearing the Speedos, but decided why not!! Fun wins out over propriety…I'll include the picture of me in my new Speedos at the end of the entry.
After SS and church we returned home and hosted my own Mom, Dad, and youngest brother Miguelito. Dad, mom and I had a politically charged conversation and simply enjoyed spending time together chatting about a lot of nothing. My brother Miguelito is 16 going on 25 and a lot of fun. He decided to spend the night with us and then gave me a great gift when he offered to baby sit the kids and let Kadie and I escape to a movie. We saw the third installation of the Pirate movie and were pleased. (Sidenote, Geoffrey Rush is absolutely amazing. To me, he was more interesting in this film than Jack Sparrow).
I hope that you enjoyed your Father’s Day!!!!
Friday, June 15, 2007
On Anonymity
Shortly after attaining tenure, a blogging colleague asked if I would drop the anonymity of this blog. I’d been thinking about that topic already and concluded that I’m not ready to do so at this present time. Here are some reasons why I've decided not to do so...
First, I would like to continue to use this blog as a sounding board for my involvement in church ministry. I’ve not found many other blogs where intentional interim ministry is as much a topic as it is here. Bowden closed down the late great blog Interregnum (for reasons he explains here), which was one of the only other blogs taking up this issue from time to time. Susan Song or Lakeview would probably be fine with about 98% of what I’ve posted about my experiences with them, but if this blog operated under my name, I think I’d be more self-selective than I would like to be.
Workwise, I want to be able to post some stories or observations about teaching at a higher education institution. I don’t think I’ve betrayed any confidentiality, but some post participants (like here, here, or here) might not want the notoriety. (And most would recognize themselves). Since I do blog about a lot of personal conversations, I don’t want others to wonder if what they will say might end up on a blog post somewhere.
Third, safety is an issue. I take some warnings seriously about posting pictures and sharing personal information on the net with three kiddoes in the house. I like to share what they are going through and their perspectives on life, but I want to do so safely.
Lastly, this blog initially started out as a way to keep up with friends and family. And to them, this blog isn’t anonymous.
But this decision does come with some costs.
I don’t actively engage myself in SBC discussions in the blog world because I agree that it’s a bit weasely to put your thoughts out there while remaining anonymous.
I’m probably cutting myself off from some great relationships. I read blogs by folks like Dave, Benjamin, or Kevin, and think “I’d like to get to know these guys better.” Part of the intimacy of their blogs is because I know their names, where they live, and what they do. If they were anonymous, I don’t think I would have had the same level of appreciation.
But overall, I think that it is the right decision…for now, anyway.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Meeting With the Deacons
Yesterday evening I shared with our deacons the essential elements of the intentional interim ministry. We had a, as diplomats often say, “frank and cordial” exchange. As I explained the five elements of an intentional interim, I suggested areas that (in my opinion) we need to deal with as a church before we call another pastor.
Three areas of concern have remained unaddressed by our church. First, we were borne (in 1979) out of a prejudiced womb. Our church (like many throughout the south) decided to leave a neighborhood that was changing from white to African-American. In the early eighties we apparently developed a reputation as a church that was unwelcoming toward minorities.
But our most recent pastor, for thirteen years, has preached strongly from the pulpit a gospel message that was open to all races. We now have several African-American families in our church. In fact, on Sunday night we licensed an African-American friend for the first time in the history of our church. (A fact uncommented upon and even unrealized until I looked into it this week). This transformation in racial attitudes is an important and positive element in our church’s history that has been ignored.
A second area that remains unaddressed is a decision made about eight years ago to build a recreation center. This decision was made when we ran about 150 more people than we currently have in attendance. Its $1.2 million mortgage represents a heavy financial burden upon the church. We’ve established no long term strategic approach for dealing with the debt. Our most common response has been to complain about the lousy so-and-so's who signed up for the debt and then left the church. We need to lay out a long term plan for addressing this issue.
A final area of concern has been our staff turnover. Although we’ve had a pastor for thirteen years, during the last six years (since we’ve joined) we’ve had three youth ministers, four music ministers (really five because we’ve had one twice) and six children’s ministers. From my perspective, we need to examine our policies and procedures for dealing with staff. But from the perspective of our lay leadership, God has simply called some people to our church for a “season of healing,” and then called them on elsewhere.
I mentioned these three areas to the deacons and there were differences of opinion on each of them. Some simply told me I was wrong and that these issues didn’t exist while others agreed with the diagnosis, but not the treatment. As our time together closed, they told me that they would pray about our church’s options for the interim time.
I left the meeting in much better spirits than I did a few Sunday nights ago. Not because there was a greater agreement with my position, but rather because I felt prompted by God to share this information with them and I was obedient to that prompting. Now it is in God’s hands.
Where it has been all along.
Three areas of concern have remained unaddressed by our church. First, we were borne (in 1979) out of a prejudiced womb. Our church (like many throughout the south) decided to leave a neighborhood that was changing from white to African-American. In the early eighties we apparently developed a reputation as a church that was unwelcoming toward minorities.
But our most recent pastor, for thirteen years, has preached strongly from the pulpit a gospel message that was open to all races. We now have several African-American families in our church. In fact, on Sunday night we licensed an African-American friend for the first time in the history of our church. (A fact uncommented upon and even unrealized until I looked into it this week). This transformation in racial attitudes is an important and positive element in our church’s history that has been ignored.
A second area that remains unaddressed is a decision made about eight years ago to build a recreation center. This decision was made when we ran about 150 more people than we currently have in attendance. Its $1.2 million mortgage represents a heavy financial burden upon the church. We’ve established no long term strategic approach for dealing with the debt. Our most common response has been to complain about the lousy so-and-so's who signed up for the debt and then left the church. We need to lay out a long term plan for addressing this issue.
A final area of concern has been our staff turnover. Although we’ve had a pastor for thirteen years, during the last six years (since we’ve joined) we’ve had three youth ministers, four music ministers (really five because we’ve had one twice) and six children’s ministers. From my perspective, we need to examine our policies and procedures for dealing with staff. But from the perspective of our lay leadership, God has simply called some people to our church for a “season of healing,” and then called them on elsewhere.
I mentioned these three areas to the deacons and there were differences of opinion on each of them. Some simply told me I was wrong and that these issues didn’t exist while others agreed with the diagnosis, but not the treatment. As our time together closed, they told me that they would pray about our church’s options for the interim time.
I left the meeting in much better spirits than I did a few Sunday nights ago. Not because there was a greater agreement with my position, but rather because I felt prompted by God to share this information with them and I was obedient to that prompting. Now it is in God’s hands.
Where it has been all along.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
The Bad News Miscreants (III)
Well, the moment finally arrived. In our late game on Friday evening, America let out her collective breath as the Lakeview Miscreants won our first game. We beat the host team (an area megachurch) in their own park. I am confident of the importance of this event, because on Saturday afternoon, someone from Tucson, Arizona came to Coffeespoons after Googling “Taran softball”.
So clearly word is getting out.
We dropped the first game 12-7 and won the second 18-15. The second game was a nail biter and no lead was safe. I had a fine pair of games at second base and only hurt us with a couple of errors for the evening. My hitting suffered as I went 0-3 with three walks for the night.
Injury report: I took a line drive smash off my right foot. It hit squarely on my big toe and the nail has turned a darkish hue. But all nagging injuries pale in comparison to the rest of the season. We are moving into the homestretch of the playoff race with our 1-5 record. We play six games over the next nine days, so things should really start to tighten up.
(I mean my muscles, not the playoff race. We’re way out of that!)
So clearly word is getting out.
We dropped the first game 12-7 and won the second 18-15. The second game was a nail biter and no lead was safe. I had a fine pair of games at second base and only hurt us with a couple of errors for the evening. My hitting suffered as I went 0-3 with three walks for the night.
Injury report: I took a line drive smash off my right foot. It hit squarely on my big toe and the nail has turned a darkish hue. But all nagging injuries pale in comparison to the rest of the season. We are moving into the homestretch of the playoff race with our 1-5 record. We play six games over the next nine days, so things should really start to tighten up.
(I mean my muscles, not the playoff race. We’re way out of that!)
Monday, June 11, 2007
Kairos (III)
I was sweating bullets in my grey suit, and not just because of the questions. The A/C unit had gone out and I was sitting surrounded by a dozen men, each one plumbing the depths of my heresy.
Sunday evening I met with our ordination council. Our pastor, youth/education minister and ten deacons were arrayed against me. Also going through the process was my good friend Larry, to my left. He and his wife have become some of our closest friends at Lakeview and I’m glad that we went through the ordination process (he as deacon, myself as minister).
After prayer, the questioning started. Here were the questions they asked:
The only regret I had was that they made the decision (due to Sunday evening being the last Sunday of our pastor’s ministry here) not to do the laying on of hands during the service. We were told that they would pray for us before the congregation arrived in order to "expedite the service." The congregation did not participate. I did feel bad for my folks and Larry’s folks (and sisters) who all drove in to share in this time for us.
But all in all it was a very encouraging time. (And no, neither Letterman nor Seinfeld came up).
Sunday evening I met with our ordination council. Our pastor, youth/education minister and ten deacons were arrayed against me. Also going through the process was my good friend Larry, to my left. He and his wife have become some of our closest friends at Lakeview and I’m glad that we went through the ordination process (he as deacon, myself as minister).
After prayer, the questioning started. Here were the questions they asked:
- Share with us your testimony.
- What is your view of the Bible?
- Would your children say that you are a godly Dad?
(My initial answer was "It depends on which day you ask them.) - Can you worship with people who behave ugly towards you?
- Do you believe in the virgin birth?
- What is the gospel?
The only regret I had was that they made the decision (due to Sunday evening being the last Sunday of our pastor’s ministry here) not to do the laying on of hands during the service. We were told that they would pray for us before the congregation arrived in order to "expedite the service." The congregation did not participate. I did feel bad for my folks and Larry’s folks (and sisters) who all drove in to share in this time for us.
But all in all it was a very encouraging time. (And no, neither Letterman nor Seinfeld came up).
Kairos (II)
So why go through ordination now?
There are a few primary reasons.
First is that I feel a close relationship with our departing pastor. Although we theologically bear scant resemblance to one another, he and I have gotten along well over the last six years. I have supported him in the church and he has allowed me tremendous latitude in leadership and teaching roles. For example, he asked me to teach through 1 and 2 Timothy in a January bible study a few years ago when we disagree on the subjects of alcohol and female deacons. And as I have noted in the past, we've had our share of private confrontations.
The most amazing thing to me is that although he grew up a dirt poor boy from Arkansas, he has led our church (prior to my arrival) through a very difficult period of integration. It is the most integrated church to which I’ve ever belonged (though we still have a long way to go). He has modeled love and reconciliation and I consider it an honor for him to preside over my ordination.
A second reason is that I love this church and would like to have them be the ones who participate in this service with me. My kids came to faith in Christ at this church and Kadie and I have been blessed with places of service. Good people serve at this church. On those occasions when I do leaqve to serve in other churches, I want our family to have many connections to this church.
A third reason is the intentional interim ministry. As I’ve written extensively, it is a solid process for engaging the church in important elements of change. I now feel completely assured that this is what God has called me to do. Having a distinctive calling gives me something specific to be called to.
As to my previous objections?
I still don’t think I need to be ordained. But as I told Brother Jones last year and as I told "my former self" a few weeks ago: it’s not always about me. The church needs times of celebration and times of ritual. The church will take pride in my calling and will continue to serve as a support to me through prayer and encouragement. Wherever I go and serve, in some sense they will be participants in that service. In fact, B makes this point in his comment on Friday's post.
Lastly, I don’t think my distinction between clergy/laity will be too much affected by ordination. I say this because I will continue to be bivocational. Bivocational ministers might have an easier time than full time ministers explaining to the congregation that ministry is not something we pay other people to do.
But in the end, I do feel it is calling of God. It is kairos, God’s timing.
Now if I can just get through the candidacy interview without mentioning my affection for either Seinfeld or Letterman, I’ll be alright…
There are a few primary reasons.
First is that I feel a close relationship with our departing pastor. Although we theologically bear scant resemblance to one another, he and I have gotten along well over the last six years. I have supported him in the church and he has allowed me tremendous latitude in leadership and teaching roles. For example, he asked me to teach through 1 and 2 Timothy in a January bible study a few years ago when we disagree on the subjects of alcohol and female deacons. And as I have noted in the past, we've had our share of private confrontations.
The most amazing thing to me is that although he grew up a dirt poor boy from Arkansas, he has led our church (prior to my arrival) through a very difficult period of integration. It is the most integrated church to which I’ve ever belonged (though we still have a long way to go). He has modeled love and reconciliation and I consider it an honor for him to preside over my ordination.
A second reason is that I love this church and would like to have them be the ones who participate in this service with me. My kids came to faith in Christ at this church and Kadie and I have been blessed with places of service. Good people serve at this church. On those occasions when I do leaqve to serve in other churches, I want our family to have many connections to this church.
A third reason is the intentional interim ministry. As I’ve written extensively, it is a solid process for engaging the church in important elements of change. I now feel completely assured that this is what God has called me to do. Having a distinctive calling gives me something specific to be called to.
As to my previous objections?
I still don’t think I need to be ordained. But as I told Brother Jones last year and as I told "my former self" a few weeks ago: it’s not always about me. The church needs times of celebration and times of ritual. The church will take pride in my calling and will continue to serve as a support to me through prayer and encouragement. Wherever I go and serve, in some sense they will be participants in that service. In fact, B makes this point in his comment on Friday's post.
Lastly, I don’t think my distinction between clergy/laity will be too much affected by ordination. I say this because I will continue to be bivocational. Bivocational ministers might have an easier time than full time ministers explaining to the congregation that ministry is not something we pay other people to do.
But in the end, I do feel it is calling of God. It is kairos, God’s timing.
Now if I can just get through the candidacy interview without mentioning my affection for either Seinfeld or Letterman, I’ll be alright…
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Kairos (I)
Maybe kairos is the best way to explain the following bit of news. This Sunday evening I’ll be ordained to the Gospel ministry by Lakeview Baptist church. A bit of background.
When Kadie and I packed up the UHaul and trucked on over to the spacious living quarters at Southwestern Seminary in 1991, I had recently been licensed. The seminary requires all its students to be licensed in order to enroll. My pastor at the time helped me accomplish this, but due to the tumult of graduation, marriage, and moving that occupied that summer, he and I decided that I’d return home at a mutually convenient time and then I would be ordained.
We planned on setting up my ordination later that year, but never got around to it. It was a low on my priority list. After that first year, the pastor of my home church was forced out, and there arose apharaoh pastor who knew not Taran. I grew disconnected with that church, but didn’t feel a close association with our church in Ft. Worth either.
When I went to Baylor, and was called to pastor Lone Oak, it wasn’t a concern of theirs. Neither was it an issue this last year at Susan Song. Plus I had two additional reasons for not wanting to get ordained.
First, ordination is not a key doctrinal issue for me. I don’t know if there’s a fourth level of doctrinal triage or not, but that’s about where I’d put it. There’s nothing wrong with ordination, but it is not required. I follow Spurgeon in saying that if God has called you into service, you really don’t need any one else’s endorsement. It is simply not a big concern to me. (Although Spurgeon goes even further. He said that ordination was a case of “empty hands being placed on an empty head.”)
Second, I’ve always thought that ministers were separated enough from the laity. There is a tendency in the church to assume that ministry is what you pay the preacher to do. It is a faulty division of labor: there are those who minister and those who support those who minister.
But I believe strongly in the calling of all believers as ministers. The key verses of my own ministry have been 2 Corinthians 5:18-19.
Paul is writing these verses to underscore the fact that all people are entrusted with God’s ministry, not just the leaders in the polyester suits. Ordination simply adds another unnecessary layer of insulation between clergy and laity.
So why get ordained?????
When Kadie and I packed up the UHaul and trucked on over to the spacious living quarters at Southwestern Seminary in 1991, I had recently been licensed. The seminary requires all its students to be licensed in order to enroll. My pastor at the time helped me accomplish this, but due to the tumult of graduation, marriage, and moving that occupied that summer, he and I decided that I’d return home at a mutually convenient time and then I would be ordained.
We planned on setting up my ordination later that year, but never got around to it. It was a low on my priority list. After that first year, the pastor of my home church was forced out, and there arose a
When I went to Baylor, and was called to pastor Lone Oak, it wasn’t a concern of theirs. Neither was it an issue this last year at Susan Song. Plus I had two additional reasons for not wanting to get ordained.
First, ordination is not a key doctrinal issue for me. I don’t know if there’s a fourth level of doctrinal triage or not, but that’s about where I’d put it. There’s nothing wrong with ordination, but it is not required. I follow Spurgeon in saying that if God has called you into service, you really don’t need any one else’s endorsement. It is simply not a big concern to me. (Although Spurgeon goes even further. He said that ordination was a case of “empty hands being placed on an empty head.”)
Second, I’ve always thought that ministers were separated enough from the laity. There is a tendency in the church to assume that ministry is what you pay the preacher to do. It is a faulty division of labor: there are those who minister and those who support those who minister.
But I believe strongly in the calling of all believers as ministers. The key verses of my own ministry have been 2 Corinthians 5:18-19.
Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation, namely, that God was in Christ reonciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and He has committed to us the word of reconciliation.
Paul is writing these verses to underscore the fact that all people are entrusted with God’s ministry, not just the leaders in the polyester suits. Ordination simply adds another unnecessary layer of insulation between clergy and laity.
So why get ordained?????
Seinfeld and Philosophy
I work with Religion/Philosophy and Popular Culture a lot, often incorporating the two into my classes. I have no idea how many readers out there (by which I mean both of you) enjoyed watching Seinfeld during its run, but if so, you might be interested in reading this.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Bad News Miscreants (II)
.jpg)
The Miscreants played another two-fer on Friday evening, and given the fact that I am just now posting the results, you can probably anticipate how things turned out. We went 0-2 again, driving our season record to 0-4.
In game one we surged to a 10-0 lead in the first inning and then ended up losing a nail biter 14-12. That was a hard loss.
We were never in the second game and were pummelled 30 to 14. (Our new rallying cry is "Only two touchdowns and a field goal short!")
I rebounded from my previous poor defensive effort and committed no errors in the first game at second base (although let the record indicate that I also had no chances at second either).
I presented a scorer's challenge in the second game since they moved me to left field. I have the fielding range of a narcoleptic amoeba, so I couldn't get to many hits. I did catch three pop-ups, not an unremarkable feat for me.
Life at the plate was better. I went 3 for 7 with a walk. All three hits were weak bloops over the second baseman that settled into the short outfield area with the force of an arthritic man gently nestling down into a large recliner.
The highlight of my offensive output was the walk. The ump had a fixed strike zone that would've been more appropriate for Herve Villechaize than any of the 5 foot nine behemoths our team fields. Taking note of that fact, I elected not to swing until I was down two strikes and ended up walking on a 3-1 pitch.
Sadly, that was the high point of my afternoon.
Injury report--- I stupidly dove to first base trying to beat a mishandled throw and banged my left knee with sufficient force to generate a sizable bruise. Adding insult to injury I was still out. (Due to toughening MPAA standards, I will spare the gentle reader another picture of a purple-hued injury.)
After sprawling toward first, I was reminded of my age by the fact that my teammates gathered around my crumpled form and said "Way to Hustle Taran!!" "Great try!"
"Are you OK?"
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
A Check in His Spirit
Our church is still attempting to determine the best course of action in response to our pastor’s recent resignation at our home church. On Sunday evening I met with the Chairmen of deacons, finance committee and personal committee. For a couple of hours I shared the Intentional Interim Ministry (IIM) process with them and explained how it would be a beneficial process for Lakeview Baptist.
Following the presentation I took questions. My biggest concern going into the discussion was with our stewardship chairman. He’s a godly man and one who has earned the respect of the congregation and of myself. He has been very close to our pastor and served as chairman of the search committee that brought him here thirteen years ago. He is, in short, someone whose buy-in is integral to the IIM process being accepted at Lakeview.
But he is old school. And the IIM process is new in these parts. So when I finished he sat quietly for a minute and then said "Taran, I have a check in my spirit." By which he meant (I determined from context clues) that he had a bad feeling about the IIM and that this bad feeling was of divine origin.
As our discussion continued, the gist of his concern was that he feels the process to be too mechanical, and not spiritual enough. He felt that I did not emphasize the signifiance of the Holy Spirit in the prcess. It is true that I didn’t spend a great deal of time in the presentation talking about how prayer/fasting/discernment, etc. accompanies the process…I simply assumed that part.
The other two leaders were more open to the process and all three agreed that I should share it with the deacons and then, if they agree, with the church. I should meet with the deacons next week.
But for someone as passionate about the IIM as I am, it was a bit disheartening.
Following the presentation I took questions. My biggest concern going into the discussion was with our stewardship chairman. He’s a godly man and one who has earned the respect of the congregation and of myself. He has been very close to our pastor and served as chairman of the search committee that brought him here thirteen years ago. He is, in short, someone whose buy-in is integral to the IIM process being accepted at Lakeview.
But he is old school. And the IIM process is new in these parts. So when I finished he sat quietly for a minute and then said "Taran, I have a check in my spirit." By which he meant (I determined from context clues) that he had a bad feeling about the IIM and that this bad feeling was of divine origin.
As our discussion continued, the gist of his concern was that he feels the process to be too mechanical, and not spiritual enough. He felt that I did not emphasize the signifiance of the Holy Spirit in the prcess. It is true that I didn’t spend a great deal of time in the presentation talking about how prayer/fasting/discernment, etc. accompanies the process…I simply assumed that part.
The other two leaders were more open to the process and all three agreed that I should share it with the deacons and then, if they agree, with the church. I should meet with the deacons next week.
But for someone as passionate about the IIM as I am, it was a bit disheartening.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Camping Trip 2
Some pictures from our trip.
On the way up, we went horseback riding. Here Skeeter meets a two week old foal.
During our trail ride, we crossed several streams, which was very fun for the kids (and the adults).
Petit Jean offers some impressive vistas.
Here Kadie helps Squealer along one of the more challenging hiking trails.
At the end of a long hiking trail, the kids found a wonderful cave (complete with Indian pictographs).
I did mention that it rained, right? Here is what may turn out to be one of my favorite pictures of Squealer. It is raining outside and he has to stay in the tent. His whole little body has a resigned expression as he sadly watches the rain fall.
Alas, no pictures of Ranger Rick!
Friday, June 01, 2007
Camping Trip
We returned from our vacation intact and had a great time camping. Although my family and I went camping periodically growing up, I had not been on more than a one night campout in decades. Fortunately we went with four seasoned veterans.
We camped out with a couple (Jim and Sandra) from our Sunday School class whom we are just getting to know. They have two daughters around the same ages as ours and the four girls have already become best friends.
Jim owns a restoration company (they come in after floods, fires, etc. and work with the insurance companies to rebuild homes and businesses). He drove up to Petit Jean in a huge black Dodge Ram pickup. I took the White Goose with the ailing transmission. It has 187,000 miles on it, but with a rebuilt engine at 165,000. So we’re just now wondering when the transmission will blow. Not the best vehicle to take into the mountains, but somehow it held together.
Driving around the park, we took Jim’s behemoth truck and threw the kids in the bed while the adults rode in the front cab. Since the drive from our campsite to the hiking trails was a mile and a half over empty park roads we didn’t think twice about this.
But “Ranger Rick” did. After we stopped, Ranger Rick approached us and said that anyone under fifteen had to ride in the cab but that the adults could ride in the bed. He then said “I imagine that even [here he mentioned our home state] has similar laws to Arkansas and you should keep in mind that we enforce those laws in a State Park.”
His condescension was palpable and I almost responded that “Well, given my state’s history of governmental corruption, it’s also th3e case that $50.00 will keep a Park Ranger from hassling you for three days. Is that also the case in Arkansas?”
But my basic respect for the law and my even more basic desire not to be beaten in front of my children kept my darker emotions in check.
Plus that’s what blogs are for.
Some random thoughts on camping…
Bug repellant keeps away bugs, but not (alas) children.
I’m told that they emit all kinds of poisonous gasses, but burning Styrofoam plates and plastic water bottles is fun.
Loud early morning geese have no snooze button.
No one can out-pester a four year old. No one.
Every male, irrespective of age, at some base level, is a pyromaniac.
A new tent never goes back into its original box.
Campfire Smores are the finest dessert I have ever tasted.
At home we don’t let Squealer carry a dull table knife, but on vacation we do take him on a semi-perilous hike through rugged terrain.
When it is raining on a camp-out, there’s simply not much to do.
My opposition to infanticide decreases marginally in direct proportion to the number of times I hear the question “When are we going to be there?”
I’ll post some pictures over the weekend.
We camped out with a couple (Jim and Sandra) from our Sunday School class whom we are just getting to know. They have two daughters around the same ages as ours and the four girls have already become best friends.
Jim owns a restoration company (they come in after floods, fires, etc. and work with the insurance companies to rebuild homes and businesses). He drove up to Petit Jean in a huge black Dodge Ram pickup. I took the White Goose with the ailing transmission. It has 187,000 miles on it, but with a rebuilt engine at 165,000. So we’re just now wondering when the transmission will blow. Not the best vehicle to take into the mountains, but somehow it held together.
Driving around the park, we took Jim’s behemoth truck and threw the kids in the bed while the adults rode in the front cab. Since the drive from our campsite to the hiking trails was a mile and a half over empty park roads we didn’t think twice about this.
But “Ranger Rick” did. After we stopped, Ranger Rick approached us and said that anyone under fifteen had to ride in the cab but that the adults could ride in the bed. He then said “I imagine that even [here he mentioned our home state] has similar laws to Arkansas and you should keep in mind that we enforce those laws in a State Park.”
His condescension was palpable and I almost responded that “Well, given my state’s history of governmental corruption, it’s also th3e case that $50.00 will keep a Park Ranger from hassling you for three days. Is that also the case in Arkansas?”
But my basic respect for the law and my even more basic desire not to be beaten in front of my children kept my darker emotions in check.
Plus that’s what blogs are for.
Some random thoughts on camping…
Bug repellant keeps away bugs, but not (alas) children.
I’m told that they emit all kinds of poisonous gasses, but burning Styrofoam plates and plastic water bottles is fun.
Loud early morning geese have no snooze button.
No one can out-pester a four year old. No one.
Every male, irrespective of age, at some base level, is a pyromaniac.
A new tent never goes back into its original box.
Campfire Smores are the finest dessert I have ever tasted.
At home we don’t let Squealer carry a dull table knife, but on vacation we do take him on a semi-perilous hike through rugged terrain.
When it is raining on a camp-out, there’s simply not much to do.
My opposition to infanticide decreases marginally in direct proportion to the number of times I hear the question “When are we going to be there?”
I’ll post some pictures over the weekend.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
After Service Comments
We are trekking to Mount Petit Jean for a few days of R&R before school starts later this week, so blog entries will be nonexistent. For a change of pace, I thought I'd ask for some contributions.
The following lines were all shared with me back during my Lone Oak days. Each of them are absolutely true…
“You’ll make a good preacher one day.” (This was said early in my stay at Lone Oak).
“You always manage to find something to fill up the time.” (You can just sense the underlying feeling of resignation that accompanied this line).
“I appreciated what you were trying to do.” (I loved this line. He told it to me right after I tried a dramatic monologue sermon—the only time I’ve ever done so).
“If I’d known you were going to be good today I’d have brought a neighbor.” (A joke...I think).
“Did you know there are 243 panes of glass in the windows?” (Said by a child after the service.)
“We shouldn’t make you preach so often.” (I’m not sure how to take this one).
“I think God has called you to be a professor.” My all time favorite, uttered with complete sincerity by a Hill Country cowboy.
Gentle readers, please add your favorite lines to the comments
The following lines were all shared with me back during my Lone Oak days. Each of them are absolutely true…
“You’ll make a good preacher one day.” (This was said early in my stay at Lone Oak).
“You always manage to find something to fill up the time.” (You can just sense the underlying feeling of resignation that accompanied this line).
“I appreciated what you were trying to do.” (I loved this line. He told it to me right after I tried a dramatic monologue sermon—the only time I’ve ever done so).
“If I’d known you were going to be good today I’d have brought a neighbor.” (A joke...I think).
“Did you know there are 243 panes of glass in the windows?” (Said by a child after the service.)
“We shouldn’t make you preach so often.” (I’m not sure how to take this one).
“I think God has called you to be a professor.” My all time favorite, uttered with complete sincerity by a Hill Country cowboy.
Gentle readers, please add your favorite lines to the comments
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Resignation
Tomorrow morning, the pastor of Lakeview Baptist (our home church) will resign to take a church in another part of our state. He’s had a fairly autocratic style and I am concerned about how the church will respond in his absence. My hope is that some of our really good leaders will step up to the plate and see this as an exciting opportunity for change.
I’m agitating for an intentional interim, but face an uphill battle. It is a new concept in this area (only two churches in our association have gone through it, one of them is Susan Song) and some of the congregation will want to move as rapidly as possible to find another pastor.
Complicating matters is that our by-laws state that a Pastor Search Committee must be formed within 60 days of the previous pastor’s resignation. That kind of time line is incompatible with the Intentional Interim ministry.
Please pray for us as you are able…
I’m agitating for an intentional interim, but face an uphill battle. It is a new concept in this area (only two churches in our association have gone through it, one of them is Susan Song) and some of the congregation will want to move as rapidly as possible to find another pastor.
Complicating matters is that our by-laws state that a Pastor Search Committee must be formed within 60 days of the previous pastor’s resignation. That kind of time line is incompatible with the Intentional Interim ministry.
Please pray for us as you are able…
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Susan Song Reception
Last night we had a wonderful reception at Susan Song. Since they were concerned about several folks being out over the Memorial Day Weekend, they wanted to have it after their Wednesday night service. Kadie and the kids went with me. When I told the kids that we were all going out to the church because they were having a celebration, Scooter said “Are they throwing a celebration because you are leaving??”
I started to choke up a little as we pulled into the parking lot. On the sign in front of the church they wrote “Good-bye Bro. Taran, We’ll Miss You”. I shared a brief devotional with them and then we feasted on great fried chicken (natch), home grown black eyed peas, squash, and mashed potatoes.
After we finished eating they presented a beautiful framed picture with a poem about the “Pastor”. Mrs. Jones read a poem that was hilarious and had a separate verse about each of the regular attenders. I’ll post it in the next day or two. They also were very proud of the fact that they were the first Intentional Interim I have performed and presented me with the framed Church Covenant which they had each signed.
A great evening.
I started to choke up a little as we pulled into the parking lot. On the sign in front of the church they wrote “Good-bye Bro. Taran, We’ll Miss You”. I shared a brief devotional with them and then we feasted on great fried chicken (natch), home grown black eyed peas, squash, and mashed potatoes.
After we finished eating they presented a beautiful framed picture with a poem about the “Pastor”. Mrs. Jones read a poem that was hilarious and had a separate verse about each of the regular attenders. I’ll post it in the next day or two. They also were very proud of the fact that they were the first Intentional Interim I have performed and presented me with the framed Church Covenant which they had each signed.
A great evening.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Bad News Miscreants
Last Friday evening, after exactly one softball practice in the preceding twelve years, I laced up my brand new ($19.99 from Payless) cleats and took to the softball field. I was the starting third baseman for the Lakeview Miscreants, our church softball team.
We play in a Baptist league here in town, and were late in assembling a team. Our first practice was a Thursday and our first game the following night. We were spanked in two straight games on Friday evening, 14-6 and 12-6 respectively (so we did show some improvement). Our official team motto is "You get to laugh at me and then I get to laugh at you."
My fielding was much better than I expected. Which is to say I only made four errors over the course of our double-header. The first error was failing to snare a line drive that was very catchable…though I’m hampered by my microscopic vertical leap. The next two errors were bobbles that enabled fleet runners to beat my weak-armed throws.
I was most proud of my fourth error. I started the second game at short (a demotion perhaps?!) and fielded an easy grounder effortlessly. I then airmailed the throw to the first baseman (who was only about 18 feet from me). My throw flew to his right and sent both adult and children spectators scurrying out of the way like a covey of quail. It was a beautiful thing to behold. (Chuck Knoblauch is my hero) . I did settle down to make most of the routine plays the rest of the evening.
I performed even more poorly at the plate. I hammered a solid single to right field in my first at bat and then went 0 for 5 the rest of the evening (weak grounders and pop ups to various infielders). I did score an additional run after I reached on an error.
But all in all, there is something to be said about Baptists hammering each other on the softball diamond instead of through blogs, so it was a nice change of pace.
But I didn’t escape unscathed. I mishandled a short hop throw from our left fielder and it caught me clean in the shin. Fortunately, the shock of the injury rendered my leg numb for the rest of the evening. But it looks nice, don’t you think?
We play in a Baptist league here in town, and were late in assembling a team. Our first practice was a Thursday and our first game the following night. We were spanked in two straight games on Friday evening, 14-6 and 12-6 respectively (so we did show some improvement). Our official team motto is "You get to laugh at me and then I get to laugh at you."
My fielding was much better than I expected. Which is to say I only made four errors over the course of our double-header. The first error was failing to snare a line drive that was very catchable…though I’m hampered by my microscopic vertical leap. The next two errors were bobbles that enabled fleet runners to beat my weak-armed throws.
I was most proud of my fourth error. I started the second game at short (a demotion perhaps?!) and fielded an easy grounder effortlessly. I then airmailed the throw to the first baseman (who was only about 18 feet from me). My throw flew to his right and sent both adult and children spectators scurrying out of the way like a covey of quail. It was a beautiful thing to behold. (Chuck Knoblauch is my hero) . I did settle down to make most of the routine plays the rest of the evening.
I performed even more poorly at the plate. I hammered a solid single to right field in my first at bat and then went 0 for 5 the rest of the evening (weak grounders and pop ups to various infielders). I did score an additional run after I reached on an error.
But all in all, there is something to be said about Baptists hammering each other on the softball diamond instead of through blogs, so it was a nice change of pace.
But I didn’t escape unscathed. I mishandled a short hop throw from our left fielder and it caught me clean in the shin. Fortunately, the shock of the injury rendered my leg numb for the rest of the evening. But it looks nice, don’t you think?
Overall, I don’t recall having so much fun in awhile. I’ll be chronicling subsequent
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Church Graduation
Four years ago, as I finally wrapped up my doctorate, I was approached by one of our church secretaries who asked for a photo of me in my graduation regalia. (It looks sharp, though it does bear (!) a stark resemblence to the Green Goblin's outfit.) She said that she wanted it for our Graduation Day Sunday service so they could put it on the screen when I walked down the aisle of the church with our other graduates.
I was less than enthusiastic about the idea. In retrospect I can very much see my pride at work as I considered church Graduation Day something for high school students or maybe a college graduate. But for a graduate degree? I didn’t need any attention and so I declined.
In fact, I never gave her a picture and told her that I had no desire to participate. But secretaries can be persistent and she repeated her request on more than one occasion. A showdown was avoided because we had to travel to Waco for graduation and elected to visit our friends at Lone Oak on the same Sunday that our home church would be having Graduation Day.
I was aggravated to find out later that they still put my name on a scrolling list of graduates during the morning service, simply without the picture.
Looking back on that experience, I am struck by how foolishly self-centered I was. I thought that the ceremony was for my benefit, but I now realize that many (though certainly not all) church ceremonies serve an important part of the life of the church and are vital to its continued health. A church graduation day, for example, allows the church to see the fruit of its effort in a tangible way.
As the high school and college seniors (yes, even the grad students) walk down the aisle in church, the congregation gets to celebrate the role that it has had in the life of these new graduates. All of their Sunday School teachers and youth leaders have invested themselves in these students over the years. In a sense, when these high school church members go off to college, they take a part of the church with them. And we do and should celebrate that.
I now regret not having participated. If I could go back and speak to my “aggrieved” younger self, I would simply say…
“It’s not about you!”
I was less than enthusiastic about the idea. In retrospect I can very much see my pride at work as I considered church Graduation Day something for high school students or maybe a college graduate. But for a graduate degree? I didn’t need any attention and so I declined.
In fact, I never gave her a picture and told her that I had no desire to participate. But secretaries can be persistent and she repeated her request on more than one occasion. A showdown was avoided because we had to travel to Waco for graduation and elected to visit our friends at Lone Oak on the same Sunday that our home church would be having Graduation Day.
I was aggravated to find out later that they still put my name on a scrolling list of graduates during the morning service, simply without the picture.
Looking back on that experience, I am struck by how foolishly self-centered I was. I thought that the ceremony was for my benefit, but I now realize that many (though certainly not all) church ceremonies serve an important part of the life of the church and are vital to its continued health. A church graduation day, for example, allows the church to see the fruit of its effort in a tangible way.
As the high school and college seniors (yes, even the grad students) walk down the aisle in church, the congregation gets to celebrate the role that it has had in the life of these new graduates. All of their Sunday School teachers and youth leaders have invested themselves in these students over the years. In a sense, when these high school church members go off to college, they take a part of the church with them. And we do and should celebrate that.
I now regret not having participated. If I could go back and speak to my “aggrieved” younger self, I would simply say…
“It’s not about you!”
Friday, May 18, 2007
A Spring Ritual (II)
What I hate about graduation:
1. Airhorns
2. The local minor league hockey team plays in the same arena where we hold graduation in December. The faculty (and students) sit on flooring material placed directly over the ice. My ancient black wing-tip shoes are excellent conductors of body heat and my feet freeze for an hour and a half.
That is all. I guess the advantage outweigh the disadvantages.
1. Airhorns
2. The local minor league hockey team plays in the same arena where we hold graduation in December. The faculty (and students) sit on flooring material placed directly over the ice. My ancient black wing-tip shoes are excellent conductors of body heat and my feet freeze for an hour and a half.
That is all. I guess the advantage outweigh the disadvantages.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
A Spring Ritual
We had our graduation last night. The frenzied, at times chaotic, week of finals all comes to a sudden standstill during Pomp and Circumstance as we entered the arena. A lot of my colleagues dislike graduation, and many even refuse to show up. But I enjoy graduation a lot. Here’s why I enjoy it:
1. At the reception before the ceremony I get to tell students good-bye. If I didn’t go to graduation, there wouldn’t be the same closure. Telling them good-bye when they turn in their final exam just isn’t the same.
2. The reception is also the only time when the staff, faculty, and administration of the university share an informal meal together. It is a nice time, a brief ceasefire in the ongoing conflict between the various interests on campus.
3. I love the embraces. It is the one time during the year when it is appropriate for faculty and students (of both genders) to hug. In my mind it is a small way of confirming that they are no longer our students anymore.
4. I love the ritual and the formality. The gowns, the confirmation of degrees, the honor cords, and the stoles are all elements of a very formal ceremony that has to be explained to the students. We need a lot more ritual in society today. Ritual is institutionalized, enacted memory and there are certain things that as a society we need to remember. The significance of graduation is one.
5. The speakers are usually brief. Someone has done a good job of convincing them that the evening is not about them.
6. There is the eminently mockable state official who inevitably sidles his way to the microphone (even though he is never on the program). “Oozing smarm from every pore, he oiled his way across the floor.” (My late mother-in-law used to quote that line and it fits so many people perfectly).
7. I love meeting the parents and grandparents. It is the one time during the year I look forward to meeting parents. (All the other times I meet parents, the conversation consists of me explaining that I cannot discuss Junior’s grades with them for confidentiality reasons). I get to brag on their children and watch while both the student and parent simultaneously swell with pride. (Fortunately, the bad students generally don’t want me to meet their parents).
8. The students get a diploma cover during the ceremony and receive their actual diploma afterwards. As a department chair, I get to hand them their actual diploma and say “Congratulations” again.
9. What I enjoy the most is the feeling of accomplishment in seeing students I battled with as freshman make the walk across stage. Some of them are single parents, many are first generation college graduates. In most cases, their degree of sacrifice is inspiring.
10. Graduations (like weddings) serves a useful purpose for the audience as well as the participants. The ceremony reminds all who witness it of the excitement of that period of life. That period when any dream seems possible.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Technically, he's correct...
Driving to Sam's to pick up some bulk necessities
Squealer "Daddy, Bears live in the forest and sleep during the day so they can be awake during the night.
Taran: "Yes, very good."
(Let me interrupt this narrative to make a few points. I have no idea where this stuff comes from. I assume he got it from a story at Mother's Day Out or a Little Einstein episode. I'm also not exactly sure that he's right. Are bears really nocturnal? Do all of those bear attacks take place during the night? Most of the footage of bears I've seen is during the day.)
Squealer: "But we don't sleep in the day, we sleep in the night. Bears sleep in the day."
Taran: "Yes. That's because bears are nocturnal."
Squealer: "……."
Taran: "Can you say nocturnal?"
Squealer: (Very deliberately) "Noc-turn-al. Nocturnal"
Taran: Enthusiastically. "Very Good, Squealer!! Can you think of other animals that are nocturnal?"
Squealer: (After thinking carefully for a few seconds) "Dogs."
Taran: "Dogs?!"
Squealer "Yes, Dogs. Dogs are not turtles."
Squealer "Daddy, Bears live in the forest and sleep during the day so they can be awake during the night.
Taran: "Yes, very good."
(Let me interrupt this narrative to make a few points. I have no idea where this stuff comes from. I assume he got it from a story at Mother's Day Out or a Little Einstein episode. I'm also not exactly sure that he's right. Are bears really nocturnal? Do all of those bear attacks take place during the night? Most of the footage of bears I've seen is during the day.)
Squealer: "But we don't sleep in the day, we sleep in the night. Bears sleep in the day."
Taran: "Yes. That's because bears are nocturnal."
Squealer: "……."
Taran: "Can you say nocturnal?"
Squealer: (Very deliberately) "Noc-turn-al. Nocturnal"
Taran: Enthusiastically. "Very Good, Squealer!! Can you think of other animals that are nocturnal?"
Squealer: (After thinking carefully for a few seconds) "Dogs."
Taran: "Dogs?!"
Squealer "Yes, Dogs. Dogs are not turtles."
Monday, May 14, 2007
Funny Exams
Ahhh….grades are in and all faculty posted their grades without too many issues. (Unlike last December). In honor of the end of the semester, I wanted to include two student responses to an exam question.
The question is from my introduction to Philosophy class and concerns Pascal’s Wager. PW attempts to convince the agnostic that one is better off believing in God and being wrong rather than disbelieving in God’s existence and being wrong. It argues that there are four possible alternatives:
I jovially recorded two "F"s...
The question is from my introduction to Philosophy class and concerns Pascal’s Wager. PW attempts to convince the agnostic that one is better off believing in God and being wrong rather than disbelieving in God’s existence and being wrong. It argues that there are four possible alternatives:
- Believe in God and be correct (the consequence is eternal reward)
- Believe in God and be wrong (the consequence is a temporal loss)
- Disbelieve in God and be correct (the consequence is temporal reward)
- Disbelieve in God and be incorrect (the consequence is an eternal loss)
So on the whole, one’s best shot at the ultimate reward, and an avoidance of the ultimate loss is to believe in God. For a painfully precise explanation, see here.
One student (obviously a Kenny Rogers fan) wrote the following
A second student, an aspiring artist, simply wrote...
I jovially recorded two "F"s...
Thursday, May 10, 2007
News to Salve a Guilty Conscience....
Actually, my conscience is really not that guilty. But it is nice to know that he found another job. It is only a one year position, but it is in California where it is about 20 degrees cooler than it is here in the Deep South. And he might get a tenure track position at the end of the year.
The mountains, a nice beach....hmmm. Maybe I'll be interviewing with HIM for a job in a few years!!!
The mountains, a nice beach....hmmm. Maybe I'll be interviewing with HIM for a job in a few years!!!
A Last Note
Well the final verses of Susan Song are coming to an end.
I have given them May 27th as my final Sunday. Three weeks ago I gave them six weeks notice. I gave them that date mostly to jump-start the pastoral search process. They had settled into a level of comfort with me as interim that I believe prevented them from seriously looking for a pastor.
I thought about delaying my departure, because they are probably another four weeks away from calling a pastor. But I decided to remain firm in my deadline for two reasons.
First, I think it is important to maintain my word to them. I told them a termination date, and I need to stick to that date for the sake of consistency.
Second, I have heard through the ministerial grapevine that our home pastor is going in view of a call on the May 20th to another church. To my knowledge, he has not shared this information with anyone at our church.
Due to the fact that our church governance has been pretty centralized in our pastor, I have some concern about how the church will react. I really want to be there to lend my thoughts/experiences.
When finals end this week and grades are turned in I will post my final report on Susan Song.
I have given them May 27th as my final Sunday. Three weeks ago I gave them six weeks notice. I gave them that date mostly to jump-start the pastoral search process. They had settled into a level of comfort with me as interim that I believe prevented them from seriously looking for a pastor.
I thought about delaying my departure, because they are probably another four weeks away from calling a pastor. But I decided to remain firm in my deadline for two reasons.
First, I think it is important to maintain my word to them. I told them a termination date, and I need to stick to that date for the sake of consistency.
Second, I have heard through the ministerial grapevine that our home pastor is going in view of a call on the May 20th to another church. To my knowledge, he has not shared this information with anyone at our church.
Due to the fact that our church governance has been pretty centralized in our pastor, I have some concern about how the church will react. I really want to be there to lend my thoughts/experiences.
When finals end this week and grades are turned in I will post my final report on Susan Song.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
The Ringing Bell
Just a note from the deluge of finals week, the last round of term paper grading, and faculty evaluations. I entered the 20th century yesterday and downloaded my first album off iTunes. It was Derek Webb’s subversive new album, The Ringing Bell. It is a fine album and you can listen to it (though not download it, alas) for free here.
The two best tunes are "I Wanna Marry You All Over Again" (on marriage) and "A Love That's Stronger Than Our Fear" (on Torture).
Not that those topics are in ANY way related...
The two best tunes are "I Wanna Marry You All Over Again" (on marriage) and "A Love That's Stronger Than Our Fear" (on Torture).
Not that those topics are in ANY way related...
Friday, May 04, 2007
TM
Setting: An elevator, slowly rising from the first to the fourth floor.
Characters:
Taran: A slightly pudgy, nearing middle-aged, freshly tenured professor.
Four undergraduate females, each with cellphone in hands, thumbs flying furiously.
Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-
“Ding!” as we pass the second floor.
Girls:-click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-
“Ding!” as we pass the third floor.
Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-
Me: (To no one in particular) “You know, when I was your age we used to talk on our telephones.”
Two of the girls look at me in the same way that Squealer looks at creamed spinach, with a mixture of revulsion and pity. They then provide a token (if condescending) chuckle. The other two ignore the comment completely.
Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-
“Ding” as we arrive at the fourth floor. The door opens and they depart.
Appropriately, I am left behind.
Characters:
Taran: A slightly pudgy, nearing middle-aged, freshly tenured professor.
Four undergraduate females, each with cellphone in hands, thumbs flying furiously.
Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-
“Ding!” as we pass the second floor.
Girls:-click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-
“Ding!” as we pass the third floor.
Girls: -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- --click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click- -click-
Me: (To no one in particular) “You know, when I was your age we used to talk on our telephones.”
Two of the girls look at me in the same way that Squealer looks at creamed spinach, with a mixture of revulsion and pity. They then provide a token (if condescending) chuckle. The other two ignore the comment completely.
“Ding” as we arrive at the fourth floor. The door opens and they depart.
Appropriately, I am left behind.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
A Toast to Friendship
On Sunday morning, before making the long drive to Susan Song, I had the honor of sharing breakfast with Mister Ginger, PoMonkey, and Bobby. I met each of them almost twenty years ago in college and they have each scattered across the country in successful careers. They graciously (and expensively) flew back for Kadie’s party and this hour was the only time we’d have to share in conversation.
We talked a lot and laughed even more. (At one point, Bobby almost sent me to an early grave at IHOP as he channeled Sean Connery from that old SNL Jeopardy skit). Our conversation reminded me again of the importance of friendship. At one point during the weekend, Mister Ginger made the comment that as the years pass along, our friendships remain one of the greatest parts of our lives.
In a society where romantic/erotic love is held as the ideal, our culture all too often denigrates or worse, simply ignores friendship. Yet in some ways, friendship is just as powerful a form of love. C. S. Lewis devotes an important part of his book The Four Loves to the topic of friendship. In it he notes that "Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities." There is an accountability and an honesty in the best of friendships that each of us desperately need.
Or as another great Teacher once said: "Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up the other…"
We talked a lot and laughed even more. (At one point, Bobby almost sent me to an early grave at IHOP as he channeled Sean Connery from that old SNL Jeopardy skit). Our conversation reminded me again of the importance of friendship. At one point during the weekend, Mister Ginger made the comment that as the years pass along, our friendships remain one of the greatest parts of our lives.
In a society where romantic/erotic love is held as the ideal, our culture all too often denigrates or worse, simply ignores friendship. Yet in some ways, friendship is just as powerful a form of love. C. S. Lewis devotes an important part of his book The Four Loves to the topic of friendship. In it he notes that "Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities." There is an accountability and an honesty in the best of friendships that each of us desperately need.
Or as another great Teacher once said: "Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up the other…"
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Lies I Told My Wife
In preparation for Friday’s event, I told more lies than I have in the previous 16 years of our marriage combined.
1. On four occasions I told her that a person who called (usually her sister PT Girl, or a co-conspirator from church), in fact called for some other reason than her party.
2. I told her that we were going to my parents B&B because my brother had a choir festival.
3. I signed off on our monthly budget, realizing that I’d be busting it to fly Linda into town.
4. On the road to the surprise party, Kadie decided to call our baby sitter about a sitting time this Friday. Since our sitter was at the surprise party, I was afraid Kadie would hear the talking, so I quickly made up some fool tale about having to work this Friday evening in the computer graphics lab, so there was no reason to call her.
That is the sum total of lies I told my wife. Why recount them here?
1) To salve my bitter conscience and
2) because I’m curious what referrals the title will generate.
1. On four occasions I told her that a person who called (usually her sister PT Girl, or a co-conspirator from church), in fact called for some other reason than her party.
2. I told her that we were going to my parents B&B because my brother had a choir festival.
3. I signed off on our monthly budget, realizing that I’d be busting it to fly Linda into town.
4. On the road to the surprise party, Kadie decided to call our baby sitter about a sitting time this Friday. Since our sitter was at the surprise party, I was afraid Kadie would hear the talking, so I quickly made up some fool tale about having to work this Friday evening in the computer graphics lab, so there was no reason to call her.
That is the sum total of lies I told my wife. Why recount them here?
1) To salve my bitter conscience and
2) because I’m curious what referrals the title will generate.
Monday, April 30, 2007
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…
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…
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
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 ina 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."
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
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."
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
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!
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!
Friday, April 20, 2007
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’mcareening 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???
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
*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???
Thursday, April 19, 2007
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."
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."
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
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 weget 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…)
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
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…)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
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
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
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, April 02, 2007
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.
It is both a joy and a sorrow to read. See here.
Update: Link now fixed. Thanks Bobby.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)