Christmas letters...

It's time for the annual Christmas letter. Or, for the Zuidemas, it will be the mid-winter letter, because I haven't started ours yet.

Either through the mail or our box at church, we've been getting a lot of Christmas letters. Cards with stars and shepherds are common, so are the pictures of families with Mom and Dad often strangely absent. I don't think they want to have a photographic record of how they've aged over the past year. Kids are supposed to grow up. We just get balder, grayer, fatter, wrinkly-er and so on.

We've received some gift cards to area restaurants, and we're looking forward to trying out some places we haven't been to before. Just before I wrote this note--for some reason I can't bring myself to say "blog"--someone brought in a large "Dutch letter" pastry or "banket" for some of you (pronounced bahn-KET).

Anyhow, everybody seems to put on the best face for these notes and letters. However, as a pastor to many of these families, I know that life has been far from easy for many of them. Illnesses and death, trouble at work or with family, or even worse, trouble at work with family.

However, most of the letters have the pictures and a little blurb summarizing the year's highlights. Usually, everybody is " busy" and "doing well" and they wish us joy as we celebrate the "reason for the season." (Call me a curmudgeon, but I am a little tired of that phrase.)

One note stuck out for me. It was from a family who were members of the church I served while in Michigan. I found out in the past year that they had moved from Grand Rapids to Grand Haven. It made sense for them, due to the husband's long commute to his work while they lived in G.R.

Everybody was healthy. The photos showed that the kids were getting bigger. There were no pictures showing if the adults were getting balder, grayer, fatter, wrinkly-er and so on. All was well, and I thought, "Good for them."

Yet, my heart hurt for my former church. This family was what I would call a "core" family. The husband was a very capable and thoughtful leader in Council. His wife was a leader as well, helping plan worship at church. The liturgies she crafted were almost always on point, engaging, and helped provide a strong accent to whatever the topic or theme was for the day.

They moved six months ago and I never heard about it. No one was obligated to tell me. Yet, hearing the news brought me back to when I was open to considering a call to go elsewhere. I knew that there was a good chance that this family was probably going to move sometime soon and I knew that at that time didn't have the energy to fill the hole that they would leave. It wasn't the main reason I left. I don't think there was a main reason. Yet, I'd be lying if I said that it didn't play a part in influencing my decision.

Hearing that they had moved just sucked the wind out of me. Like some amputees who have "phantom pain" from the lost limb, I felt the sense of loss that my former church must have felt. I am no longer a pastor at that church. Yet, I still love the people there. Just like I love the people where I am at. Sure, there are some I am glad I left behind, but they aren't the ones I think about.

All this said, I guess its a reminder to me, that the church needs its members to be the church and not just the "crowd." Perhaps there are some pastors out there who have so much energy and talent that they are practically forces of nature--and can fill those empty spots at the drop of a hat. Not me. I need people who love the church enough that I don't necessarily have to cheer lead them into action. They are there, ready to be used in whatever way God wants them to be used. They are spiritual self-starters--if that's an appropriate term. Even though I am 700 miles away I mourn the loss for that church.

One last realization, though. I am guessing that while I am saddened, my former church is doing fine. I don't say this to give this piece a cloying ending where everything is tied up in a bow. Things work out. People adjust. The church moves on. New people step in to take responsibility and do well. The church changes directions--maybe for the better. God takes care of his church. I've been witness to this several times. Yet, that doesn't mean it's easy.

Probably all of a half a dozen people know that this blog--there, I said it--exists. So, if you're reading this, you might know the names and the places I have left unmentioned. If not, no big deal. What I have learned is that Christmas cards make me thankful for where I am and the people I have the privilege to serve. They also make me thankful for where I've been as well. And, as I found out today, even though people get older, kids grow up, and families move away, a part of you never leaves that place.

Frosty

 
 
 
Leah took a walk this morning with her friend, Julie. A thick fog had settled over town early in the morning, but the temperature was close to freezing. The walk, the fog, and the temperature had an interesting effect.

Graduation

Well, it's done. She's crossed the finish line. It was worth the 700 miles and driving through snow for eight hours. The video is of Leah being "hooded" by Marilyn, the chair of her doctoral committee and her crossing the line of graduation.



Also, here's some pictures of our trip. Of interest, we passed the Oscar Meyer "Weinermobile" on the tollway by Schaumburg outside of Chicago.



Other interesting happenings... After the graduation, an Asian fellow took pictures of Lindsey and Emily, "So cute!" He said. Also, there was a German family who sat behind us. After the ceremony was finished, the mother(?) pulled out a small hand drum and a tambourine, complete with mallets and handed them to the girls. Apparently, they had brought the instruments to celebrate and make noise when their family member crossed the line. However, they must have been chastened by the announcements hanging on the door that banners and noisemakers of any kind were prohibited. So, the girls were recipients of the contraband and we listened to their beautiful music on the van ride back to the hotel.

i love snow.

Nothing like driving through two states in a steady snow. As we prepared to leave for Leah's graduation in E. Lansing, we watched forecasts and radar to see where the snow would be. South looked bad. North looked good. So, we went north... and drove into snow.

We drove past snowplows that either tried to blind us with all the snow they threw into the air or with their their seizure inducing flashing lights. We drove past vehicles in the ditch, some that looked like their might be serious injury involved. We drove on roads that were being coated with a steady snow, making us drive a tedious 15-25 miles per hour less than the speed limit.

I couldn't help but feeling angry at the snow--stupid as that sounds. We had worked so hard to avoid it. We wanted to be so responsible on where we drove and seeing all the advisories were to the south, we thought we'd miss any of the white stuff. Maybe we even felt a little smug that we were so savvy in our planning. It is/was a control issue.

The right answer is that I am supposed to be thankful that we arrived safe. My first inclination, though, is to be frustrated that I had to be worried about our safety. I didn't want the stress of weather added to the stress of traveling in general

Anyhow, after some switching of hotels, we headed into Middleton, west of Madison. We were thankful for a warm bed and a safe trip so far.

Today, we head to E.Lansing. The computer is telling us that we are looking at 375 miles or around 6.5 hours if we can drive at a normal speed. I will be satisfied if I can see where I am going and I don't have to white knuckle the whole drive.

Off to see Leah where a mortarboard and get "hooded."