Friday, October 3, 2014

trust.

This YouTube clip is totally worth twelve seconds of your life.


I admire her fierce trust. It's clear she is willing to give it a shot without all the information at hand. Why? Because the people around her have her back (though, not her front).

I ask people to trust me all day long. Trust me, even though organized religion has failed you in terrible, hurtful ways. Trust me, even though it's hard to be vulnerable and I've been your pastor for less than three years. Trust me, even though they make iPhones older than me. Trust me, even though I can't tell you what's coming down the pipe. I'm flying blind sometimes, too.

We are embarking on a Capital Appeal process this fall. Two very different projects will come together and get tangled up in the stewardship and dreams of this tiny congregation. Why? Because if a church this size is going to do a Capital Appeal, it needs to unite the young and the old, the new and familiar, the nostalgic and skeptical.

Some would rather just support the explicit and traditional project regarding stained glass window repairs. This project makes perfect sense to our long time members, who are amazed at the cost but not swayed by it.

Others are energized by conversation about a more flexible sanctuary layout. New carpet? A combination of chairs and pews? What if we could face the high altar one season and be curved together more intimately around the Word and Sacraments another season? Can we move the organ and the choir? Where could rocking chairs go?

Nothing has been decided about that second project - it's just the beginning of a conversation about what's possible. But it was enough to make a few sweat bullets and pull away. Please don't change anything. It's beautiful the way it already is. I'm scared about what might happen.

And so I called to invite them together for an afternoon of listening. I have no hidden agenda. I'll just hear your feelings and answer your questions. You have a voice.

This olive branch startled them and they dared to show up. Together we cried and laughed and wondered about why change is so hard. And trust was built. I could feel it rising up around us, keeping us safe and loved despite our differences. They understood why the projects would hang together and were ready to share their unique voices while making unity a priority.

We hugged before they left and something was different - in that moment, the fear was gone.

- - - 

I ask Jasper to trust me everyday, too. I invite his vulnerability, feelings, and words about how much has changed in eight months. He is usually wonderful with the girls and surprises us with his creativity and maturity about two new sisters in our midst. I am proud of the way his is processing much of this.

But it's hard when slobbery babies touch your stuff. It annoying when their naps determine where you play and how loudly. It's frustrating when your mom takes you to Target and all she gets is $134.72 worth of formula and baby food before steering the cart right past every awesome toy you don't yet own.

These inconveniences are producing epic tantrums that are well calculated and designed by a bright, beautiful boy. Most of my parenting strategies for these moments rise and fall within a week or so, but inviting trust always remains.

Trust my arms that ache to hold you before you are ready.
Trust my promises to wait while you work out big things.
Trust my warnings that offer good choices and mantras.
Trust my consequences,
  for you have seen Ninja Turtle Go-gurt thrown out the back door.
Trust my patient love, which will outlast every weary fight.
Trust my fingers that wipe away tears of every emotion you blare.
Trust my calm voice, my safe lap, my smooth lips on your head.
Trust my fierce love that never flinches in the face of your volume.

Trust my joy
  when I catch you doing brilliant, funny, thoughtful things.
Trust my awe
  when I watch your face changing as you grow.
Trust my interest
  in what you create, learn, feel, wonder, ask, play, sing.
Trust my gratitude
  for you every night as I tuck you into bed smiling.

For I love you for every reason under the sun, but also for weathering this massive change with me. You embody all kinds of things I feel when the choices are too few, the fatigue is too great, the babies are too loud, and the days are too short. This too shall pass, Jasper. But you will always be mine and I will always work hard for your trust.

God, give me the patience, wisdom, and strength to be trusted by many. By those I lead and serve, by those who give their fragile hearts to my care, and by those who live inside me though they walk about the earth. And may my trust be tangled up in your holy peace, so that I can fall forward with confidence. Amen.