The Minister’s Wife

Front cover of The Minister's Wife

I was in middle school when I started babysitting for the minister and his wife at the little United church in which I was raised. George and Lois were still just a young couple with a baby boy when they enfolded me into their family. George was academic and bookish, Lois was lively and fun. He patiently answered my many questions about our Christian faith on drives to and from their home for babysitting appointments, she often had home-baked treats waiting. He was passionate about liturgy and readily loaned me books from his own library, she was pretty, had her own career, and adored her family and friends.

I quickly loved them—together with their son, and the daughter and the dog who soon followed. It wasn’t hard to do. They felt like a second family to me, taking me to their cottage in the summer, allowing me to witness the realities of clergy family life, which turned out to be not so very different from my own family’s life. Just like my family, they were not perfect. But they were good people.

I’ve long thought that George’s sophistication, encouragement, and teaching together with Lois’ transparent and joyful faith helped to set the foundation for my own faith journey in the years that have followed. The way they built into my life is no doubt part of the reason I have continued to seek out the various ministers and their wives—in the churches I’ve attended—for wisdom and friendship; I suppose I’ve been inclined to associate the people in such roles with George and Lois’ goodness and grace.

I don’t know when I first learned that my friend Karen was a minister’s wife. I don’t remember if it was a fact that she revealed to me soon after our friendship began to blossom, or whether that information was some time in coming. But I am certain that knowing she occupied that role would not in any way have given me pause to reconsider our friendship. If anything, it probably only made me want to know her more.

Karen is warm and real, loyal and honest, funny and fierce—all of the qualities that make for a good friend. And her newest book, The Minister’s Wife: A Memoir of Faith, Doubt, Friendship, Loneliness, Forgiveness, and More contains all of the very best of Karen.

In it, she reveals, “Being a pastor, and being married to one, is a complicated life and vocation. People may put you on a pedestal: They assume you are better, nicer, kinder, and more holy than you are. Or they may skedaddle: They assume you are unkind and judgmental, or just weird.”

In truth, they are none of those things, because of course, ministers and their wives are just people on a journey, trying to do their best in the life to which they feel called. Like we all are.

I’m grateful for Lois and George’s friendship long ago, for Karen and her husband Brent’s more recently, and for all of the ministers and minister’s wives I’ve been privileged to know in between. My life has been richer because of them.

If you don’t know a minister or a minister’s wife, maybe you should think about changing that. If you read Karen’s book, I think you will want to.

 

 

 

 

 

Reading in a time of stress

four books

I’ve been thinking about stress, and how we all respond to it so differently. This time of pandemic is highlighting some of those differences.

I have friends, for example, who need to shut down, taking to their beds to block out the noise and pressure. I have other friends who channel their nervous energies into creating art projects or music or tasty treats. (The latter generously populate their social media feeds with images proving their productivity and setting the rest of us to salivating.) You know who you are. Be warned: when this is all over, I’m coming over for coffee and something delicious! 

Me? I get busy, pouring myself into work, making meals, taking walks, reaching out to friends and family. But besides that? I read.

At first my reading was all coronavirus, all the time.

But you can only do that for so long before you start to realize that maybe one reason you’re not sleeping is because your diet of TOO MUCH NEWS is just proving to be too much. For me, my all news diet lasted about a week. Then I turned to listening to online lectures (first a series about the Black Death, and then a series about Augustine of Hippo’s City of God, (which he wrote following the sack of Rome).

And then – when I’d exhausted those uplifting subjects – I turned to reading books.

The first book I picked up had been at the bottom of the pile on my nightstand for a couple of months. Given to me by my mom, Tuesdays with Morrie (by Mitch Albom) was just what I needed. It’s a gentle story that proved to be the perfect antidote to anxiety. And for a few days, the minutes that I spent each bedtime with Mitch, and his mentor Morrie, offered me the welcome chance to reflect deeply on what it means to be human, to live well and to die well, all in ways that brought comfort and courage.

I’m also reading Fortitude (by Hugh Walpole) aloud with my husband. This is a novel we read to each other in the first year of our marriage, and then again after about 20 years. We’ve now been married almost 35 years, and while I remembered nothing about the book, it was the title that appealed and caused us to pick it up again. Who doesn’t need a little fortitude now? It begins with this thought, “Tisn’t life that matters! ‘Tis the courage you bring to it.”

My 87-year-old mother and I are reading The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe (by C.S. Lewis) together, via FaceTime. Unable to visit in person, our daily FaceTime calls quickly devolved into:

“What’s new?”

“Not much, what’s new with you?” All while I stared at her forehead. She hasn’t quite gotten the hang of holding her iPad so that I can see her entire face. (My mom is not of the selfie generation – she looks at her screen to see my face, and clearly forgets to look at her own.)

But now we are keeping the company of Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy in Narnia – a first for my mom. I was introduced to the book in high school, and then years later, read it again to my children. My mom is loving it. I am too. And I’m relishing the chance to exercise my best witch’s voice.

The other book I’m enjoying is The Diary of a Russian Priest by Alexander Elchaninov, a book I picked up last fall while on a visit to St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Seminary in New York as part of a writers’ workshop. “God created life. The devil defeated it through death. God repulsed the victory of death by Resurrection,” writes Elchaninov.

It’s an eclectic mix, these books, but as I consider the collection now, I see a common thread: each one touches on themes of living and dying, of courage, and of times of upheaval. So maybe I should not be surprised that they are nourishing my spirit.

How about you? What are you reading these days, and why?

 

 

5 work-at-home strategies to ensure work gets done

bookshelves

For more than two decades, my work has involved working from home. For many years, that meant a 30-second stroll to my home office five days each week. But more recently, my weeks have been a mix of both “at home” days and longer commutes into an office in the city.

Today, my home office is a space I love—with bookshelves crammed full of my favourite books (that’s them above), artwork that inspires, a much-loved antique desk, a bright window to let in the sunlight, and a door to keep out the noise. But for years I worked in corners of our basement, corners of the family room, or on corners of the kitchen table. I’ve shared desks with my kids’ homework and craft projects, and occasional piles of laundry. I’ve worked in chaos and in solitude.

Throughout this time, I’ve learned some things about maximizing productivity and minimizing distractions. Given that so many people right now are experiencing for the first time what it’s like to work from home, I thought I’d share some of my favourite strategies for ensuring the work actually gets accomplished. Please note: my husband is now retired and we are empty nesters. So I share these strategies in the spirit of imparting what took me years to learn and hone. People living with little ones, or with teens or elders will, of course, need to build in more flexibility.

  1. Structure and routine are my best friends. As soon as I realized late last week that as a result of the pandemic I would be working from home, full time again, and for the foreseeable future, I put myself on a schedule. Here, roughly, is what that schedule has looked like this week:
  • 5:00 am – 7:00 am – I know, it’s crazy early. But I’m an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of person. So as soon as I’m awake, I’m up. Make coffee, Bible-and-devotional reading, journaling, and prayer. Then I do an email check, read the day’s news feeds, and spend a few minutes on household budgeting, bill paying, and online banking. With the added stress of the last week or so, I’ve been waking earlier than normal – sometimes as early as 4:00 am. I’m sure this will settle down, but in the meantime, I’m just enjoying some additional quiet time at the beginning of my day.
  • 7:00 – 8:00 am – Cajole my (now retired) husband (who is NOT an early-to-bed, early-to-riser) out of bed, throw on some clothes, and head out for a walk together. Then home for breakfast and a quick game or two of Monopoly Deal.
  • 8:00 am – 12 noon – Work on computer.
  • 12 noon – 1:00 pm – Lunch. Another game or two of Monopoly Deal.
  • 1:00 pm – 5:00 pm – Work on computer.
  • 5:00 pm – 7:00 pm – Another walk. Dinner prep. Dinner. More Monopoly Deal. (We’ve started a “Social Isolation Tournament” during these days of social distancing, in which we are tallying our games. I’m ahead.)
  • 7:00 pm – 9:00 pm – Check in with loved ones. Read. Watch TV. Listen to an audio book or podcast.
  • 9:00 pm – 9:30 pm – Bed.

2.  Get dressed for work. I’ve never been one of those people who could accomplish much in my jammies. There’s something about putting on actual clothes that seems to help send a signal to my brain that I’m ready to get down to business. The other day my husband asked me why I was bothering with earrings when I was just working from home. I told him they helped me feel ready to work. (And besides, I had a few zoom meetings scheduled.)

3.  Taking regular breaks is important. Very important. I try to force myself to push away from the computer for 10 minutes out of every hour. I think of it as my “water cooler” time. I’ll use that time to read an article, throw in (or fold) a load of laundry, chop vegetables for the next meal or to pen a note to a friend. Getting up from my computer is not only good for my body but good for my mind.

4.  Self-imposed boundaries can make the difference between a good day and a bad one. I’m a news junkie, and global pandemics are a great excuse for justifying “just a quick check of the news headlines.” And the 24-7 news cycle offers an enormous temptation, because there’s ALWAYS something new to read. But one too many such checks throughout the day and it’s easy to get to the end of the day, look at my “to do” list, and realize that very little got done. Limiting myself to such headline checks at the beginning, middle, and end of the day makes for greater productivity.

5.  At the end of the work day, push away. I admit this one can be challenging – particularly in the midst of a major global news event. To be completely candid, this week I’ve been struggling with it a bit. (I suspect that’s in part why I’m waking up at 4 am.) I know from experience that I’ll have both a better sleep at night, and a better day the next day if I call it quits at a reasonable hour, allowing my brain some downtime.

How about you? If you’re new to working at home, how are you coping? If you’re an old hand at social isolation because you’ve long worked from a home office, what works best for you?

 

Now’s the time to build a better world

Patricia Paddey with husband Doug and their grandson Davy

“A child is born into the womb of the time, which indeed enclosed and fed him before he was born.”

– George MacDonald

I’ve been thinking a lot about these words and their wisdom, which someone shared with me a couple of months ago. I became a grandmother six weeks ago. And so, even as I’ve been reflecting on the time into which my grandson has been born, (that’s him with my husband and me in the photo) I’ve found myself thinking about the future and what it will look like for him.

“Unprecedented.” That’s another word that’s been rumbling around in my brain, because, of course, there’s been nothing quite like this global pandemic to confront this generation – and by that I mean any generation now living – before.

It’s going to change our world. Heaven knows it already is. For those of us who find change unsettling – and isn’t that most of us, if we’re being honest? – it can feel like the ground is shifting beneath our feet.

As a person of faith, I find comfort in believing that this pandemic did not take God by surprise. He is not the author of sickness, death, and sadness, and He has promised to be with those who cling to Him in the midst of such things. That does not mean that we will be spared suffering. But it does mean that we may experience it with a kind of strength and courage and peace that’s simply not accessible to those who choose not to avail themselves of God’s good gifts. It heartens me to know that come what may, I am not alone because He is with me.

In a column titled “Pandemics kill compassion too,” New York Times columnist David Brooks wrote recently of the impact that pandemics have on the world. “Some disasters, like hurricanes and earthquakes, can bring people together,” Brooks said, “but if history is any judge, pandemics generally drive them apart.”

Already, we’ve seen evidence of this: with hoarders rushing to stockpile items – not in the hope of having an abundance to share – but to deliberately deprive others of basic necessities in order to profit from the resale of such things.

What kind of world will we be left with when this is all over? What kind of world are we building yes, building, in the midst of this terrible event – to leave to our grandchildren tomorrow? What behaviours will they see us model for them to follow when the next disaster strikes? We know things will be different. But how they are different – to some extent, that choice is up to us.

When I feel anxiety rise, I find it helpful to take my mind off my own cares and worries for those I love, to think about others. That’s why, on Sunday afternoon, I printed off a stack of letters intending to introduce me and my husband. We put on our coats and stepped out into the sunshine and knocked on doors. Maintaining the recommended safe social distance, we hand delivered the letters to houses up and then down both sides of our street. I included our cropped image from the photo above – such a happy recent moment – and our contact information. I wrote, “if you find yourself in need in some way and think that a friendly neighbour may be able to help, please feel free to reach out to us.”

“No one should feel like they are alone in the midst of a global pandemic,” I concluded the letter. “It goes without saying that human beings need one other. Maybe we need one another now more than ever. If we can be neighbourly by helping out, please don’t hesitate to give us a call.”

Our neighbours have been responding in kind – sharing their names and contact information. It’s a small thing that we – and they – have done. But maybe it will lead to bigger things. And maybe when this is all over, we will point to such things and recognize that they helped to make a difference, for our grandchildren, and for our world.

 

 

 

 

 

On pie, plans, and principles: or, “how we launched our book”

pie buffet

It was our first time ever hosting a book launch. We’ve been to a few such launches over the years of course. You probably can’t be a passionate reader or a writer with writer-friends and not wind up attending one or two. So when it came time to planning our own book launch for Craft, Cost & Call: How to Build a Life as a Christian Writer, we had a few ideas about how we hoped things might go.

The launch happened this past weekend, and looking back, I believe that things went well.

I think what helped them to go well was that we tried to let our plans be guided by our principles.

As people who believe that we are called to love others as ourselves, I can see in hindsight that it was the principle of loving others that drove our decisions. Not consciously. But as I reflect on the weeks leading up to the event and the event itself, I think it was the desire to try to treat others as we would want to be treated that shaped and undergirded most of our choices.

What kind of atmosphere would we, ourselves, most like to experience at such an event? (Relaxed fun with candlelight.) How long would we want to have to sit? (Not long at all.) What sorts of things would we most enjoy hearing? (Definitely not the authors droning on and on.) Should we serve food and beverages? (Yes, of course.) Should we do a hard sell? (Definitely not.) Should we sign books? (In advance, so as not to keep people waiting. Although, truth be told, we also wanted to avoid the awkwardness of sitting at a table if no one actually wanted to buy books.)

Again and again, we came back to the realization that even though our book launch would be a celebration of something that we had done—we did not want it to be “all about us.”

So we invited other writers to tell us a bit about their writing lives, to read portions of our book, and then to respond to it. A fire blazed in the fireplace, candlelight flickered throughout the room, dinner jazz played on the sound system, and our guests visited with us and with one another and feasted on a delicious pie buffet.

As for Karen and I, once the first guests began to arrive, we relaxed and delighted in the visible reminder that we are blessed to have people in our lives who care enough to show their support and come to a party celebrating this thing that we have done. And yes, we sold some books. We also enjoyed our guests. We ate pie. Our cups overflowed. Our hearts are full.

 

A reflection on a favourite saint, for All Saints Day

Joan of Arc

Who were your childhood heroes? In honour of tomorrow being the eve of All Saints Day—a Christian celebration remembering those who’ve gone before us in the faith—I thought I’d share a little about one of my own childhood heroes. Although my faith tradition doesn’t celebrate All Saints Day—or venerate saints with a capital “S”, Joan of Arc is definitely one of those.

I first heard of Joan of Arc when I read a book about her. I was 9 or 10.

She was a 15th century, illiterate, French peasant girl.

At the age of about 17, she followed what she believed was God’s leading, and took command of an army. She liberated her country from English occupiers and changed the course of her nation’s history. At 19, she was unjustly condemned following an ecclesiastical trial during which she confounded the greatest theological minds of her day. She was burned at the stake on trumped up charges of heresy; 25 years later, the results of her trial were annulled. In 1920 the Roman Catholic Church declared her a Saint.

The book I read about Joan was one my mother passed on to me. She had read it as a girl and loved it. I loved it too. I remember the musty smell of its yellowed pages and the feel of its hard, red cover, fraying at the edges. I remember pouring over the colourful illustrations depicting “Joan the Maid” in a gleaming suit of armor atop a strutting steed. I remember feeling inspired by her courage and daring in taking on a vocation that was without precedent for a woman. I remember being moved by her ardent love and intense prayer life. I remember thinking that if God could speak to Joan then He could speak to me too. I remember crying at the injustice of her execution.

When I came to the end of the book, I mourned her for days.

But I never forgot her. Looking back, I realize she helped to shape my life by shaping my belief—early in life—that a relationship with God was not only possible, but worth pursuing.

So it was an interesting exercise to revisit the life of Joan of Arc recently, more than 40 years after we’d first met, as part of the requirements for a course I took in Christian History and Theology. This time I read biographies, scholarly research, an epic poem and—what was most compelling of all—Joan’s own words translated from letters and trial manuscripts. As I read, she came alive to me once again. I couldn’t get enough of her.

I’ve come to believe her story has lessons for us today.

Lessons about leadership, strength in the midst of suffering, human nature, and injustice.

When she took charge of her army, she gave new hope and courage to her countrymen in the midst of deep despair, reminding me that hope is essential—not only for military battles—but for all of life. It was her vision, devotion to her mission, courage, integrity, honesty, and selflessness that made her an accomplished and trusted leader.

Today, we tend to label as “crazy” those who profess to hear voices from heaven like Joan did. I don’t know what to make of her voices. But I am struck by the thought that her devotional life brought her to a place of knowing her God intimately.

Reading the translated transcripts of her trial, I was amazed at her wisdom—and at the efforts of her judges to trip her up. They were men who represented the greatest theological minds of that time, yet they were vindictive and self-righteous, reminding me that the powerful have always made life difficult for those who threaten them. Their example can serve as a warning for those who hold positions of authority and influence—that great wrongs can be perpetrated in the desire to do what is right. Joan’s interrogators were also learned men; as such, they offer up a cautionary note to those of us who pursue academic study or intellectual development at the expense of spiritual maturity—that great learning can lead to arrogance and spiritual blindness.

But above all, Joan’s example bears witness to me today, no less than it did more than four decades ago, that remarkable things can happen when we seek God’s direction, step out boldly in faith as He leads us, and trust Him to accomplish all that He promises.

Announcing: Craft, Cost & Call: How to Build a Life as a Christian Writer

Craft Cost Call book title

I had forgotten the sheer joy that could come with crafting words into meaningful sentences, the exuberant rush as paragraphs and pages poured out from some inner well deep within. But this new book, Craft, Cost & Call represents the most writing fun I’ve had in recent memory.

Like dancing to a favourite song when no one is watching, part of that experience came from the fact that there was no client on this project. The only people my co-author and I were striving to please were our book’s eventual readers.

The other part of writing with abandon no doubt came from the fact that my co-author happens to be a dearly loved friend. Karen Stiller is a woman I admire greatly. Anything done with a friend can be more fun than doing it alone, especially when you laugh together as much as Karen and I do. We believe that ours is a friendship that was heaven sent; it began more than a decade ago when my name literally popped into her mind one morning while she was applying mascara. She subsequently reached out to me with a partnership opportunity, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now, our history will forever include this little soon-to-be-published book, Craft, Cost & Call : How to Build a Life as a Christian Writer. 

It was years in the making, not only because we worked on it together for that long, but also because it represents the sum total of decades worth of all we’ve each learned so far about what it means to earn a living as writers who are also people of faith.

I’m proud of this little book. I’m thoroughly delighted with the outcome. It gives me deep pleasure to think of passing along some of the hard-won lessons learned through decades working as a freelance writer. And I’m thankful for the way that working on this project together with Karen not only took my writing to new places—reminding me of the joy to be had in practicing this craft I believe I’ve been called to—but because it took my friendship with Karen to new places too.

When we thought we were getting close to the end of our writing, we sent the manuscript out to some other writers we admire and asked for their feedback. We were encouraged and overwhelmed by their enthusiastic response. Read their kind words of endorsement here.

Then we invited my daughter Jenna, an illustrator, into the project. Her drawings add a touch of whimsy to the book’s pages. Our hope is that readers will experience as much delight during the time they spend immersed in this book, as we did in writing it.

Craft, Cost & Call is our thanksgiving offering to the community of writers that has nurtured us over the years, and to the community of writers of faith who are yet to come.