The Friends You Take with You

I moved a lot.
Like three jobs in the last three years a lot.
Like living in four states in the last five years a lot.
Like I have down sized more times than Marie Kondo a lot.
Like even then, I haven't completely unpacked in over a decade a lot.

There are places and people that I love dearly spread across this country. Some of those people are still in the cities where we met, others have gone off on their own adventures having moved since our paths first crossed.

And the reality is, no matter how deep the connection or how many suitcases you own, not everything, not everyone can come with you when you move.

So, instead things come to be reminders of the places you once lived. Physical items become totems of the people who were once near.

Chicago 2011
Bob, Mooby, and Cookie get displayed even before I have any furniture

Over the years, I have accrued a handful of these totems. And they all fit into a single box. A single box that is always made accessible whether the rest of my things are in storage or not. A single box that is always unpacked and its items displayed regardless of where I am.

While it may appear that this box is nothing more than a box of toys, each item carries significance for me.

In the photo on the right, the anthropomorphic tomato, Bob (far left), is progenitor of this tradition of hanging onto items that take on a greater meaning. Bob and I first met in college. Bob survived a mission trip in 1998 to Australia. He beyond being rescued from the more curious among our team, carries with him not just the memories of that trip, but the memories of my four years of college. He holds not only the memories of dorm rooms, study sessions, bad cafeteria food, finals weeks and missions trips, but the memory of everyone I met, everyone who broke my heart, and everyone who loved me in spite of my flaws for those four years in Redding, CA.

Copperopolis 2017
More shelves lead to more of the box unpacked

After college, I spent nine years living in Southern California. It was then I met Mooby. Mooby is the cow (really a golden calf) on Bob's left in the pic above, and on Bob's right in the pic below. Mooby represents a unique group of friends unlike any I have had before. It was becoming a part of this group that allowed me to attend private screenings of small documentaries, wide release studio films, and private indy films that never sought distribution. It is the reason I have the autograph of Johnny Depp's daughter and once had to help a Hollywood director shoo a group of drunk fans out of his bedroom. But it isn't these memories that ensure Mooby a place on the shelf. Rather, it is the friends who saw past my own doubts and insecurities and made me feel welcomed and accepted without having to change anything about myself.

Gainesville 2019
Albert joins Bob, Larry, and Mooby
(apologies to Pastor Beth)

Each of these plush toys and souvenirs that have accumulated over the years represent not only the people and places where they come from, they have come to represent parts of myself. My past and my present. My joys and failures, my pain and my victories. Little slices of my story that add up to where I am today. Parts of my identity reflected in the people and places that shaped them.

Most all of them were gifts, and most came about toward the end or ever after the experiences whose memories they hold. Today, I added a new "friend" to the shelf.

This new friend, Albert (the green one wearing the tee) is different. Albert is on the shelf not just as a totem for what has been, but as a totem for what can be. He represents not only this last year in Gainesville, but my future here. Albert represents the piece of myself that has found a home here in Gainesville.

Albert holds the hope and the faith this place will have many more memories to come.





--Serving God alongside all of you, just from further away
 --Jesse Letourneau

Feb 10th

February 10th has been a date of significance for me the last few years.

In 2016, my world was shaken. In 2018, a muppet hued sunset gave me assurance.

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

Roots

Journey, Packing, Unpacking, Quests, Beginnings, Endings, even a Thai String Ceremony or two. I have gone through quite a few metaphors to try and describe the journey I have been on the last nine and a half years. At each stop I learned. At each stop I grew. At each stop there was a time to move on. Some I was ready for, while others took me by surprise.

Last time I wrote about being in between. What I have come to realize is that I am also on the verge of. I am on the verge of staying in one place. I am on the verge of putting down roots.

At my interview with First United Methodist, they asked about my resume. They asked why I hadn't stayed in any one place for very long. It is a fair question. Seven Churches in nine and a half years is great experience, but it makes one wonder if that person has plans to stick around. I described the reason that each stop had come to an end. I let them know that I have always planned to stick around. Yet somehow each place simply didn't have a place to stick. Some places, like seminary, were designed to be liminal. Other places simply weren't the place where I was meant to land. And so they asked if I were to be given the job if I would want to stay.

I want to stay. I want to lay down roots.

The Bible says that since we don't control tomorrow, we are not to declare what tomorrow will hold. But, we are allowed to dream. to desire. We are allowed to want to stay in one place. We are allowed to want our roots to run deep.

Now, don't misunderstand me. I love that my roots run wide. I cherish each person, each memory, each lesson. But my dream, my desire is to stay in one place. To grow roots that run deep.

All of this moving means that I don't own any furniture (who wants to move a couch that many times), and that many of the physical items that hold memories for me have been tucked away in boxes, some for years at a time.

One of these items is a simple metal toy car. This car sat on father's desk. I don't know where he got the car or if it had any significance for him. When he died, it was one of the totems that I took for my own. It has lived on shelves and been tucked away in plastic tubs. It has traveled with me not just these last nine and half years, but has journeyed with me the last twenty-eight years.

Tubs and timing have kept it from being on my desk. That is until now.

Today it sits on my desk.

Placing that small car on my desk at First United Methodist is a small gesture. Yet, that small gesture has, for me, great significance. It states that here is where I wish to stay. It is here I wish for my roots to grow deep.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

In Between

In between boxes.
In between learning a town and a church.
In between between thoughts.

To end my last Youth Group at Cal Heights, the pastor and the youth laid hands on me, and four high school boys prayed aloud.

In between packing offices, and houses, unpacking storage units, and then packing all of that into a Hyundai Sonata, there was plenty left behind. Some of which I will miss. Some of which needed to stay in the past.

The timing of all this meant I left on my mom's birthday. It was a bitter sweet morning of waffles and good-byes.

Another farewell service, and more hands, and more prayers. And tears and laughter. I was sent from Cal Heights with blessings and resources, both physical and spiritual.
(And Doug don't think I didn't notice the prayers and hymns spoke of journey that morning. Thank you for that service.)

Then the drive began. The drive in between California and Florida.

From palm trees to desert to the home of friends. Late night reminiscence and news of a new pastorate. A morning of eggs, bacon, and theology.

Then onto the orange and blue that I have every only seen in New Mexico, along with a flash rainstorm, a rainbow at the check point, and the beginning of Texas.

From a Holiday Inn to a home. My home. The place that sheltered me for a year. The place where my family lives. Like actual blood relation family. That I like being around. I don't take that lightly.

I got to re-meet my nieces, both of whom give fantastic hugs and pick out the best books.

Breakfast and a coffee with colleagues. Each a reminder of how much I am loved.

More time with family, more hugs, and a breakfast.

Then back on the road.
Texas, Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, and a Holiday Inn.

From there to an office where I picked up keys and unpacked my car.
Still unpacking the boxes, but slowly the apartment is becoming a home.

A home.

I have called so many places a home.
Cities like Auburn.
Like Occidental.
Long Beach.
Chicago.
Houston.
and now Gainesville.

So many churches have been home.
EV Free.
Neighborhood.
Calvary.
Immanuel.
CCP.
CANVAS.
Kindred.
Cal Heights.
and now First UMC.

So many people have been home for me.
Greg and Meredith.
Sean and Becky.
Adam Kline.
Bret.
Adam and Sara.
My mom and dad.
And then just my mom.
Jeff, J.P., other Jeff, and the Breakfast Crew.
J.R., Julie, Joe, and the Underground.
Doug, Kathy, and Owen.
and now.

Now is the in-between. That isn't to say that I haven't been welcomed. That isn't to say I don't have some likely suspects. But people who become family, faces that become home, those take time.

To change your address is simple. It is done online.
To change a church is harder, but I have been very fortunate in that regard.
To change your family. Well, you don't do that. It just kinda happens.

You find yourself posing for pictures on an Easter morning, with people you aren't related to.
You find yourself asking what time we are leaving for the Super Bowl Party, before you even ask for a ride to the Super Bowl Party.
You find yourself at a Seder Meal with your board gaming group.
You find yourself at a coffee, where you assume the questions will revolve around your new responsibilities, and instead you find yourself being asked about your soul.

And honestly, you find your self.

Starting a new gig, in a new place it is easy to look back, to take stock. When you have been to so many places it is easy to think that maybe it is you and not them.

But, as I take stock, I remember each place, each person, each home. I see what I gave. I see what I gained. I am excited to take all of that and bring it to this new home. I am excited to see what I will gain here. I am excited to see what I will give here. I am excited to learn how I will grow.

I am excited to learn in what ways, this new place will become my new home.

My new home

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away,
--Jesse Letourneau

Transitions

Top Left July 16, 2017; Top Right Jan. 24, 2018
Bottom Right Feb. 27, 2017:; Bottom Left: May 15, 2017

During my second year of seminary in Chicago, I took a (nearly) weekly picture of the view from my front door. At the end of the year I turned these photos into a time lapsed video. It is still one of my favorite projects I have ever done.

Video

I tried to repeat the idea during my last semester of seminary. This time the bridge over a tiny tributary of the Chicago River was the subject.

Video

I don't think it turned out as well as the first one, but it was an exercise that kept me present during that semester of transition. Even as I rewatch the video today, I am reminded of that bridge, the housing it led to and the campus it lead away from. Memories across my four years at North Park flood my mind. That small space in Chicago is filled with laughter and tears, joy, doubt, fear, certainty, rejection, acceptance, and so much more.

In times of change, I believe it is important to look ahead, to plan ahead, to ready oneself for what is next. Like the titular ant of the Aesop Fable, it is good in the summer to plan for the winter.

In times of change, I believe it is important to stay grounded and present. To leave the worry of tomorrow for tomorrow and participate in the joy of today. Like the titular Grasshopper, it is important to run, sing, and dance while the sun still shines.

In January of 2017, I began a brand new adventure in Copperopolis, CA (Yes it is a real city, and no it is not home to "Copper Man"). I also began taking pictures for a new video. Those of you who follow me on Facebook may remember all the pictures I kept posting of that "same" sandwich.

The goal was to make a video where the tree in the background exhibited the changing seasons. I arrived in Copper after the leaves had fallen, and my journey took me away from that tree (and those sandwiches) just as the foliage of new life had begun to appear. I decided not to cut that video together.

In July of 2017, I began a new adventure in Long Beach, CA. Those of you who follow me on Facebook may have noticed I have been posting the "same" picture of the steeple of my new church. Peeking into the frame of those photos is a tree who I hoped would tell the story of the passage of time through the colors adorning its branches.

As I watched the branches of that tree transitioned from green, to pink, to bare, to green again, I thought this video project just might work out. Then the city, for completely legitimate safety reasons, removed that tree. And while my project stopped there. I have continued to take (nearly) weekly pictures of the steeple, because this church and my role in it are important to me.

These reflections of where I have been and where I am, serve as personal reminders that we can borrow from the past, but never repeat it. We can notice the patterns of what has come before, but they serve only as clues, not certainties of what lies ahead.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Same Song Next Verse

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.

Meanwhile...

Seven Years Ago while sitting in LAX, the idea of the hero's journey as analogous to my own journey began to take hold for me. Since then it has been a major filter for me as I process the events of my life both large and small. It certainly has become a recurring theme for this blog.

My last entry dealt with the in-between place I found myself in. I anticipated this entry to be about waiting and choice. I thought I would be writing about how the hero's journey ends when the hero returns home (or at the very least finds a new place of rest). I expected to be writing that now rather than seeing my journey like Frodo returning to the Shire or Alice finding her way back to the tree by the river bank, I felt my journey had become a series of quests with rest still far in sight.

This would be true Sunday to Thursday.

Two things happened on Thursday.
I received a text asking if I was available for a phone call with Pastor Doug of Cal Heights United Methodist Church here in Long Beach, and my mom started to feel feverish around 11:00 pm.

Friday morning two more things happened.
My mom woke me up at 1:10 am complaining of fatigue and shortness of breath and asked me to dial 9-1-1. The ambulance arrived shortly thereafter. From the emergency room my mom was wheeled directly into surgery to have a shunt placed to flush out a 99% blockage in her right artery. By 5:00 am my mom was in the ICU and allowed to get some rest. I went home and slept for a couple of hours.

At 9:00 am my phone rang. It was the call from Pastor Doug. We discussed the denomination and the position they had available. We talked a little shop. He asked if I could come in on Monday for lunch. He then went on say "after that I will show you the church, I will take you to where we do our background checks, and then we can get you started." I realized that with no formal interview I had just been offered a position at Cal Heights United Methodist.

Obviously I needed time to think.
I truly had no idea what was going to happen from day to day. Some days my mom was fine and being discharged the next day looked hopeful. Other days I was asking the doctors if my brother should be buying a plane ticket to come see her.

The position that was offered was for a part-time interim Youth director. Not exactly what I was looking for.

In the midst of all this, there was also a lack of clarity as to what my mom would need when she left the hospital.

Then I had the hero's journey redefined for me.
Above I spoke about the hero's journey being one of returning home. In fact I wrote something very similar before I left for Copperopolis. Yet somewhere in the last six months I had grown a desire to be great and important. To have others know of my work and my calling. To have others know of me. I had defined for myself the hero's journey as a quest of greatness, a proof of my value and worth.

Somewhere underneath my desire to be present, to make a difference right where I was, I had grown restless and allowed outside voices to be the barometer for my worth. I had allowed others view of my calling and work to be the definition of those things.

To be brutally honest, I am still processing all of this. 
Still looking to find meaning in it all.
Still trying to find the balance. Not wanting to make this last month one of fate, seeing these events as necessary for God to work. And yet, not wanting to make them mean nothing seeing them as pure happenstance.


--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Tune in Next Time.. When our hero has some distance and clarity on all this to share with you all, or simply uses this space to rant about Kermit the Frog.

So what have I have I been up to?

Before I left Houston, I bragged that I could make twenty hours of ministry work look like forty. I figured that life would be simple and easy. I thought I would find time to substitute to make more money and that I would have time for all the leisure I could afford.

I thank all of you who knew that to not be true, but allowed me to find out on my own. There are days now where I feel like I am making fifty or sixty hours of work look like twenty. But even more importantly, I am learning that this job isn't about leisure or money or even the hours.

In the last seventeen weeks,

I have had to stop my car to allow quail, wild turkey, and the occasional bovine to cross the road.

I spoke at a local Christian Elementary Chapel.

I transported four car loads of 6th to 12th graders to an establishment known as John's Incredible Pizza (think of Chuck E. Cheese's for older kids or Dave & Busters for younger kids) and back without loosing anyone.

Attended volleyball and basketball games, as well as the occasional school play

Found Target, Trader Joe's, and In-N-Out

Sold fundraising tickets outside of the local grocery store

Witness to the adoption of a child into his new home

Set-up and tear-down for the church's clothing give away ministry

Participated in the church's food pantry ministry

Found respite at a local coffee shop (that serves amazing deli sandwiches) and even made it to the movies on occasion

Countless games of Uno

Helped repaint and redecorate the nursery space

Participated in two Easter Services and an Easter Potluck Brunch

Found two Bible studies (one where I am the oldest and one where I am the youngest)

Attended the world famous Calaveras County Jumping Frog Jubilee

Planned and executed weekly Elementary School Outreach, Sunday School, Junior High, and High School Ministry, as well as getting to preach twice

What I have found through all of this, is that ministry isn't even about the doing. It is about being. 

What I have been is teacher, chaperone, local sports fan, witness, cheerleader, supporter, encourager, creator of space and a servant to set the table, testifier, preacher, and participant.

I am grateful each of these opportunities and anticipate what the ones that lie ahead.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Some pics of the doing/being

Moana and Me

I have written before about how the themes of Pixar seem to be following my own personal journey. I wrote that initial blog tongue firmly planted in my cheek. I didn't truly believe my life was fodder for computer animated films.

That was until I went to see the Disney animated film Moana. 

The Chief Creative Officer for Pixar (Joh  Lasseter) holds the same title at Disney Animation. Under his watch Disney released the CGI animated film that seems to share very little with my life, yet echoes the latest piece of my personal hero's journey.

On the surface, Moana is the story of a Polynesian Island girl on the cusp of womanhood who must find her own strength, her own voice, and her own way of leading before she can blossom into adulthood and claim her role as chief of the island. Along the way, she is aided by her ailing grandmother who understands more than anyone gives her credit for, a demi-god with magical tattoos, and the very sea itself.

On the surface my story does not parallel that of Moana. But the core of her journey mirrors the core of my own. To explain how this I need to discuss the plot of this movie.

So if you haven’t seen it and don’t want to be spoiled stop reading now.

The plot of Moana is a straightforward hero’s quest. She must find a guy, get a thing, and put the thing back to save the day. As in all good hero quests her parents are against her taking on the task. Think Marlin and his fear of Nemo going beyond the reef. Here is where the similarities begin to come into focus.

The central question of Moana is that of calling. Who is Moana meant to be and how is she to become that person? Is she to be the chief like her father before her? Is she to become a great explorer as her grandmother wishes for her? Moana must decide who she is and what she will become.

The choices laid before her seem to be at odds. 

Stay home or leave. 

Become the chief of island dwellers or become a great explorer?

Moana’s island home provides all anyone could ever need. There is even a song about how great the island is. Her people have been farmers and fishers as far back as memory holds. There is no need for Moana to leave home.

Until of course there is a need. The island begins to die. Quite literally the island begins to decompose as if the Nothing from The Never Ending Story has found this realm as well. (And in my head cannon that is the case.) But there is still a fear of the sea, and Moana’s Father tries to stop her from sailing off on her quest.

Moana learns that her people have not always been island dwellers. She learns they were once great and proud explorers. Moana finds an abandoned ship. And her quest begins.

Moana has chosen to leave home. 

She has chosen to become a sea farer and not an island dweller.

Moana’s quest includes finding her requisite Disney princess animal side kick, matching wits with the Rock, an encounter with a very sparkly crab, and the final battle where she uses wit and empathy to literally bring life back to her world.

But the story doesn’t end with Moana learning she had the power inside her the whole time. The story ends with Moana returning home to become the new chief. Moana had to leave in order to return. Moana was called to be a chief, but could only become that if she first left home.

If Moana had stayed home she would have lacked the ability to fulfill her calling. For it was only in the questing that she found the source of life not only for herself but for her people as well.

If Moana had become a sea faring adventurer finding her own way in the world but never returning home she would not have fulfilled her calling.

I grew up in Northern California.

I left home and explored my own seas. 

I was convinced I wouldn’t ever return home. There was no need. That is of course until there was one. 

God has called me back to California. If I had stayed home I would not be who I am today. I would not be who am I am called to be. If I had not come home, I would not be where I am today. I would not be where I am called to be.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Next week God uses healing to teach me about healing.

The Changing Seasons

When I wrote "WAVES" (see previous entry) I had already been interviewed and was soon to go visit a church in northern California that was considering me for Children and Youth Ministry Pastor. As confident as I was in the position I was no longer the kind of person who counted chickens that were not yet hatched.

As of this writing I have been the Children and Youth Pastor at Copper Canyon Baptist church for three weeks. I will write more about that in the weeks to come. For now I wish to reflect on what it meant for me to leave Houston.

I was an active member at two churches. CANVAS and Kindred. This week I reflect on my time with Kindred. Next week we will look at my time with CANVAS.

I first arrived at Kindred in the summer of 2016. I was promised there would be food. I was told I would be fed. Instead, Pastor Ashley explained that this evening we would be doing something called worskship. For the next hour or so I helped sort clothing donations for an outreach named Grace Place. The evening ended with Communion. “All are welcome. Sinner and Saint, Child and Skeptic” These words intrigued me.

I returned to Kindred a few weeks later. I attended services on a semi-regular basis. That summer Kindred alternated between workship (mostly sorting donations for various groups) and meals. (Kindred is a dinner church). Pastor Ashley often spoke of building Kindred together; stating that Kindred is made up of all who are present.”

I have been a part of Church life since I was born. From nursery to high school group, young adult to not so young adult, my life has centered on the gathering of God’s people. What Kindred offers, what Kindred is, is unique to each of these experiences.

Summer turned to Fall and weekly meals resumed as the steady rhythm of Kindred. Soon I found myself attending weekly, as gathering around the Table became a steady rhythm of my own. I had become a part of building Kindred each week. Fall became Advent and I was asked to lead Kindred in the sacred story of the Magi, the Shepherds and all the rest. The story of Advent is the story of Emmanuel. Kindred had become for me a place where Emmanuel was experienced each week.

Kindred became for me a place that is “made up of all who are present.” It is place where God is felt not merely in songs and sermons but in the presence of each member gathered around the table that evening.

I have experienced God at Kindred. I have experienced God in Kindred.

I have experienced God in the smiles of those who greet me each week, in hugs and in prayers, and in good food shared with good people.

The Advent season soon became the Christmas season. Next the Church calendar entered into the Great Green Growing Season. In this time of transition, I find myself in transition as well. My time with Kindred has come to a close. God has called me to serve a church in California. A new personal weekly rhythm will emerge. A rhythm I have no doubt where I will still find Emmanuel. But it will no longer be in the physical company of Kindred.

I first arrived at Kindred expecting to be fed. Seeking out physical food.

Kindred has been a place where I have been fed and have been fed well. However, I was fed not only with the meals that were served, but with the presence of God experienced through all who were present.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau

Next week: I take out a restraining order on John Lasseter