Trick-or-Treat?

A few years back, our local Christian radio station ran a poll asking whether Halloween is spiritually harmful. The response from a predominantly evangelical audience here in Ohio was two-to-one against Halloween. This did not surprise me. It is now popular in some Christian circles to repudiate any celebration of All Hallows Eve - Halloween.

On the calendar of events for the Christian college where I teach, October 31 sits in a dark square with no acknowledgment that there is anything special about the date.

"It's Satan's Holiday, Dr. Rearick," affirmed one of my students. "Didn't you know?"

Well, no, I didn't know. And I am reluctant to give up what was one of the highlights of my childhood calendar to the Great Impostor and Chief of Liars for no reason except that some of his servants claim it as his.

I have always considered Halloween a day to celebrate the imagination, to become for a short time something wonderful and strange, smelling of grease paint, to taste sweets that are permissible only once a year. How wonderful to be with other children dressed up as what they might grow up to be, what they wished they could be, or even what they secretly feared. All of us, dreams and nightmares, were brought together on equal footing, going from door to door to be given treats and admired for our creativity. How delightful to go to parties with doughnuts, apples, brown cider, and pumpkin cakes - and to hear spine-tingling ghost stories and feel our hearts skip a beat when the teller grabbed for us.

Now some are pressuring us to give this all up, and they use what is for some of us the most difficult argument to answer: it's the "Christian" thing to do.

Some Christians shun make-believe. Such believers feel that a young Christian's mind should never long to be in lands where little men have fuzzy feet, dragons breathe fire, and horses have wings. Instead, they maintain that a Christian should be caught up in the here and now of the "real" world. Defending the reality of fiction and the value of fantasy requires an entirely different essay.

Christians certainly may be leery of sharing anything with modern pagans and Satanists who claim Halloween as theirs. But who gave these individuals the right to claim the holiday? If they are Druids, they are celebrating Samhain, which is not Halloween but an even older holiday. As for Satanists, their calendar is a perversion of Christian seasons - there would be no Satanists if there were no Christians. Let them claim all they want. I give them nothing.

"But look at the roots of Halloween," some may say. "Don't you see how evil it once was?" I do, but the operative word in that sentence is was. Samhain was once a time of fear and dread, but at one time so was Yule or Midvinterblot, as it was called in Sweden. Toward the time of the winter solstice, the days became shorter and colder. The land was laid waste. In pagan times, to keep the fire of the life-giving sun alight, people often made sacrifices before a great oak tree. Boniface is supposed to have stopped one such sacrifice and instituted the indoor Christmas tree at the same time. The burning of such logs in the midst of sacrifice has come down to us as the traditions of burning Yule logs and enjoying Christmas trees.

I'm not suggesting fir trees and Yule logs be banned from Christmas; I'm only demonstrating what has happened time and again in history. For our pagan ancestors, the holidays that marked the great seasonal changes were often fearful, terrible, and dark. But with the coming of Christ came a great light that reclaimed not only individuals but also the holidays they celebrated. In the case of Midvinterblot and Yule, the holidays that once marked the terrible price required to provide light instead began to express the joyous arrival of God's true light.

What would a reclaimed Halloween express? In our culture, Halloween traditionally has allowed us to look at what frightens us - to experience it, to laugh at it, and to come through it. So at the end of October, we are visited by cute Caspers, laughing pumpkin heads, and goofy ghouls.
Should the forces of evil be mocked? Should Satan be laughed at? He most certainly should be. At the beginning of The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis includes two telling quotations, the first from Martin Luther: "The best way to drive out the devil, if he will not yield to texts of Scripture, is to jeer and flout him, for he cannot bear scorn."

The second comes from Thomas More: "The devil ? the proud spirit cannot endure to be mocked."

The one thing Satan cannot bear is to be a source of laughter. His pride is undermined by his own knowledge that his infernal rebellion against God is in reality an absurd farce. Hating laughter, he demands to be taken seriously. Indeed, I would say that those Christians who spend the night of October 31 filled with concern over what evils might be (and sometimes are) taking place are doing the very thing Lucifer wants them to do. By giving him this respect, such believers are giving his authority credence.

Not all believers should celebrate Halloween. For those who have been redeemed from the occult, Halloween in its foolishness may contain what was for them deadly seriousness. While their souls were in deadly peril, however, what they experienced were lies and illusions.

It is understandable that they look with horror upon what once enslaved them. Such sensitivity may be appropriate for them, but it is not appropriate for the majority of Christians. Holding their opinions as appropriate for most believers is like having a former bulimic dictate how Christians should regard church hot-plate socials.

Christians should instead celebrate Halloween with gusto. If we follow the traditional formula of having a good time at his expense, Satan flees.

If we give up All Hallows Eve, we lose the delight of God's gift of imagination and we condemn the rest of society to a darker Halloween because our laughter will not be there to make the devil run.

Angry at the Wrong People

Last week a former colleague from my first job out of college (I'll call him Bob) found me on Facebook. Within moments of accepting his friend request, we were leaving jokey notes on each others' pictures and status updates. It was so fun to reconnect with someone I had once shared so many laughs at work.

But then he noticed a picture of my husband standing next to one of those life-sized cut-outs of Sarah Palin and John McCain. Bob wrote on my wall: "Is your husband really standing next to Palin/McCain? If so, why?" So I sent back a jokey note explaining the picture. Apparently, I wasn't so amusing since Bob immediately sent me a message saying I had to tell him right then if my husband supported Republicans or if I, in fact, had ever voted Republican. He said in no uncertain terms that he could not be my friend if either of us had.

Still hoping he was kidding, I made light. The tone and content of his email meant business. He was dead serious. It was bad enough I was a Christian. He wanted nothing doing with someone who might share the "vile beliefs" of Christians and/or conservatives.

Here's the deal: My friend Bob is gay.

In particular, he's a gay man who hasn't encountered many friendly Christians or conservatives in his life. So now that he no longer saw me as his former funny friend from work, but instead as a Christian, possibly conservative, suburban mom, he apparently imagined me marching with a "God Hates Gays" placard shouting venom about where homosexuals will burn.

I can't say I blame him for his hurt and anger - I too shudder at the placards and taunts that have come from "Christians" toward the homosexual community. But the trouble was, Bob was angry at me personally for views he supposed I held, choices he imagined I made, and actions he assumed I took to "oppress" gay people, to keep them out of churches, the public square, and maybe even Heaven!

His anger was misguided. If he had taken the time to ask, to listen, to share, to question, if he had taken the time to know me and not the stereotype, he'd have heard a different story than the one he'd conjoured up. We probably would have continued to disagree on many areas, but not in the ways he thought.

I have to tell you: I'm surprised by how much this episode has saddened and hurt me. But it's opened my eyes, to a hurting person and probable community, and also to my own behavior, and the way I often I lash out - at the wrong people - when I'm hurt and angry and feel victimized or oppressed.

Certainly, we Christian women gifted in leadership have felt these emotions in our lives. But what a great reminder it is to not "shoot the messenger" as they say. To not let our anger and hurt get in the way of open dialogue and of making room for understanding and sharing. To not let differing views hinder friendships and working relationships. Even when it's hard.

Recently someone told me to remember the words of Ephesians 6:12 when we're dealing with people with whom we disagree: "For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places."

Bob and I are no longer Facebook friends. He un-friended me (which is no easy task on Facebook!). And it's actually okay. Especially after Bob called me a Nazi and made racial slurs against my husband, I realized that Bob wasn't the same person I remembered either. But it's got me praying more - that Bob finds peace and love in this world. That he sees Jesus in someone, somehow, and can accept the loving grace that he offers. And that all of us, when we feel kicked to the curb, don't lash out at the first person walking by.

A Woman of Integrity

Integrity doesn't often come up in conversations about women in leadership - have you ever head the phrase "A Woman of Integrity"? Me either. Maybe it's because we just assume women are honest and morally upright. Or maybe we assume men aren't. I don't know. But I do know that gender doesn't have anything to do with the importance of being trustworthy. It doesn't have anything to do with being someone others can count on to do what's right, no matter what the cost.

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What's Missing In Friendship

Are we missing something in today's relationships with our friends?

I'm beginning to think that women's relationships are not what they use to be. Over the last few weeks, I've had repeated discussions about this. A complete stranger, a new friend I'd just met, and an old friend that I was having dinner with have each brought it up in conversation unprompted.

I think God is trying to tell me something.

In each case the discussion has led into how these women are tired of superficial living. That they have each reached points in their lives where they feel that everyone around them is putting on a good face, that their friendships are surface only, and that they themselves are tired of living this way. They want to get real. And they want me to join them.

And I have to say that I agree. But, for a long time I've felt it was just me. A pet peeve that I've had.

But is it something more?

The strange thing about these conversations is that all three women would appear on the outside to have it all. Good jobs. Great family lives. A multitude of friends. They are successful women by all accounts. Still, as we sat together talking, each time I could tell that they were lonely, they felt isolated, and they were hoping for friendship that went beyond the surface for a change. I understood completely.

I believe that women today are struggling through life in relationships that Beth Moore has called "a mile wide and one inch deep." Superficial living. Superficial relationships. Superficial hope. Something I find deeply sad. Something I find uncomfortably familiar.

You know, this is one thing that our mothers' generation got right. Relationships with other women. They understood. There was an unspoken bond between them. A nod towards shared lifestyles and experiences. A comfort in understanding that most women were very much like you.

While diversity in womanhood is to be celebrated, I often wonder if we are actually celebrating or exploiting our differences? Are we showcasing them to teach others things they may have never had the opportunity to enjoy and maybe help them get there? Or are we doing so in an effort to make ourselves stand out as "different" and therefore "better" in some way because we go against the grain in such a way that is coveted in today's society?

Do we now have more things that differ between us than those that we share? Or are we putting up fronts, pretending to be things that we aren't to impress people we will barely get to know because of it?

And if what we are doing is pushing each other away in an attempt to build ourselves up or better position ourselves in society, what good is it to be at the top of that mountain - alone?

As women of faith we should draw near to each other as we draw near to God. We are called to minister to one another. To reach between the differences and find the commonalities. To offer friendship in the chance that one day we might offer the hope of Christ. Sincere friendships that aren't based on appearances, street addresses, occupations, titles, or church attendance. Friendships based on godly ideals, not the world's.

We need to ignore the inner push to protect ourselves and honor the inner voice leading us to make ourselves vulnerable to someone who needs to see vulnerability in a friend. So that someone desperate for hope might find that spark through a conversation that leads to friendship and possibly the hope that comes through knowing God.

What do you think?

How We Treat the "Missionary Wife"

"Speak," I said, as I picked up the phone. No, I wasn't talking to the dog or being rude. That's just the way you answer the phone in Spanish. "Is your Lord and Master there?" asked the cultured voice on the other end of the wire. I froze.

I recognized the voice. It belonged to one of the elders of our church. I wondered whether he was serious or joking, but given the openly chauvinistic culture, I figured he could actually mean what he said fairly literally. After quite a few years working in that country, I had come to understand that women are primarily valued for their physical and domestic service to men. Oh, and their looks.

This kind of world view can be one of the biggest aspects of culture shock to an educated, gifted woman serving overseas. Shopping on a daily basis, not having a dryer, learning to speak another language: all these challenges we can meet. But dealing with open, blatant chauvinism from the society and the local church can be really draining.

It is true that we chose to go overseas and serve. And it's true we knew there would be obstacles to ministry. If only the problem stopped there it wouldn't be quite so bad. But for some of us, the problem is compounded by our sending churches. Supporting churches frequently ask my husband for a report about his ministry. Sometimes they ask me about the kids, but almost never do they ask me about ministry. After all, I'm a "missionary wife." (Does that mean I am not a missionary? Is there such a thing as a "missionary husband?") When we are back in the U.S., churches often ask my husband to speak or give a testimony. Not me. I've been prayed for in public by the wrong name, had my husband's name but not mine listed in the bulletin as "today's visiting missionaries," and my husband was once told that "the wife" could say something about the children if she wished. I sometimes struggle with what it means to "work for the Lord, not for men." Does that mean it's all right for a church to publicly recognize my husband's service but not mine? Am I wrong to feel that these are small marks of disrespect, which add up to a feeling of namelessness and voicelessness?

Over the years we have developed a few strategies to help combat my namelessness. If my husband is asked to speak, he'll suggest which part I can do. Or if they suggest I teach the four-year-olds he's learned to say, "That's not really her gift, but she would be glad to speak to an adult class." Sometimes it works, sometimes not. At least we are unified in the effort. As to that church elder, for once I was able to think on my feet and I told him that I was sure God was reigning in heaven as always. At which point he asked if my husband was home.

Do you have a friend serving overseas? Has your church sent a missionary somewhere to serve outside her home culture? I encourage you to send this on to her and see what kind of dialogue might start. While it's true that missionaries need financial and prayer support, sometimes what we most need is someone to know our name.

Loving Your Prodigal

What can parents do to bring their prodigal back home, literally or figuratively?

With our daughter, we maintained a relationship with her throughout her struggle. I think keeping a connection is an essential part of loving your prodigal child. As difficult as it can be, parents need to stay in contact with that child. Don't cut them off. Show your love for them. That doesn't mean you accept what they're doing. In fact, we were always clear with Sheryl that we didn't like her lifestyle. Your child might say, "What I'm doing is me. If you don't accept that, you don't accept me." If that happens, it's important to say, "You are not your behavior or your lifestyle. You have value apart from what you do. And we love you as a person. We value you as a person."

Some parents use the subtle-hint approach. They'll put a book in the child's backpack or leave a note on her bed reminding the child that she is loved. They'll say, "Let me tell you how I'm praying for you." It doesn't have to be anything long or complex, just an expression of care and love.

In the end, of course, it's God who will change a child's heart. Parents can only be faithful and know that God is in control.

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The Woman Who Got It Right

Editor's note: Dr. Sue Edwards is one of the amazing women we met at Gifted for Leadership's Synergy conference last year. Hope to meet you there this March!

I'm one of three full time women on the faculty at Dallas Theological Seminary and during our weekly faculty meeting, I sometimes struggle to find my voice. I want to be like the woman in Mark 7:24-30 who found middle ground between silence and aggression. Her little daughter needed healing, and even though she was a Gentile, she was not afraid to tell Jesus exactly what she needed.

Jesus traveled to Tyre and did not want anyone to know he was there; yet he could not keep his presence secret. In fact, as soon as she heard about him, she fell at his feet, begging him to heal her child (Mark 7:24?26). However, he was not there to minister publicly but to secure private time to instruct his disciples - so he denied her request. Perhaps Jesus did not appreciate the interruption.

In ministry, we often find we must go to male leaders for what we need. For a variety of reasons, sometimes these men are not receptive. Back in the nineties, I served as volunteer director of women's ministries in a megachurch. I was at the mercy of the male pastors for resources. But I had not yet found my voice, so during the few meetings with the senior pastor, I clammed up and did not express my needs well.

I taught the Bible to large groups of women - sometimes hundreds - and talked openly with my family and friends, but with him I was inhibited. As I interacted with this male leader, I was confused. How should I act? forceful like a savvy business woman? demure and shy like I had been taught by a Bible-study leader years earlier? I did not understand that I was his spiritual sister, a sacred sibling, so I did not act like one.

This Gentile woman in Mark 7 could easily have felt confused too, especially since she was not "one of his kind." But she did not let that deter her. She was direct and upfront because her cause was worthy. Her daughter needed healing. My cause was worthy too. I needed resources to minister to thousands of women in our church. But I allowed this man to intimidate me. Not this woman! I should have taken a lesson from her. She asked directly, but her request was denied nevertheless. What do we do then?

First let the children eat all they want, he told her, for it is not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs. (Mark 7:27) Ouch! That hurt! Jesus painted a picture that excluded her. In the passage, the children represented his disciples who were waiting to be fed. The children's bread was figurative language for the benefits his disciples enjoyed, and the dogs were not street mongrels but probably house pets, who sat under the table hoping for a tasty morsel to fall. Jesus was not comparing her to a Gentile dog, the Jewish derogatory term for outsiders. But Jesus still denied her request - and being compared to any dog, even a pampered pet, could not have been pleasant. But she did not allow hurt feelings to overwhelm her nor did she respond defensively. Instead, she understood that she was not on his agenda for the day. But she persisted nevertheless. She believed her need was worthy to be on his agenda.

Yes, Lord, she replied, but even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs (Mark 7:28). Not angry but consensual words. He was right. She was not a disciple or a Jew. But she was somebody and so was her daughter. She did not want much of his time, just a crumb. And with wise, reverent words she continued her argument. He heard her out, was impressed with what he heard, and granted her request. For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter (v. 29). Men respect women who believe in their cause and are willing to make a cogent case, as long as they do so with grace and humility. This Lebanese sister models the healthy balance between drawing back and rushing forward foolishly. I'll reread her responses the next time I need to speak up. Your thoughts?

Marriage: A Story Shared

"You were so young." That's what most people say when they look at the wedding picture displayed in our living room. And we were young - twenty-three and twenty-two, in a culture where the average age for first marriages is 26.7 years. And to add to that, we had only known each other fourteen months and had never lived in the same state. In hindsight I wonder if, to some people, our wedding eight years ago today looked like it was headed for disaster - our reckless choices leading to that one moment when one of us would wake up wondering, "Who is this strange person I married? And why did I make this commitment?"

Not that we haven't asked that first question, but, thank God, it has not been disastrous. After several months of marriage, Justin told me that he had thought I would love going to rock concerts. (I don't - too much smoke and noise.) And I was disappointed that, on Saturday mornings, he wanted to stay in bed (amazing!) while I launched myself into the blissful, productive, freedom of the weekend.

But despite these unmet expectations, we're happy we married. We had plenty of confirmation from close friends and family and felt led by the Holy Spirit. We wanted to marry, not just because we loved each other (we did), but because we liked each other - a lot. In his blog, Jesus Creed, Scott McKnight makes a good and unique argument for marriage and against divorce. This argument is memory and story. When Scripture says, "The two shall become one," we can read it not only as a physical oneness, but as a joining of story: my story + Justin's story = our story.

One of the earlier stories we share, one whose telling has repeatedly encouraged our marriage, happened a few weeks before our wedding. When Justin went to his alma mater homecoming and didn't call me during the trip (despite the fact that he said he would), I was furious. Upon meeting him at the concourse in the airport, the first thing I said, before a kiss or hug or any romantic greeting, was, "You didn't call!" I remember saying it with a percussive tongue in an accusatory manner. He looked at me, wide-eyed and shocked. He'd forgotten, of course, and this was before cell phone ubiquity. Meanwhile, about ten feet away, another couple was greeting each other after some absence. The man was down on one knee with a little box, proposing. I hoped they didn't see us; we were no poster children for the romance of airports. Later, when relaying this story to my parents, my dad said, "You know the big ?C', right?" "Commitment?" asked my mother. "Call?" I accused. "Communication," Dad said. Through the past eight years, we've joked about the 3 C's - and how they can all help make a marriage good, especially when practiced in tandem.

Another story, one that's actually less of a story and more of a shared philosophy, began before we were married when Justin attended a lecture on marriage. In it, the professor passed out a green piece of paper with a title and three lines of dialogue. It looked something like this:

A Christian Wedding

Couple: Help!

Congregation: We'll try!

Minister: Lord, stand by.

What we found so significant about this was that, rather than focusing on the couple as the pinnacle of the wedding ceremony, the community and God were given equal space. Sure, after eight years, Justin and I have spent a lot of time alone - just us. We have not seen some of the folks who attended our wedding since the actual day, and right now there are only two people who were there who live in our city. But a wedding takes place within a community of believers. And our vows are not just our vows. They are also the vows of the community. We hold some responsibility for each other's marriages. And, after eight years, I am thankful for members of our community - my parents and siblings and several close friends, who have continued trying when I've reiterated my need for help.

I love that the first miracle recorded in the Gospel of John is the story of the wedding in Cana where Jesus changes the water into wine. When the master of the banquet tastes the wine, he comments to the bridegroom, "Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now." Today I read this story as a metaphor for marriage in a culture where marriage is less about the community's responsibility and God's work and more about the actual wedding itself - the dress, the colors, the party. In our culture where youth, visual sensuality, and lustful romance are celebrated, a long-term marriage can start to seem archaic and boring. But, through the work of Christ, in our stories, long-term marriage can be ones where the better wine comes last, not first.

I'm well aware that eight years isn't long, and we're in for many unknowns to surprise and maybe scare us. But today, with eight years down and an unknown number until Justin and I are parted by death, I pray, "God, keep our story one. Give us strength to communicate even when we are tired or distracted. Help our community to support us in our covenant with one another and you. And give us the best wine last. In the name of Jesus, Amen."

Workaholic Faith

When I became a Christian, I knew I'd found my life purpose. I wanted to serve God with my last ounce of strength. I read Christian biographies voraciously and latched onto any report of modern-day Christians who were giving their all to Christ and his kingdom. I often felt that my life was too easy - that I never suffered for Christ as some people did, which to my way of thinking made me an inferior Christian. What this translated into for my life was that I said yes to everything anyone asked me to do and constantly looked for challenging people and situations to be involved with.

What this eventually led to (it took about 20 years - I'm tough) was burnout. I over-extended myself in almost every area of my life. In my false idea that only doing the hard things would please God, I worked part-time for a Christian organization, volunteered for three different organizations, and mothered three children. I wanted to do all of this perfectly, better than anyone had ever done any of them before. I also looked for practical needs all the time that I could meet. During this time, I remember telling the women in my small group that I always worry that I'm not doing enough to serve God. They looked at me shocked and said, "You worry about not doing enough?" I could tell by their expressions that I'd just put them all under the pile, but I stuck to my conviction (that I truly felt) that I wasn't doing enough.

To illustrate this, I remember getting a prayer letter during this time period from a couple who worked in the inner city. They said that they'd taught their children to hit the ground if they heard gunshots. When I read that I cried and cried, because I thought, Now they're really serving the Lord. If I was serving God, I'd be doing something like that.

What happened is that I completely crashed and ended up quitting my job and many of my volunteer activities (I kept my children). I didn't want to do anything except play mindless computer games all day long. For a long time, I was mad at God and mad at Christians for placing so many expectations on me. Finally after having meaningless days and sinking into apathetic depression, I faced the fact that I was to blame. Instead of listening to God and doing only what he had gifted me to do, I charged ahead following every need that came across my path. I had developed some kind of weird philosophy of life that said I had to fix everything I saw that seemed wrong, and that I was only serving God if I was suffering. I thought I was listening to God, but instead I was listening to some kind of inner slave driver who was relentless. I also wanted my life to count for something important, and only by being completely self-sacrificing could I see that happening.

It took me several years to figure this out. I was angry at God, but I didn't know it. I thought I was just tired. But I started being honest with him by saying, "God, I'm exhausted. I don't know what you want from me. I feel that all my adult life I've wanted to serve you and have responded to every need you've placed in front of me, but you didn't give me the strength to do it. You wanted more from me than I was capable of giving. Why did you abandon me? Why didn't you give me the stamina I needed?"

He didn't answer me immediately. I had to struggle with this for a while, which is what I see David doing in the Psalms. I didn't really get an answer until I walked through some different doors in life and broke away from the experiences I was stuck in. Only after I got a job that I really liked and was suited to, could I see the flaws in my mode of operation before. I had to be honest enough with myself to see what was wrong with my thinking and be willing to let my driving need to change the world stay in God's hands.

This meant losing the bid for "the greatest Christian in the world" award and being content to do just what God made me to do and wants me to do.

I needed to accept that God gave me gifts that were not the same as everyone else's. I had to realize that for some of us, just getting out of bed in the morning is a great spiritual victory. For others, going to the darkest jungles of Africa is obedience to God. The person in Africa is not necessarily more obedient than the depressed person who got out of bed. The important thing is that they are listening to God and being obedient. We don't know what God wants them to do. They may not even know what God wants them to do. So unless a person is being blatantly disobedient to God, we cannot judge their obedience - or compare our own to theirs.
Now, none of us would ever say aloud that we are playing the "I'm a better Christian than you are" game, but I think I've been playing it my entire Christian life and have only recently recognized it. I wanted to win! So I put my all into it and played it better than anyone. Somehow the Christian life became, "I will have the most crowns in heaven no matter what!" so that doing became a lot more important than being.

What about you? Are you striving for the "I'm a better Christian than you are" award? Or if you've been there and broken free, let us know how.

How Do I Uncover My Spiritual Gifts?

Notice the things that energize you and seem to come naturally. Remember the quote from the movie Chariots of Fire when Eric Liddell explained to his sister why he was postponing his return to the mission field in order to race in the Olympics? "Because when I run, I feel the pleasure of God."

Every spiritual gift gives off clues. Your spiritual gift will cause you to react a certain way in a given situation. If there's a problem, people with the spiritual gift of shepherding will be immediately concerned that people are cared for and growing in Christlikeness as a result of the issue. Those with the gift of intercession (prayer) will immediately say, "We need to pray about this," while those with a leadership gift will begin looking at solutions for the problem.

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What Love’s Got to Do with It

There's a woman across from me on a wooden bench describing her life as a member of a rural agricultural cooperative in northwestern Haiti. It's hot so we're sitting in the shade of an old Brazilian military tarp that has been strung up between two trees. I'm in northwestern Haiti as a photojournalist for Church World Service, to document the stories of men and women who support each other through low interest loans. She's speaking Creole, so I'm not catching everything she's saying, but I'm careful to make eye contact, nod, scribble notes, adjust my tape recorder, and glance at my translator every once in awhile.

The truth is, I'm not fully paying attention. Instead, I'm fully engaged in a daydream about a man that I've recently fallen in love with. As the woman explains the way that her life was changed by a loan of $50 that allowed her to purchase a donkey, I'm recalling the conversation he and I had on a balcony with the sun setting over Port-au-Prince where his vulnerable confessions of affection melted into my relief. She continues to describe the distance she and her donkey travel every day to carry goods to the market. I'm on the back of his motorcycle on our way to buy dinner from our favorite street vendor. And so the interview continues.

My work in Haiti took a drastic turn when I found myself in a relationship that had a sincerity and gravitational force that made any previous interests seem like planks on a bridge I was now crossing.

I continued to write stories and take photographs. I continued to take an interest in the daily lives of my Haitian friends. I attempted to speak Creole. But as the summer progressed, I found myself less interested in the nuances of Haitian culture and more interested in touring the halls of this new relationship. As I wrote in my journal, I began to feel a dissonance between enjoying the luxury of falling in love and recognizing the world outside our demilitarized zone. Because I chose to come to Haiti to love and serve the oppressed, falling headlong into a distracted daze felt like a capital crime.

But when I asked God about it, he seemed to not be as concerned with my work ethic as I was. Instead it seemed as if he was offering me a gift saying, "What if I brought you to Haiti, not to work for me, but to be blessed by me? Could you handle that?" I had a hard time accepting that God was inviting me to enjoy an afternoon eating chicken in the shade with this man, when outside the gate a mass of children would be waiting for leftovers.

Someone aptly reminded me, "Haitians also fall in love, you know." This reminded me that I had tried to see my ministry as hovering above another person's everyday experiences and loving them from an untouched place of centered holiness. Somehow I had it in my head that serving God overseas meant putting my human experience on hold so that I could be available to attend to the human experience of everyone else. Yet I'm noticing that time and time again, I am called to a bigger act of service than simply attending to others' needs.

The more challenging encounter is bringing the fullness of my humanity to the friends I encounter in ministry. In all of my recent ministry engagements I've been surprised by the feeling that I've behaved badly as a leader or servant. I've indulged too much time with kids living on the street when I should be attending to my own emotional needs, I've become frustrated with the way someone drives and written them off my list as potential friends, I've fallen in love and ignored everyone else in my path. Yet God is asking me to not just tolerate my humanity as a dark liquid that clouds the clear beverage of my ministry, but to see it as a necessary component to genuine human interaction.

When the Haitian women in the clothing market in Port-au-Prince saw us together, they giggled, teased, and asked if we were married. Surprised that we weren't, they offered many motherly suggestions and demanded that we kiss. Shock at this unsolicited public pre-marriage counseling session had the best of us in that moment, so we didn't. But it reminds me of the surprising way that humanity celebrates humanity and my ministry is to be a genuine participant in that gathering.

The One Necessary Thing

This coming March, my husband and I will welcome our first child into the world. The past four months have brought surprises around every corner, but none so surprising as the day I discovered the stereotypes that prevail in my own mind about women, mothers, and daughters.

Early one morning, my husband found me sobbing in our living room. He anxiously asked me what was wrong and I sobbed, "I'm going to be a terrible mother." The night before, during an inevitable bout of insomnia, I had happened upon the blog of a young mother living somewhere in middle America. This mother's blog was filled with accounts of life with her two daughters. Days spent contentedly making crafts together. Handmade Easter dresses and matching baskets. Little Princess mermaid parties complete with handmade mermaid outfits and pink party favors. Shopping and personalized embroidered clothing.

I've spent 23 of my 30 years pursuing some kind of education. I'm much more comfortable in lecture halls and libraries than I am in craft stores and at parties. So when I read this mother's blog, I was overwhelmed by the possibility I was not fit for motherhood. I don't like shopping. I don't like pink. I don't know the first thing about party favors. How in the world would I be competent to raise a daughter?

But when the emotion of the moment was over, I was shocked at the limited scope of my thinking. For a few hours, the motherhood I read about in that blog seemed to be the only way to raise a daughter. As someone who has chosen to devote her life to the study of leadership and women's experiences in leadership, I should have known better, but on first reaction, I didn't.

I think the same one-dimensional thinking can sometimes plague the way we approach ministry to women as well. Last year, Amy Simpson wrote a post titled, "Why I Don't Do Women's Ministry." She described the nature of women's ministries in our local churches, how they trend towards superficial activities rather than activities that foster deep spiritual growth. The response was overwhelming. While some women were angry with the description, it struck a chord of familiarity with many others. While some women viewed such activities as opportunities for community, others thought such activities were a waste of time. They desperately wanted more learning, more spiritual meat. Collectively they seemed to wonder, "Is this the only way to do women's ministry?"

When we hear the familiar story of Mary and Martha, our attention usually turns to either Martha or Mary. Martha carrying on with the busyness of her day. Mary at the feet of Jesus, listening. We don't usually hone in on the radical thing Jesus is doing. He's rocking the boat. He's upsetting the apple cart. He's teaching a woman the Word of God. Before Jesus, women were denied access to inner courtyards of the temple. Now, they're sitting at the very foot of the Teacher, the traditional position of a disciple. Jesus called this learning "the one necessary thing." All other things are ancillary.
I don't think the traditional approaches to women's ministry represent the only way to do ministry any more than that young mother's blog represented the only way to raise children. While there is room in the Christian life for fun and celebration, if such ministries are not supplemented by deep teaching and learning, they may very well be wrong. As women leaders, we have a responsibility to ensure that our all ministries are committed to "the one necessary thing." We have to ask ourselves, "Are we helping other women grow and mature into the likeness of Christ? Are we preparing them for a life of service to God through both times of joy and times of suffering?"

After that morning I spent crying in the living room, I went shopping at the local grocery store. The little store was crammed with people doing their weekend shopping. As I reached down to grab a block of cheddar cheese from the refrigerated bin, I overheard a conversation between a mother and daughter close behind me. "So, Mom, you mean that I am free, free to make my own choices, but God is ultimately in control? How is that possible?" I whirled around, surprised. The young girl's face was screwed up in consternation and confusion. The mother lovingly looked at her daughter and passionately described the paradox of God's love and sovereignty. Relief flooded through me at their interaction. I smiled. "Yeah," I thought, "I could do that."