Day 690

I haven't updated this blog since August.
A few things have happened since then. Both globally and personally.

Where I would like to start is with is some highlights from my second year of ministry. When I began this entry, I was expecting to write about the two or three fundamentally grandiose events that radically changed the direction of my ministry.

But looking back, they weren't there. I assumed they would be. My heart is so full of joy and pride that there must be some grand events that created these feelings. Rather, I noticed countless small events. Little things like trips to serve and trips to play. Participating in you all's lives through stage plays,  band performances, baseball games, and of course movies at Celebration Pointe. I found the peace of God on lazy rivers and inflatable water slides. I had the privilege of standing with teachers and scout masters. I had the privilege of sitting in pews and waiting rooms. I got to speak from the pulpit and from the steps of our altar. I got to listen. Oh, and I got to meet Popeye.

In June, I got to experience Georgia. And more importantly I got to experience God moving through middle school students through service and bonding with each other. Through youth soccer campuses and community gardens as well as games of Sardines and Moose Moose (Hot Dog).

In October, we were asked to help out with the Fall Fun on Metcalfe Street event by being a part of the Trunk or Treat area. Turns out we were three of the four vehicles there. It was great to have been asked to partner with this amazing school.

October was also when I got to serve with these weirdos.

In December, I got to hand these off to brighten the holidays for a few families here in Gainesville.

January was when I met Popeye.

In February, we celebrated with Zeke, remembered Reggie and Malia. As a wise man once said, "Ice Cream Breakfast forever:"

In March there was Pancake Dinners, Ash Wednesday, and Scout's Blue and Gold Banquet.
Then things changed just a little. More on that next time.

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

Day 366

In ministry value and worth are often considered in relationship to the size and number of buildings, money, and people involved. That is to say a successful ministry is measured in bucks, butts, and buildings.

The more you have the better you are doing. However, attraction is not service and numbers do not dictate quality. McDonald's and Coca-Cola are in more places than any world religion has even dared to dream.

Now, this is not about mega churches being bad, or small Bible Study being good. This is about taking a moment to notice the little things.

I believe the little things count. I believe the little things add up. I believe sometimes the little things are really the big things.

Over the last year, I have been compiling a list of the moments in my ministry here at First that may appear to be the little things, but are the seeds that grow, the buds that blossom. They are the bedrock that demonstrate to me that my God is at work here in Gainesville.

Below I have shared some of those with you:

2018 
7/23 I walk into my office to find a bouquet of balloons. One of them reads "Welcome Home"

9/19 Before Chapel, the Pre-School children sing "Happy Birthday" to me

9/24 During Communion, myself and the pastor receive the compliment, "You spittin"

10/7 A visitor who had come with one of our youth families and I had a conversation after church about who we were as a congregation. One of those "Oh, I didn't know Christians believed that" kind of conversations

10/7 Having the privilege to sit next to one of our youth at a worship service at Gator Wesley's (campus ministry) service

10/22 A proud parent sharing opening night video of their actor

11/1 Learning the story of a Saint, whose walk with Jesus was longer than my time here on earth thus far

11/1 Linda looses her head over her boyfriend (Evil Dead Musical)

11/1 Watching one of our youth win the championship game, followed by the end of the year ceremony celebrating both teams

12/10 Discussing the depth of Shalom with a Jewish congregant

12/16 The Sunday where every congregant under the age of eighteen was involved in playing, singing, reading, or acolyting during the service

12/16 Having two youth represented at the District Wide Science Fair Award Ceremony, and them giving each other a high-five as they waited for the other names to be called

2019
1/27 The night where one of the youth, who normally wouldn't give me the time of day, excitedly sharing with me what she knew from the topic we mentioned for next week

2/10 A youth stopping me in the halls to tell me they enjoyed Sunday School

2/27 Being ministered to and encouraged by Scout parents after a particularly rough week (and it was only Wednesday)

3/20 A Scout saying they have something that will make me happy. Followed by the announcement that they had made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to give those experiencing homelessness

4/6 Watching a child's face light up when they hear the inflatable slide at the Art Fair is free to ride

4/7 Watching the youth spend time with each other and work together at the Art Fair

4/10 In the middle of our Chapel unit on the life of Jesus, one of the Pre-School Teachers walked her children into the chapel past the stained glass windows (that we had been using as visual aids) and points out the stories we had done thus far

4/19 A youth flipping through Bible to follow along with the reading at the Good Friday Service

5/4 and 5/5 Watching our church come together to reach out to our community with a crazy Harry Potter themed "Wizard Training" Event 5/5 Watching two youth groups work together to make day two of Harry Potter happen 5/5 Connecting with a (third) youth group at the Harry Potter Event

6/19 When the Director of Music walked into my office and said, "So, I was downloading panels of Spider-Man comics" (y'know for work)

7/10 While teaching the Pre-Schoolers the story of Adam and Eve, and asking "What do you think God did next?" "There is nothing you can do to make God stop loving you" was the reply. (Which is the line we end with every week)

7/13 At the Youth Families Retreat seeing one of the Youth wearing their shirt from the Middle School Mission Trip

7/13 Having a Youth ask me to watch her summer production of Mama Mia

7/14 A parent sending a picture of their first grader reading their new Bible on the way home from service

7/21 A Octogenarian and a three year old playing with an over-sized soccer ball after our Simple Sunday Lunch

7/24 Day 366 of working in the place where all are welcomed (even Harry Potter), and the place that has become HOME

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

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.

Recasting

1955-1990                                                          1990-2017

It has been a while since we talked Muppets on the site. And it just so happens there is Muppet news that I have thoughts on. It was announced on July 10th of this year that the current performer for Kermit the Frog, Steve Whitmire, would be stepping down.

Much of the noise around this announcement as boiled down to age old troupes of Creator vs. Corporation. And in my humble opinion there is no clear good guy in this announcement.  From what I have heard and read I believe both parties actions led to this divorce of artist from the business of the Muppets. And I am not really interested in declaring a winner. What follows are just some of my thoughts and reflections on the news.

Muppet performers are more than voice actors. While there are times where one person will puppeteer and a voice is dubbed over, the standard for the Muppets has long been that movement and voice originate from the same performer. This marriage of movement and sound leads to character. More than that it leads to a character. Fans of the Muppets often refer to the performer as the soul of the character. So when these characters change hands, they do more than change voice actors. A recasting for the Muppets isn't simply a matter of inflection or pitch that is changed, the character themselves undergo a change.

And yes, I did just use the words character, soul, and self to describe two half ping pong balls glued onto a scrap of green fabric. But that is what makes the Muppets so great. At there core the Muppets are a magic trick. I know that they are felt and foam. I know that there is a rod holding their arms up, and a human being manipulating all of it just below frame. However, like with all good magic, it is not a matter of suspension of disbelief or nostalgia or even a sense of imagination that causes me to care about these characters. It is the fact that I forget that they are just foam and felt. I forget that they aren't real. My mind is taken to a place where reality is bent and pigs can sing, bears tell jokes, and frogs can dance.

The first time Kermit was recast was in 1990 following the death of Jim Henson. Jim's death led to questions about the future of the Muppets. News then came out that the Muppets would continue. This led to the question whether the character of Kermit would continue. News then came out that Kermit would be recast. This led to the question of whether Kermit would be the same if someone else preformed him.

Now various Muppets have changed performers in the past. And for the most part, even when it is different, the trick is still pretty good. But this news in not merely about a new performer hoping to recreate the same magic. This is about Kermit.

If the performer is the soul of the character, then Kermit is the soul of the Muppets. And this reason is simple. Kermit was created whole cloth (if you will excuse the pun) by the man who created the Muppets. I am referring of course to Jim Henson. And to many fans, Kermit wasn't just a creation of Jim, but a reflection. Jim didn't find the character of Kermit. Rather Kermit reflected the character of Jim.

Steve's interpretation of Kermit was rocky at first. And fan debates about the quality of "Jim's Kermit" vs. "Steve's Kermit" continued for many years.  (and still do). For me personally, Steve's Kermit recently became simply Kermit. Character and performer had found their groove. In the midst of the changes brought to these characters over the last two plus decades, Kermit was just finally Kermit again.

And now we move to a new era of the Muppets. Soon we will see the third version of Kermit.

This transition in many ways mirrors my own. I too am stepping into a new role.

I am five weeks into my role as Coordinator of Ministries to Children, Youth and Families at California Heights United Methodist Church.

I am also stepping into the role of caretaker for my mother (her doctor is still trying to find the right balance of meds to keep her heart rate, heart rhythm, and blood pressure all in working order, while also working to maintain blood flow through the stint in her right artery.)

And like Steve, I step into these roles not as originator but as follower. At Cal Heights I follow the person who held the position before me. And in my role with my mother I follow myself. For once my role as son was to be cared for, and now it is to care for.

Next time I will reflect on where I have been and how I got here.

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

Recasting Jim's charcters

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.

Now what?

Let's just cut to the chase.

I am no longer employed by CCBC. June 25 was my last day of service for that congregation.

I found out that I would be leaving the church the same week that I posted my previous blog. And for now we are going to let it serve as the recap of my time there. It will serve as my public thanks for the opportunity to serve that congregation.

Which leads us to the titular question, Now What?

I'm not totally sure. I have some irons in the fire as they say. More on those when I can talk about them.

Beyond where I will land next, I still find myself asking the question, Now What?

When I began this blog, I saw the goal of arriving at the destination as the purpose of life.  I was never one to enjoy the trip itself. While working at ARCG I began to see this life we live as a journey. I learned to stop and look around. To appreciate where I was in the moment. I began to notice and learn from where I was, rather than needing to spend all my energy worried about where I was going or why I wasn't there yet.

However, where I have been lately hasn't been all that enjoyable. I left three places of employment that I truly enjoyed (one of which I never even began), broke my elbow, and had my car of seven years finally stop working. All of these experiences have left me wanting to end the journey to finally arrive somewhere.

And yet, in this same time frame I found two churches that taught me about community and communion, I have seen my gifts and talents married to a calling that impacted my life and the lives around me, and I got a front row seat to the first year of the life of my niece.

When I see everything on balance I am called back into an understanding of life as journey not simply as destination. I am called back into trusting that God is present with us. I am able to once again stop and look around. To appreciate where I am in the moment. I begin again to notice and learn from where I am.

What this all means about the direction I am walking in, I am not yet sure. I am still reflecting on all of that. But if my current understanding holds, next time we will get back to mixing over analysis of superheroes with my personal theology.

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

--Jesse Letourneau

Romans 12:15

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

Two Years Ago

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)

The Song Goes On

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

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