On Stretching Out and Falling Down

 

God seems to think it's fun lately to scooch me out of my comfort zone a little. And that saying, "Pride goes before the fall..?" Yeah. This is a little about my last two months. No. Cap.

On May 10th, I was ordained as an Elder in the Church of the Nazarene. The vocab is confusing for some, because different churches have different meanings for the word Elder. Basically, it means I can now be called Rev. Williams (but seriously, you don't have to call me that), and that I could potentially be hired as a lead pastor of a Nazarene Congregation. It also means, for me, the culmination of about 6 years of classes through Nazarene Bible College, four yearly interviews for a district licenses, a weekend at Point Loma for psych tests, classes, and meetings, many lunch conversations with my mentor, a big interview with the district's credentials committee, and a dinner conversation with our GS. And it means that those hard-to-define tugs in my grade-school-self's heart finally had a tangible form. May 10th was a wonderful day. 

However, for the sake of this blog post I have to tell you what happened. I'm in this perfect, black dress that I picked out with my mom. With the pearls and the black wedge dress shoes. We'd just taken a picture with our DS and GS. And we were headed back inside to line up for the procession at the beginning of the service. And guess what...My pretty black wedge shoe hit an unexpected buckle in the sidewalk and BOOM. Yeah. I lay there with my dress probably exposing way too much, and everyone ask if I was ok, wondering "Did I break anything?" and "If I did...could I wait until after this ceremony to go to the ER." Fortunatley, I was able to get up, brush myself off, and keep going. But, I could not have thought of a more perfect moment to define most of the next two months.

Ministry takes a lot of forms for me, as part of a bi-vocational "outside-the-box" church plant position. My side hustle is substitute teaching in the public schools, primarily in junior high. You can think of this as my "fundraising" which enables me to serve a small congregation that can't afford a full-time staff. You may also think of this as "being a missionary in a creative access area." I find ways to be like Jesus without using words or proselytizing, a way to keep my ear to the pulse of my kids' generation, and an opportunity provide a service that makes a difference in the community. 

So, for over three weeks I was a Spanish teacher. Yeah...I know...No hablo muy bien español. This particular classroom had two separate teachers quit in the past year. I'm pretty sure that's all I need to say there.

I tried to bring my A game. I bought "Loteria" cards on Amazon, hydro-flask stickers in Spanish, and Dum Dums. I asked my friend, Pearl for cute sayings to share and I posted clear, reasonable expectations for them on the white board. I think deep down I kind of believed I was going to be Mary Poppins, y'all. Despite all the odds stacked against me I kind of still believed I could turn this ship around for them. But the thing about junior high students is they. will. keep. you. humble.

There was this one day where I had said, "boys, please stop touching each other" and "I'll wait..." too many times and I'd played the Wack-a-mole game of confiscating phones over and over. And then I overheard some girls making fun of the substitute teacher that filled in for me a few days before and laughing at how they'd made her cry, and I lost it. I fell down. Hard. And not only did I have to apologize for losing my cool but I had to finally admit to myself that I wasn't these kids' savior. 

But the thing about falling down? You get back up. You brush yourself off and you get back up and, as the Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt taught us, you remind yourself you can do anything for ten minutes. And then another ten minutes. 

And it got better. Mostly. Possibly because they saw that they weren't going to scare me away. So, I started having them skip the repetitive conjugating of verbs that were in the lesson plans I was given (I promise that I don't make a habit of changing lesson plans). I had them write paragraphs in Spanish about their dream vacation or the five people who have the most influence on them. 

The fun part was having Pearl and Kenny come over and help me select the winners of the "Pearl and Kenny Awards for Excellence in Spanish Literature." And some of the stuff we read was B.S. One was even just written in English. But I could tell that it meant something to them that I cared to hear about their lives, and took the time to translate them, even though they all knew I was quite the imposter when it came to being a Spanish teacher. And in the end, we all survived. Did I almost call security on the second to last day to escort a student out? Yes. Did I still get called "Bruh", and find a forbidden piece of gum stuck to the floor? Absolutely. But did I quit before the three weeks were up? No.

The very next day, I put on another ministry cap, and left for San Diego at 6 a.m. with 24 teenagers and four other adults for Elev8 at Point Loma Nazarene University. We were traveling with Journey of Grace, the church I grew up at and served for about 7 years. Daniel, Moses, and Kody were our regular Table Church kids but have been attending Wednesday nights at Journey of Grace and knew everyone really well. Then there were four kids who go to the Christian School where we occasionally rent space from, and where Trevor and Ryan and started a Table Youth Group. I know them, but they're relatively new to me.

The whole thing was outside my comfort zone in both literal and figurative ways. We had every single seat in both vans filled. Not only did we have a false-alarm tire problem that cost us over an hour at IHOP, but every stop, getting 24 teens in and out of the bathroom and convenience store was time consuming. We did not make it to San Diego until about 9 hours later. 

I love our teens. But not everyone is used to being part of a family of 24 and the adaptability that involves. Sometimes we don't have answers to, "When I am going to get to my dorm? Where is my stuff?" So, I started praying, that we'd all learn to put the needs of the group first and learn how to just trust and adapt. This prayer was probably my first mistake.

I hadn't slept more than three hours the night before, so packing into a loud, upbeat, jam-packed chapel that night for the pre-service festivities felt like an out of body experience. I hardly knew what was happening when the people at the front started asking the kids to send of their youth pastor to crowd surf. 

I am no more a youth pastor than I am a Spanish teacher. Yet somehow, I found my terrified, 5'2 self-standing up on a stage, looking into the cheering crowd, and someone was helping me from the stage onto a plastic raft.

I kept thinking, Is this real? Or am I having a dream? Like maybe I'd fallen asleep? But no... being dropped, my legs smacking against the chairs proved I was indeed awake, and this was really happening. After that first fall, I thought, Oh good! At least I can be done now! But nope. They all urged me back up onto the raft and moving forward through the air again. And then I was dropped. Again. And again. I finally tagged the back of the chapel, and they started passing me backwards, which didn't last long either. About six rows from the front, I was dropped once again, and I stood up and looked around, bewildered. The other contestants were not only done, but they were back in their seats, rafts being put away. And that's where I drew the line! There was absolutely no reason to continue, and I emphatically insisted this time that I was DONE!

I considered turning in my credentials. If this was what ordination involved, I wanted no more of that, thank you! But, by the next day, I was pretty proud of my bruised shins and my bravery. I think the only reason I had gotten up there was because I'd been praying the kids would embrace getting outside their comfort zones, doing hard things, and being team players. Did it teach the kids anything? Ummmm....I doubt it. But maybe.

Another noteworthy part of the trip was the special care Point Loma took with Moses' dietary needs. Even though I was coming, a trip like this is always outside our comfort zone. I knew there might be times where I didn't see him for hours or he might end up ordering for himself. But the head chef walked us through everything, they have a Top-8 free section, and there was always more than enough. Our Heavenly Father is so good to provide!

I got back from the trip, with lots of fun pictures and memories but not a lot of sleep, and NO VOICE. After sleeping and regaining about 75% of it back, I took off on yet another trip outside my comfort zone.

About six weeks ago my friends, Pearl, and Robyn began talking about a "girls' camping trip." I let them know I wasn't really a camper. I'm indoorsy. They didn't mind. I let them know they would probably mind because I'm not easy to be around when I'm dirty, tired, anxious, and cold. They promised they would still be my friend. I let them know I was terrified of bugs and bears. They talked me through that too. They even promised to bring a cot and air mattress to put in Robyn's enormous tent. Dan wasn't quite sure why I would go camping when I don't like camping and have refused to do it for 20 years. But I really like Robyn and Pearl. And the older I get the more I realize that if people WANT to hang out with you so badly that they're even willing to hang out with the worst version of you...those people are worth holding onto and appreciating. And stretching your comfort zone for a little. As long as what they're asking you to do is legal ;-). 

So, once again, I found myself in an Am I asleep and dreaming this? But it was very, very real. My honest assessment is that the downsides of this adventure were: I froze the first night and therefore slept very little. I was wearing every piece of clothing I brought with me and still shivering. I would need to prepare MUCH better next time. Second, I had no voice, and half the fun of a girl's trip is spilling all the tea, but maybe God was preventing me from that on purpose and telling me to just be a better listener. So, there's that. Third, when you go camping, unlike going to a hotel, or Camp Pinerock, or Elev8, you have to do choresy things like wash your dishes. And if you don't wash your dishes right away you attract bears, and you might get eaten. A whole lot is at stake. I still wouldn't call myself a "camper" any more than I would call myself a "Spanish Teacher" or a "Youth Pastor." I'm definitely an imposter.

 But the upsides??? The smell of campfire, and wildflowers, and pine trees. Laying in a hammock and being able to hear myself think because my smart phone isn't working. Feeling brave and strong. S'mores with Reese's peanut butter cups. Card games. The lake. And my two air-mattress filling, bee-chasing, wisdom sharing friends.

I'm going to end this here, hoping I'm getting a break from some of this stretching and falling for now. But, as a mom of two teenagers, I'm sure that we're far from done.