Feb 10 Showed up on my Facebook Feed again, and I realized why I had not been feeling well. Even though I wasn't aware of the date, my body was remembering the loss and pushing me to grieve.
Last time I wrote about Feb 10, I wrote that I had found "Home".
It was a year later that I found out I would be leaving that place.
That news came after a weekend full of ministry that spoke to my soul in ways that ministry rarely does, and in ways that only ministry can.
One of my best memories of Florida, followed by one of my least favorite memories of my ministry from Florida.
The simple story would be to say that I was meant to be here all along. But that simply isn't true. I wouldn't be able to do the work I am doing now if not for my time in Florida. For that matter, I wouldn't be able to do it as well as I am without the phone calls with JD Rose while at the church in Southern California. Or without the lessons learned in the place before that. And really when you think about it, my time in seminary prepared me....
My story is not a straight path. It never has been.
While this week holds the memories of finding two things that I was so certain of not being what I thought they would be. It also holds plenty of joy. Some of them are mentioned in the blogs above. Some have happened in the three years since I wrote that blog.
This is my fourth church since the "first" Feb 10, and my fifth home.
Each place feels like I was there for a life time. Some were comfortable, some were much less so. Some I am proud at what I accomplished. Some I have taken lessons from those places and worked to become a better person and a better minister. Some held a little of column A and a little of column B.
The start of February has held for me
Starting a job search
Receiving a Scout Patch for a Pinewood Derby (all I did was unlock the doors)
A winter retreat with some of the best youth around
A trip to Universal with more of the same
Delivering meds to a snow bound friend
Taking 5th and 6th graders on a hike at night in the rain (way more fun than it seems)
One of my favorite nights serving at Trinity UMC
Meeting Popeye
and continuing my song.
--Serving God alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
A little bit of Gonzo in the new office just for good measure
I have already written about the journey I have traveled the last decade, and how my hope is that FUMC is my last stop.
The last two years, February 10th has been a date where I take a moment to stop and take stock of where I am. This year, I didn't even realize it was the 10th until I logged into Facebook and checked my Memories for that day.
I am beginning to focus not what could have been, rather, I am looking at what is. Instead of obsessing about what I have learned and how to use it, I am simply using those lessons in this new setting, and in this new calling.
This year the significance is that the date held no significance. No major revelations. No major moments of clarity.
And maybe that is a good thing.
--Serving God alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
In 2016, I received a call that shook my understanding of who I was called to be.
In 2017, I had regained a sense of my calling and thought I had found the place where it was to be fulfilled.
I was wrong.
When I moved to northern California, in January of last year I believed I was beginning a journey of change for myself and for the church that had hired me. I believed that my vision and strengths had been sought out and understood to be the compliment needed to help that congregation stretch and grow.
I was wrong.
The easiest narrative is to understand those six months as a waste of time or at best a mistake. It would be easy to simply write that time off as a loss and plow ahead.
But then, I would be wrong.
A friend of mine once kindly summarized one of my blogs (the one I wrote after taking the job in Copperopolis) this way: We often have no idea why we are where we are, but we may be finding things we wouldn't find anywhere else.
The phone call that rocked my world took place on Feb 10. In less than a year, I was working in Copper. In less than six months, that was no longer true. And now February 10 of 2018 has come and gone, and I find myself in yet a new context.
I realize I have yet to mentioned on this blog that I am now the full time Coordinator for Children's, Family, and Youth Ministry at Cal Heights United Methodist Church. What I do know is the lessons I learned during those six months, I use on a daily basis now.
There is much to write about this new context, but I want to spend some time on Feb 10 of this year. The picture posted at the top of this blog was taken Feb 10, 2018.
I was in Angelus Oaks, CA on retreat. But I wasn't there on retreat for myself (though I returned home having received gifts I didn't even know I needed). I was there for a youth group retreat hosted by three other local UMC churches from the area. We had forty kids in attendance, four from Cal Heights. In those three short days, I learned about my kids, how they see each other, the world around them, and even a little about how they see God. (I would also note that I learned a little about how they see me, but since they might be reading this, I won't include that bit).
I have found a church where who I was made to be is welcomed. This new context is one of Trust, Support, Encouragement, and Challenge. I feel like myself when I wake up each day.
In 2016, I needed hope and looked to a simple painting of a blue-purple-ish weirdo to hold that hope for me.
In 2017, I was grateful to be in a better place, and that a simple painting of a blue-purple-ish weirdo could remind me of that fact.
In 2018, I am fulfilled to know that I am in an even better place, and that a simple photo of a blue-purple-ish sunset reminds of that fact.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
The good news I am staying busy. The bad news is I don't have the time to update the blog as often as I would like. Hoping to figure out a schedule that rectifies that.
The fact that when we view things from a new location it causes us to see things differently fascinates me. The relocation caused by time is one of the most poignant ways this occurs (at least in my own life).
Time creates such a new perspective.
Sometimes nostalgia clouds reality.
Other times the distance of time gives one the space to see things clearly.
And then there is the work of reinterpretation. Last time I wrote about how one particular day was understood differently once time had added new experiences into the equation. A day that started in sharp pain and ended in faint hope has become a day of clear hope and distant pain. This shift of perspective was sparked by the "On This Day" feature of Facebook.
Once again, Facebook has brought me memories whose meanings have been refracted through the funhouse mirror lens of time. Two years ago I lived in Chicago. It was less than two weeks from graduation. I had zero idea of what the future held.
I did not know where my journey would take me after walking across the stage to receive my diploma. I was doing my best to remain present. To take in all the things that I would encounter in those last weeks in Chicago. I began to post on Facebook a list of the things that I would miss the most.
On April 27th, 2015 my Facebook status read, "I'm gonna miss doing something two years in a row and calling it a tradition. #ThingsIllMiss#NPTS#13days" The initial meaning of that sentiment dealt with where I ate Thanksgiving Dinner or attending Great America's Fright Fest. It referenced who I spent time with after church on Easter Sunday, and most importantly what film was viewed later that day.
The idea was that my journey through seminary was limited from the very start. I entered into that season knowing that it was going to end and it was going to end soon. There would be only four Thanksgivings that would be celebrated in that community. Only four Easter Sundays. The tradition of attending Fright Fest didn't begin until my second year at North Park. It only happened three times.
I turn 40 this September. Being born in the fall, I have already celebrated forty Thanksgiving meals and forty Easter celebrations. How could a mere ten percent of those ever truly be called traditions? But that was the fun of labeling any repeated annual activity a tradition. Knowing that time was limited and calling anything a tradition was a way to mark that our time was fleeting. It was a way to lament that this community would not last. And it was a way to celebrate the fact that while we were still together we could find celebrations and rhythms to call our own.
Yesterday, I attended a meeting of volunteer parents to plan a Fun Day at the local elementary school. Bounce Houses, Photo Booths, and Organized Games were all discussed. We spent several minutes discussing what worked in the past and what we should replace. We discussed the idea that the kids might be bored with the craft that has been done the last two years. The counter to that was that because we have already done it two years in a row the kids might be expecting it (i.e. it had become a tradition).
At North Park the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition was encased by the idea that these rituals would not last. The concept itself was marked by irony.
Now the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition is encased in expectations and marked by the reality of this new community.
As I read Facebook this morning, I was struck by the fact that two years ago I viewed time and tradition as fleeting. I didn't know what would happen next. I couldn't even really imagine a time and place grounded and enduring. And now?
Now, I have entered a season where time and tradition are the bedrock of my community. They are the foundations of the ministry I find myself a part of.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
(The preceding blog was written on 4/27/17, and published on 5/8/17)
I have written briefly about my struggle to find my footing in the early parts of 2016 as well as the challenges faced that summer. Today, I would like to focus in on one particular day. February 10.
Quick background: In January of 2016, I had a phone interview in Houston that led to an in person interview in Chicago, that led to the words, "You are the candidate, if you don’t accept the position we start over." What I understood that to mean was that I had been offered a job. I was flown out to Washington to see the church and meet the congregation. I attended and participated in meetings casting vision for the second service they were starting in six weeks. I left to the words, "There is a vote on Tuesday, and we will call you Wednesday."
I understood the vote to be a formality. I understood that I would soon be called to serve at that church. Over the next two and half days, I packed up and fit everything I owned into my Honda Civic. Wednesday morning I placed the last tub into the Civic, and came back in to check my email. A member of the search committee had just sent an email that simply read, "Is now a good time to call?" I replied that it was. During that call, I was told that the vote had not gone in my favor. I no longer understood myself to be called to serve at that church.
That was February 10, 2016.
My body honestly went into shock. I didn’t know what do or say. I had clothes and toiletries set aside for the anticipated drive to Washington, so I didn’t need to get anything out of the car right away. I left everything in my car and went into my now empty room and laid on the floor. While I didn’t feel like hope was present, I knew I wanted to act as though it was. I went to my car to retrieve a single item.
The first item I retrieved from my Honda Civic on 2-10-16
That item was a present given to me Christmas of 2014 by my (soon to be) sister-in-law. Readers of this blog will know that I have a fixation on Gonzo from the Muppet troupe. Sara (my now sister-in-law) painted me an image of Gonzo taken from the final moments of the old Muppet Show. Each week, Gonzo would appear at the end of the theme song and attempt to play the final note. He never succeeded. He was beset by a series of malfunctions, interruptions, and explosions.
That depiction of such a futile attempt may seem like a poor totem of hope. However, my painting shows Gonzo playing that elusive final note and many more. I don’t believe Sara intended any deep meaning to be infused into her work. But on that day I found in that simple gift what I needed: hope. I needed to know that the despite the evidence to the contrary, I was worthy. I needed the assurance that God was still good. I needed to believe that I was still called to serve the Church. I didn't have any of those truths within me.
Faith is the evidence of hope. Faith can be individual. Faith can be corporate. Faith can be held. I have been privileged to have been a part of several communities who have held my faith for me. I have been surrounded by those who knew that I had worth even when I didn't (especially when I didn't.) I have been in communities that proclaimed God's goodness over my life. I have been assured and reassured that I am called to serve the Church.
On that day, I needed a reminder of all these things. I needed a reminder of all those whose lives have touched mine. So, I went to the car and grabbed the painting.
This blog was inspired by an "On This Day" post from Facebook. Not only did I retrieve the painting from my car, but I snapped a picture of the painting, posting it in my 2016 Picture a Day album. By doing so, one year to the day, Facebook reminded me of what took place on February 10, 2016. Now, February 10th is a date that when it appears on my Facebook feed I will remember as the day I received that phone call. And yes, I know that I can tell Facebook to no longer bring that memory to my feed, however I don't plan to do that.
Facebook reminds me that February 10 is also the day I took 5th and 6th graders on a night hike in the Bay Area. February 10 is the day when I was in Chicago and I was able to bring provisions to a friend who was sick. Facebook reminds me that I am not just that one day. My story didn't begin on that day, and it certainty didn't end there.
In 2016, I received a phone call, photographed a painting , and clung to hope that was most definitely unseen. In 2017, I had accepted a call to work at Copper Canyon Baptist, photographed that same painting now hanging in a fully furnished room, and clung to the hope that I was serving where God would have me.
We are so much more than the individual days that build our lives. We are so much more than one phone call. We are so much more than one rejection, one disappointment.
On February 10, 2016, I entitled my painting "And the Song Goes On".
--Waiting in hope alongside you, just from father away --Jesse Letourneau
Blogs mentioned in this week: WAVES BONES Gonzo in action
A year and a half a ago I knew one thing... I had been accepted to NPU Seminary Today I know one thing.... I have been called to give children voice in the Kingdom of God.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
I worked in a redwood forest.
I had my faith shaken in the ministry I was working for.
I found out that Howard's doesn't serve dinner.
I was asked my favorite question that I have ever been asked.
today...
I live, work, and attend seminary in Chicago.
I played "21" instead of a full game, because only two other people showed up for ball this morning.
I left early because we finished early...
..I met a man who need $6 for his child's medicine (I only had a $20 so that is what I gave him). I don't know what his need truly was, but it doesn't matter.
I sit in the office at CCP (The Church where I serve as Children's Ministry Intern).
I wonder today, what I wondered a year ago.
When will it end? When will the truth be exposed and I be found out to be a fraud?
I wonder if I have the strength to change.
I wonder how different I really am. I wonder if I am different, but not for the better.
Fear Not, the angel said to Joshua.
Fear Not, the angel said to Mary.
Fear Not, the angel said to the Shepherds.
But they were those who God had picked to lead, to bear, to witness what He was about to do, because of who they were, because of their faithfulness.
Feat Not, the angel said to Gideon.
Fear Not, the holy messenger said to the man hiding in a wine press. Fear Not, though the number of men who will fight with you is cut in half, and then cut in half again, and then cut again. Fear Not though you come at the problem with flashlights and Tupperware.
Fear Not though the only thing you have to trust in is God Almighty. Fear Not.
Lord,
I have nothing to give. Except my surrender. And yet I hold on. And yet I fear.
Today I remember when I thought I had it all. Today I want. Instead of you, I want my control back.
You stand before me and you say "Fear Not.' You remind me that the battle is not mine and never was.
I have seen you work in my life time and time again.
Yet like the nation who cried to you for deliverance,
the nation who gave you honor until they had been given comfort,
the nation who asked for kings that they could see;
I balk, I forget, I fret, I sin, I shutter at the light, I fear.
Yet while the light exposes the filth that fills my life, the light also purifies the stain.
You never leave us where you find us.
You always have an answer.
The answer is always the blood of your son.
The answer is always your perfect love.
Today I sit in a Caribou Coffee, wearing my new (thanks to my church's generosity) blue fleece and listening to the sounds of the customers blend with the pop/semi-acoustic/coffee house stylings of music carried by the PA system; looking out over an overcast December sky in Illinois.
A Year Ago I sat in a coffee shop/restaurant in South Africa listening to the testimonies of Merv and the other South African men on the team speak of the impact I was having on the children of that country; looking out over the interior of an upscale mall a world from home.
My mind has wandered back to South Africa several times in the last few weeks. The contrasts are striking.
Today-cold and overcast
A Year Ago-hot and clear
Today-Miles with no topography
A Year Ago-Table Mountain always in the backdrop
Days full of activities and people
Days full of books and computer screens
Learning through service
Learning through lecture
A Year Ago- Confident in who I was but unsure of how to move forward
Today-Confident I am on a path, but unsure of who I am
A Year Ago-moving forward, learning, growing, healing, confidence
Today-stillness, learning, stretching, refining, questions
A Year Ago I wrote in my journal about being on a hero's quest.
Last November I did brave things. I flew across the globe, made sandwiches, played games, sang songs, changed lives.
Last August I did a brave thing. I flew across the country (okay, only half way, but I am trying to construct parallels here). I have made friends and memories, played games and sang songs. But now it is my life that is changing.
I feel like the journey has halted. But it hasn't, the movement has simply stopped. However, in any good story, especially a quest, there is time to stop and survey, time to stop and struggle, a time to wrestle and overcome.
A Year Ago God assured me that I was made for a purpose. He reminded me that he wanted my availability.
Today God is teaching me that he wishes to remake me into his image. He is reminding me that what he needs is my availability.
Both are for the same purpose. That purpose is to bring all Glory to God.
A Year Ago I knew what but not how.
Today I am learning the how, and praying for the strength to pay its cost, knowing the what still lies ahead ...
...on this ever onward hero's quest.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
