This Advent was Supposed to be Great

As it turns out, when you buy a home, support your husband in his MBA, and birth three children all within five years of marriage, certain hobbies, such as blogging, take a backseat. Oops.

This hasn't been an almost five-year case of writer's block. I've had lots of ideas, but not enough functioning brain cells to string together a decent sentence (sleep is a precious commodity these days). Plus, some little person always wants another snack. However, recent family events have caused enough reflection that even this introvert needs to share. 


This Advent was supposed to be great. Our eldest daughter just turned four, meaning she's old enough to start to understand the story of the Nativity and the spirit of Christmas. I had so many Pinterest-inspired ideas for a holy Advent (the former Youth Minister in me was coming back to the surface): we were going to roll our own beeswax Advent candles for the wreath (which we did)! Make lots of donations to local pregnancy resource centers and Giving Tree programs! Try the Giving Manger! Order some fancy Jesse Tree craft! So many ideas... that would consequently cost so many dollars. 

Midway through the first week of Advent, Ryan came home in the middle of the day, looking sickly pale, and informed me that he'd just been laid-off... and we were now a zero-income household. 

Needless to say, all nonessential spending came to a screeching halt and any recent orders were cancelled. The Christmas cards I'd been stressing over the night before? No longer needed. Extra Christmas decorations? The Giving Manger? A wreath for our empty front door? Nope. We've always tried to live frugally, but our already-small budget practically disappeared. 

Ryan losing his job is a cross. He bears the heavy pressure of protecting us. It's his responsibility to tirelessly look for a new position so that our family can be well-provided for, while still being an attentive father to three very young daughters. I bear the weight of caring for our family on a teeny budget. There's a pit in our stomachs over the unknown. We don't know if we'll be living this way merely for weeks or for months. We don't know how much our savings will dwindle. We do know, however, that God gives grace for the moment, and so we're taking this one day at a time and entrusting it all to His loving care.

This Advent was supposed to be great. Despite outward appearances, it has been. 

Ironically, losing our income has made us feel immediately and deeply grateful. Our marriage is solid. Our children are healthy and happy (until we give them brussel sprouts). We have a lovely home in a wonderful neighborhood. We are free. We have a Savior who loves us and will never abandon us. If our heaviest cross concerns only money, then thank God. It doesn't make sense, but through Ryan's first unemployed evening, we felt inexplicably thankful for our faith, each other, and our children.

Where we stopped spending money, we found time. Instead of staying up late trying to finagle overpriced online Christmas cards (and potentially taking a hammer to my ancient laptop), I'm cuddling my baby and soaking up her little squeals, clicks, and stretches. Instead of trying to explain complicated crafts to my preschooler and toddler, we're pretending to be Disney princesses (over and over and over again). Instead of contemplating just one more decoration or scouring resale shops for another's treasures, I've simply crossed all that unnecessary spending off of my list and refocused on the lovely things we already have. Also, did I mention that I don't have to set foot in another hot, crowded, and noisy mall? Pity.

Most Advents, we'd be patting ourselves on the back after making a financial donation to a local charity (apparently missing the memo about the right hand not knowing what the left hand does). This year, we're learning how to humbly accept charity: an anonymous family graciously sponsored the next two months of our daughter's preschool tuition, neighborhood friends gifted us a Christmas tree, and many others have made generous offers. We realize how profoundly blessed we are by our community, family, and friends. 

There've been trying moments. Our normal family routine has gone out the window, which doesn't bode well with toddlers. I'm not exactly known to embrace change. It's really embarrassing to realize how spoiled we are, as our version of "doing without" means we still have plenty of food, heat, and healthcare... and yet I still lament not buying all the seasonal grocery treats. This whole experience has been a bittersweet mirror to my soul: I see both how many wonderful blessings I've been given, and also how regularly I overlook them and want for more. 

Tonight, however, the mirror got a little clearer when our family went to a local Christkindlmarkt and Live Nativity. As we strolled through the fair, admiring the local art and smelling the amazing aroma of warm, spiced nuts, I couldn't help feeling sorry for our family. Why did we come here just to look at stuff we can't buy? Moments later, I recognized a young mother whose husband died years ago, just weeks before the birth of their child. As I watched my own husband joyfully hold our daughters' hands and point out the Biblical characters in the creche, I could only imagine the heartache she's suffered. As I write this now, I think of our friends and family members who've endured unbelievable anguish in recent years. There are no words to describe how incredibly stupid I feel for ever grieving the temporary loss of things. I've been given so, so much and am extravagantly rich in the love of my husband, my children, and my Lord.

Despite my original plans and anxiety over the unknown, this has been our best Advent. I wanted to spend these four weeks teaching my daughters about Jesus and His holy birth, but instead, He's teaching us. We're learning that all the decorations, shopping, treats, and even well-intentioned catechetical ideas are just fluff (I wish I could say I already knew that, but apparently not). We're remembering that a loving marriage and precious children are our truest blessings. 

Even more importantly, we're being challenged to trust that, in good times and in bad, Christ is with us and His love will sustain us. He lovingly directs all things for our good (Romans 8:28) and promises the hope of Eternal Life with Him and all of our loved ones. We have a Lord who carries our crosses with us, and a Blessed Mother who gently guides and protects us as only a mama can. This past week, our Lady of Guadalupe was dear to our hearts as we recalled her words, "Do not be troubled or weighed down with grief. Do not fear any illness or vexation, anxiety or pain. Am I not here who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not your fountain of life? Are you not in the folds of my mantle? In the crossing of my arms? Is there anything else you need?"

So here's wishing you and your loved ones a very happy, holy, and simple Advent. May you feel the loving presence of our Lord in all of your blessings and crosses. 

What to Do When You Feel Like the Worst Youth Minister Ever.

These middle schoolers are going to be the death of me. But, that's actually a really good thing. 

Without fail, the kids at middle school youth group are almost always bad difficult. Some are patient and prayerful, while a select handful who can't keep their mouths shut seem hell-bent on ruining the night for everyone. Normally, I can deal with it. They're young. They have too much energy to contain. I'd rather they be too loud than too quiet. I have a bottle of wine waiting at home.

Today, however, was a different story. Today, I was already stressed out well before they arrived, which meant there was even less patience for them to test. The whole hour-and-a-half-long meeting felt more like six, and was loud, frustrating, and miserable for pretty much the whole time. At least for me. 

The night was themed on the qualities that make a person inspirational, and began with the kids dividing into small groups and drawing their own heroes on posters. One group drew Spanish Jesus (complete with a lawnmower. Yep. Wasn't too pleased with that one). Another drew the Pope (but decided he should have green teeth). Another group drew Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer. And the fourth group drew me. When I saw this, I'd imagined that this would be the turning point of the night. My heart would melt, I'd suddenly remember how sweet and innocent the kids were, and the rest of the youth group meeting would be filled with the peace and joy of the Holy Spirit. 

Nope. Not at all. That gratitude lasted for a minute before it was back to kids talking out of turn, throwing food, and leaving trash everywhere. Actually, that would have been manageable. Instead, they also compared the Pope's vestments to a KKK robe and whispered mischievous jokes when they thought I wasn't looking. By the end of the night, there'd been far too many "I'll wait until everyone's quiets," staring kids down (who am I kidding? They aren't the least bit scared of me), and sending the least-behaved one out into the hall.

The worst part, though, wasn't how the kids acted. They're middle schoolers. They're supposed to be hyper and immature. That's practically a sign of healthy, normal development. The worst part was how bad I was at hiding my impatience. The "nicer" kids actually started to feel sorry for me as they begged their peers to be quiet, and our closing prayer was rushed and dry. I left feeling like the worst youth minister ever. 

Thankfully, there's grace.

While the kids were working on their "Heroes Posters" earlier in the night, I opened my Bible in the hope of finding some source of ministerial inspiration. I actually didn't believe I'd find anything helpful. It just seemed like… I don't know… Whatever... Something to do. Without paying much attention, I "accidentally" flipped right to 2 Corinthians 4: "Integrity in Ministry." Huh. What was it that St. John Paul II said? "There are no coincidences"? Without much thought, I began to read:

"Therefore since we have this ministry through the mercy shown us, we are not discouraged. Rather, we have renounced shameful, hidden things; not acting deceitfully or falsifying the word of God, but by the open declaration of the truth we commend ourselves to everyone's conscience in the sight of God….For we do not preach ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your slaves for the sake of Jesus. For God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the face of [Jesus] Christ. But we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body of the dying Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body. For we who live are being constantly given up to death for the sake of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh… Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal"

 (2 Corinthians 4:1-18). 

Oh. So, ministry is supposed to feel like this. We're supposed to be "in the body of the dying Jesus," not the resurrected one. I'm supposed to want to pull my hair out on a pretty much daily basis. Christians are supposed to feel "constantly given up to death." After all, didn't Jesus tell us to take up our daily cross (Luke 9:23) for the sake of eternal life, and didn't He also promise to give us daily bread to sustain us on the way (Matthew 6:11)?

I always knew youth ministry wouldn't be easy. Well, I thought I knew that. As I was walking out to my car (okay, huffing), I realized that what I really thought was that the job would be hard… for a little while. I'd imagined that while the first year would be one up-hill road, the whole rest of the journey would be an easy ride off into the sunset. Because, I mean, that's how ministry worked out for Jesus, right?

I'd also always nodded along when people said that ministerial work was just planting seeds even without witnessing the bloom. Sure, that might be true… for some people. Of course, I'll get to see the blooms because I'm just that special, right? Who the heck doesn't want  to see their hard work pay off? Oh, wait… you mean these kids aren't here to satisfy my ego? Oops. 

The full realization of my complete denial and arrogance was all up in my face like a hyperactive twelve year-old, and I couldn't ignore it. 

So, it turns out I'm impatient and tend to think the normal ministry rules don't apply to me. Oops. This lesson learned could just be a major bummer: your dream job is going to be miserable and that's that. But as St. Paul says, "Although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day." This job is not easy, nor is it always fun (then again, whose is?). For every kid who talks about how much they love Mary (music to my ears), another one complains about bad snacks. But, it's absolutely worth it. Without a doubt, I'd sign up for it all over again. The outer self might be wasting away under stress and difficult kids (hey, I'm no picnic for God, either!), but the inner self is being renewed daily through the silent, steady, forward-moving flow of the Holy Spirit. Somehow or other, the job gets (mostly) done while the ego is slowly purified and emotional highs are replaced with real joy.

So, what does it mean when you feel like your ministry is a completely and utterly shambled mess? 

It means keep going.

The Last-Minute God

They say that the last minute is the most efficient minute. In college, I'd often realized just how true this statement was at about 3:45 am while writing the concluding paragraph for my Theology papers. Somehow, my reflections on St. Augustine's sermons just got more to the point when I was short on time and high on coffee.

Thankfully, I've since learned the value of a full night's sleep and those all-nighters are long gone. But that doesn't mean that I don't stretch that "last minute" down to the very nano second. Even when I've planned and prepared for youth ministry events to the best of my ability, something almost always goes wrong.

That was today.

I had everything completely organized and taken care of for our Confirmation class session. The catechists' guides, candidate's handouts, and closing prayer preparations were triple-checked, in their places, and ready to go. We even had a talented guest speaker coming in, so I didn't have to worry about teaching. This should have been one of the easiest sessions of the entire year. 
"Should have been" are the key words here.

Our parish hosted a women's group event on the previous Friday night, which meant I had to go in a little earlier than usual to be sure that the room was presentable. How bad could it be? Just a couple tables and chairs scattered here and there, right? As soon as that was taken care of, I'd swing by one of our parishioners' homes to pick up a foosball table that she was donating, and everything would be done.com

Um, yeah. That didn't happen.

I arrived later than I'd planned, partly because of being stuck behind a freight train. When I finally got there, the room was a mess. Half of the chairs we needed were gone, tables were scattered everywhere, and our audio/visual equipment was completely unplugged (there are about 20 wires and 433 buttons on that stupid thing). When I went toward the back hallway to turn the lights on, I found it locked. As it would figure, that's just about the one door my key does not open.

That's okay... we can just have class in the dark, right?

Sure. Too bad this hallway not only housed all of the light switches for the entire parish center, but also all of our prayer materials, Bibles, catechist's books, and candidates' journals. Basically, everything we needed for class. That's when 3:45 a.m. Lindsay-in-a-panic took over. Funny how one, stupid little key had the potential to ruin our entire class session (except it really wasn't funny).

I ran to the office and called every staff member who might know where a key to this hallway was. I finally got a hold of one of our maintenance engineers. After I explained the situation, he paused for a moment before finally letting out a slow and drawn out, "Oooooooh...... sh-t." 

Yep. My thoughts, too. His first suggestion didn't work, and time was slipping. "Well, you can try sneaking behind the projector and sliding over the old altar and through the curtains to get into the hallway..." Bingo.

Not gonna lie, I felt a little like a secret agent barreling through hidden doors and sneaking around in the dark... and a little sacrilegious sliding across an old altar in jeans and sneakers, but I made it. Hah! Take THAT, Women's Group (as if they locked the doors on purpose)!

I hauled tables and moved chairs across the room in a near sprint while the minutes drained. With the room still only half ready, I hopped in the car and sped out of the parking lot to go pick up the foosball table. While dashing out the door, I remember thinking, "Okay, breathe. Things aren't that bad; it's not like I'll get stuck behind another freight train." But a few minutes later, that's exactly where I was: stuck yet again behind another stupid freight train (except 'stupid' wasn't the word I used).

It was in this stressed-out, cursing, sweating, miserable moment that I finally remembered I had to trust God. It was as if everything was going frustratingly and coincidentally wrong just to remind me that God can fix anything, and cares even about our most mundane and un-heroic crosses. Even more importantly, God is with us even when we are the verge of going full-on basket case and prayer is the furthest thing from our minds. 

We read in 2 Corinthians 12:9, "He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.' So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me." More often than not, the "last minute" before any youth ministry project is always filled with some sort of crisis, whether it's not having enough luggage space for our summer mission trip, not having enough drivers for a service event, or misplacing notes for a presentation. Nothing ever goes as smoothly as planned.

I probably made this face for 75%
of our summer work trip.

But, as St. Therese reminds us, "Everything is a grace." The chaotic, face-palming, why-did-I-take-this-job moments remind me that I am not in control of my job; God is. And that's exactly how it must be. As soon as I think I have everything down to a science and can run youth ministry with my eyes closed (not that I've ever felt that way), that's just what happens: my eyes become closed to recognizing my own, constant need for His love and grace. I think I can handle it all on my own, and then one lost, little key threatens to undo everything. 

More importantly, youth ministry is not supposed to be neat and tidy. It's supposed to be messy because, well, people are messy. One parent is angry because our Confirmation program conflicts with her son's basketball schedule. Some middle schooler distracts the entire youth group discussion on the Blessed Mother when he asks, "What's a womb?" A teen comes forward to attend the mission trip after all plans are finalized. It is these last-minute, are-you-kidding-me moments that teach me to not get so wrapped up in my own plans that I forget to love the Jesus who is hiding in the very person before me. It is in these moments that I remember to trust Him, to accept my many shortcomings, and allow Him to be strong where I am weak. After all, despite all of my spazzing, everything has always worked out for the good (Romans 8:28).

It's also in these moments that I think God enjoys a good chuckle. Seriously, two freight trains? That last one was just for kicks.