I recently spent a day with my dad in his garage replacing the nearly opaque headlights on my truck with brand new headlight units. Sounds easy enough, right? Truly, it was anything but.

As it turns out, the process of replacing the headlight units in vehicles has changed quite a bit since I last did so in my early twenties. Back then, the process was something I was confident tackling on my own due to the simplicity of the task. Now, a person has to nearly remove the entire front bumper in order to replace the headlights units.

We started slowly, removing the plastic fasteners and several of the 10mm bolts that required removal to access the units. Since my truck is a 2008 vehicle, even this task required extra time, attention, and steps due to some of the bolts being rusted into place. At one point, a few of the bolts even broke off during removal, further complicating the process.

Minutes, then hours ticked by. This project truly felt as if it was going to take forever. Dad and I took turns troubleshooting. At one point, we both found ourselves lying on the garage floor under the truck, staring up at a problem area, discussing what on earth we were going to do to get this done. We got frustrated, we got determined. We got tired and achy–always in waves. But finally, about 9+ hours later, we placed the last plastic snap back into place, completing the project.

The truth is, none of us can foresee the challenges a particular project or journey will hold when we are standing at the beginning. We can research, plan, plot, and prepare all we want. We can try to control every variable imaginable. But what many of us find is that once we are elbow deep in a project, or far enough down the road of the journey on which we have embarked, the plans must often be thrown out of the proverbial window. We discover that all of the research, all of the preparation, all of the control we thought would insulate us from feeling frustration, disappointment, and even pain have fallen short. 

What we find along the way is that there are circumstances that challenge us to reach beyond what we already know to do. There are people in our midst who just won’t budge. There are ideas with which we have fused our entire identities so much so that separating them feels like being broken apart. During these times we often feel like the place we are in is the place we will be in forever. We can’t imagine what lies beyond the limits of our knowing. We don’t see a way that some of the people in our lives will ever move, will ever change, will ever evolve. We cannot comprehend who or what we are without the idea we have clung to for so long. 

And then–sometimes in moments, in hours, or in lifetimes–we realize that the waves of frustration, determination, exhaustion, and pain that have been coming in and going out have finally led us someplace new. And while we couldn’t control or reason or plan our way out of those waves, we have somehow managed to move through them. One move at a time. One step at a time. One failed solution at a time. And what we come to find is that the point was never to avoid the waves, but to experience them. Knowing that when we do, we will not be crushed and we will not drown–we will bob, we will float, and we will crash our way forward. Perhaps not gracefully and without breaking a few things along the way (including our own hearts), but we can trust that some way, somehow, by some means, we will move forward.

Learning to move through the waves of life’s journeys with you,
Pr. Melissa

​The other day I had the opportunity to speak with a man who is an avid fisherman. He has what is (to me at least) a “fancy” fishing boat. He has all of the “right gear.” And, he is just plain good at fishing. This man spends the spring and the summer actually fishing in competitions all over the region, and is even part of a local bass club. Honestly, I didn’t even know there was a local bass club.

As I spoke with this man, we talked about the weather–as Iowans so often do. And we spoke about the changing of the seasons–the warm, long, summer days coming to an end, giving way to the colors, the breezes, and the shorter days of autumn. He said to me, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little sad that fall is here,” then went on to recount how the fishing competitions have come to an end, and how his boat will be winterized soon.

The man and I sat in silence for a bit, staring out across grassy hills with dots of orange and golden leaves that had already fallen. Finally, the man said to me, “It’s probably a good thing, though. I’ve been going all over for competitions since spring…it’ll be nice to have a rest.”

Autumn–perhaps more than any other season–offers us eternal lessons. Chief among those lessons, for me, is that there is a right time for holding and a right time for letting go. There is a right time for hurrying from here to there and doing all of the things, and there is a right time for all of the things to come to an end. There is a right time for connection and spending hours on end with others, and there is a right time to retreat into quieter moments spent alone. 

Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us that “For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven.” And while that’s true, I know that it is often hard to remember–at least for me. It’s hard to remember that the only certainty I have is not in holding on to some fixed point in time that never changes, but rather is found in the ever unfolding process of living. Knowing this doesn’t make changing seasons any less sad or any less lonely or any less frightening. It doesn’t make the changes we aren’t necessarily ready for hurt any less. It just reminds us that even those sad, lonely, and frightening times don’t last forever–even when it feels like they will.

So as the leaves change and begin to let go from the trees they have clung to since spring, may we consider the changing seasons of our lives. What needs letting go of in our relationships? What damaging story that we keep telling ourselves about ourselves or others needs to be allowed to fall to the earth? What in our work lives, in our recreational lives, in our communal lives needs to be given a rest–even if for just a little while? What changes are happening now that are causing us panic or causing us to be ill at ease? 

For everything there is a season, to be sure, and sometimes those seasons hurt like hell. And sometimes they feel SO GOOD we want them to last forever. Either way, they always change. That, friends, we can count on. 

Learning to weather the changing seasons with you,
Pr. Melissa

​The other day my spouse and I took the dogs to Diamond Lake County Park to do a little hiking. When we finished our hike, we decided to drive around the lake to take in the entirety of the park and its sights. As we neared the boat ramp and kayak launch area, we saw a beautiful Great Blue Heron near the shoreline, and slowed down to take a few pictures.

As we pulled away, my spouse and I began to exchange past kayaking stories of times when Blue Herons had seemed to guide us down the river. The herons would go before us, wait for us to catch up, then fly to a new spot downstream only to repeat this process all over again. I commented to my spouse that because of this guidance, I have always viewed blue herons as a sign that things were going to be alright, and seeing them has always brought me a great deal of comfort.

Signs are a part of our Christian tradition, and we needn’t look any further than the gospel of John to see evidence of this. In John’s gospel, there are a number of signs. Those signs are miraculous, (water turned to wine; a man born blind made to see; a man dead for four days raised, to name a few), but they aren’t there to knock our socks off with awe and wonder. Signs aren’t about the event or the thing or the person involved. Signs are meant to point us toward something else–beyond whatever it is we might see in front of us toward a meaning that cannot always so easily be brought into words. 

Whenever I see a Great Blue Heron, it points me beyond the uncertainty of the present moment toward a deep assurance that, in the words of Mystic Julian of Norwich, “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” It points me beyond the despair of the present moment toward the hope of the next. This sign points me beyond what seems impossible in the here and now toward the possibilities of tomorrow. For me, the Great Blue Heron is a sign that leads me forward even when I cannot imagine that anything lies beyond the river bend. 

Take a look around. What signs are present in your midst? What is something that you can see or touch that is pointing you beyond yourself and toward something not so easily named? Maybe it’s a song that comes on the radio, leading you to remember the love you share with your partner. Maybe it’s the rainfall that is pointing you toward refreshment and renewal in another part of your life. Maybe it’s a phone call from a friend, pointing you beyond your isolation or your grief toward the community and the love available to you. I’m not sure what it is for you, but I believe that God is in it–always pointing us beyond wherever we may find ourselves toward healing, wholeness, and life.

So watch for those signs this week, Beloved. They’re here–all around us–just waiting for us to notice and to hear that deep truth for ourselves:  That “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Watching for signs with you,
Pr. Melissa

​Recently I was on a walk with our dogs, Hank and Dexter. It was a warm, muggy morning, but the temperature hadn’t yet reached a point where we shouldn’t be out at all. The dogs were happy to be outside and getting ALL the sniffs in the neighborhood, and I was glad for some fresh air before resigning myself to another day indoors due to “heat dome 2023.” 

The walk had been going pretty well until we reached the final leg of our journey:  11th Street. If you know anything about 11th Street near my part of town, it is SORELY lacking sidewalks and a safe place to cross the street. Normally, we don’t bother crossing the street at all, walking instead on the grass of a couple neighbors’ yards near the curb. This day, however, one of the neighbors had their yard treated, and we were going to have to cross the street to walk safely on the grass on the other side.

So we stood on the corner and waited. And waited. And waited for a break in the traffic. Finally, a medium-sized break in the traffic came, and my dogs and I started hurrying across the street. All of a sudden, the dogs got a whiff of something–either in the air or on the road–that caused one of them to zig and the other to zag RIGHT in front of me. I stumbled and flailed and skipped, trying desperately to remain upright, but I couldn’t do it. I landed SMACK DAB in the middle of the road on–of all things–my left knee. 

As I looked up, the pick-up truck that we had been trying to beat was getting closer and closer to the heap of my body and our dogs in the middle of the road. I scrambled again, this time to get up and with a great deal of pain, while the pick-up slowed down, leaving us enough room to safely cross to the other side of the road.

I’ll save you the gory details. Suffice it to say, my left knee was throbbing and bleeding…and my pride was in a sorry shape as well. I was horribly embarrassed–hurting inside and out–so, naturally, I began berating myself under my breath. I called myself names, said things that are completely untrue like, “People are going to think that because I’m overweight I can’t even walk across the street,” or “I bet no thin person has ever looked so stupid.” I came up with theories about how people who “have it more together” (whoever they are) would never have any trouble walking two dogs at the same time, which wasn’t even the real issue anyway. All of that and more swirled in my mind in that short half-block back to our home.

I wonder if you’ve ever spoken to yourself in a similar manner? Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we treat ourselves in this way? Why, when we make a mistake or we stumble and fall (literally or metaphorically) do we speak to ourselves in a way we would NEVER speak to another? Why are insults and put-downs and harsh language our default when we do something as HUMAN as tripping, stumbling, falling, making a mistake, choosing the wrong path, or any number of other very human things? Why do we insist on meeting our embarrassment and shame with mounds of self-loathing?!

I think it’s because we are vulnerable and, as a species, we don’t do vulnerability well. We try to avoid it by being perfect in some way, shape, or form, only to find that–inevitably–perfectionism is always out of our reach. But we beat ourselves up anyway, thinking that when we do it will keep us from feeling all of the discomfort and the messy emotions that vulnerability brings with it. Fun fact:  It NEVER works out the way we think it will.

​Brené Brown says that the first step in overcoming shame is to speak to ourselves the way that we would speak to someone we love. I don’t know about you, but I would for sure NEVER speak to my spouse or my parents or my family members the way I sometimes speak to myself. I certainly wouldn’t speak to anyone I love the way I did that day in the street.

I am reminded that Jesus gave us two commandments:  1) Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength; and 2) Love your neighbor as yourself. I think it’s easy to forget that last part:  AS YOURSELF. And yet, I cannot help thinking that Jesus was onto something. Perhaps Jesus understood in a way that many of us are still learning that we cannot pour water from an empty pitcher. 

Sure, we can try. We can offer love and kindness to others that we wouldn’t extend ourselves, but such giving always breaks down. Either by completely depleting us, moving us toward an unhealthy hustling for our worth, or turning into a sort of performative martyrdom. The truth is that when we practice self-love and practice speaking to ourselves in kind and loving ways, that self-love fills our pitchers and KEEPS filling them. As we practice self-love and practice sharing that love over and over and over again, it creates a life-giving system of filling, pouring, and repeating. Certainly the world could use SO MUCH MORE of that than it could more self-deprecation and shame. 

So this week, friends, join me in going easy on yourself. Practice speaking to yourselves the way you would someone you love. Notice how it changes you…notice how it changes those around you.

Learning to practice self-love with you,
Pr. Melissa