Life under the Lintel: It’s complicated

Since last I wrote, we’ve had a few birthdays; summer has changed decidedly to fall; we’ve been to the beach and back with dear lovely friends; and have spent the last couple weeks coming down with and recovering from sickness, while simultaneously trying to adjust back to post-beach real life.

It’s been a long time. How are you, Mindy?

That’s never a simple question because we humans are complex. I feel...

Lovestruck, because though our 16 years have had their share of ups and downs, today my marriage is sailing along happy and affectionate. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t tell you, internet. But if I couldn’t say anything nice, I wouldn’t say anything at all. Today, true love feels like infatuation.

Anxious, because 2020. There’s an election (and just that fact that that means enough to me to mention on my blog tells you that the world is amiss), stupid covid is the hopefully-not-literal air we breathe, the days are getting darker—I mean, literally, the sun is going down sooner. And the constant wondering, Are we doing the right thing?

Confession: getting to use a Hobbit gif did cheer me up.

Frustrated, because I can’t see my friends. Hey! I miss you! We should get together! Oh wait, we can’t. I should go browse my favorite thrift store! No, wait, I can’t. Should we go out for coffee? No. No we should not.

Frustrated.

Sad, because I miss the beach sooooo much. Specifically, I miss my friends at the beach. I miss waking up and wandering out and seeing their sleepy faces. I miss being covered with sand and shivering with them because October isn’t actually beach weather. I miss making massive dinners together and filling an army of Solo cups for the kids. I miss piles of kids all over the couches and the floor, reading to each other or jumping on each other or playing together. I miss spending all evening laughing until it hurts. And most of all I miss gathering around a room together to read God’s word and talk about it, sharing struggles, brothers and sisters alike, sweetly fellowshipping together in our Savior.

Amused, because I have videos of said friends doing the Macarena that I can watch on repeat.

Grateful, because I got to come home with my four favorite kids, and (thanks covid) get to spend all my time with them. These days you stand or fall together with your household, and I’m thankful these people are my bubble. The early grueling days of babyhood and toddlerhood are past, and now we get to enjoy some fruits of our labors and God’s grace in our kids’ helpfulness and relatability.

Bewildered, because a large portion of my American neighbors apparently think we’re on the right track as a nation?

Weary, because 2020. The endless mask wars. The high-stakes decisions over what used to be minutiae. Sigh.

Happy, because here in my favorite place, I have a cup of hot coffee, a fuzzy blankie, a chaise lounge by the window, and a fireplace. And that means quarantine isn’t as bad as it could be.

Guilty, because I’m secretly glad that I had to miss church today due to the lingering cough from our cold. We still “did church” via recording—which is not at all the same as fellowship, but we did get to hear from God’s word. But I didn’t have to teach Sunday school, which is the relief I feel a little guilty about.

Amazed that our pastors keep on keeping on. Today he preached (very well) on Galatians 6:6: “The one who is taught the word is to share all good things with the one who teaches him.” I’m sure that was as awkward for a pastor to preach on as he repeatedly said it was, but thank you for not withholding part of God’s word from us because it’s awkward. And thank you for sharing this earnest description of a pastor’s work:

Preaching and teaching the Scriptures well—to do it well—is rigorous. It’s rigorous mentally; it’s rigorous intellectually. A lot of study and prayer are required. This work is also emotionally draining for the faithful preacher, because he labors over his work in prayer. He gives careful consideration to the needs of the congregation. He knows the various stories in his congregation. He knows that if he’s going to get up and preach on things like faithfulness and suffering, he’s going to be facing people who don’t need simple, moralistic platitudes, but they need the power of God to touch their life, because he’s preaching these words to people, in some cases, who have suffered greatly, and this weighs on him so that he wakes up on Saturday night sweaty and nervous, knowing that he stands before God and will give an account to God. That’s what I’ve heard.

It is spiritually treacherous work, in that the one tasked to preach and teach is often the target of attack by Satan, the Accuser. We should not be surprised at the number of pastors who fall into grievous sin, because of the level of temptation that they face, because they are targets, because the faithful preaching of God’s word is so hated by our enemy.

Also, the pastor bears the criticisms of those who are dissatisfied, and he is aware of the fact, every time he lays his little head down on his little pillow at night, he is aware that there is someone who doesn’t think he’s doing a good job. And for those who tend towards anxiety, that gets to be a heavy burden to bear.

And on top of it all, he struggles with those unwelcome but recurring fears that he is failing at his calling, that each day he is haunted by the thought that there was more he could have done, that there were less errors he could have made, that he could’ve been wiser, that he could’ve been more compassionate, that he could’ve had greater clarity and greater conviction.

Spurgeon said one of the reasons the job of pastor is so weighty is because it is “heart work.” Every day we are dealing with matters of the heart—not only the hearts of the people around him, but his own heart, which is just as much a factory of idols.

So he does all of this. He does it for the good of God’s beloved people, and he’s terrified of failing at it. So share with your pastors, Paul says, all good things.

Mental note: send my pastors an appreciative email. To think they do all that for my soul, NOT in sucky 2020. Now, in covid world, as another pastor I heard said, they’re building a plane in midair.

Terrified, because Dr. Fauci said we won’t get the vaccine distributed til the second or third quarter of 2021. I barely even know what a quarter is, but I’m pretty sure that translates to forever.

Overwhelmed at the state of my inbox, because between being out of town for a week and sick for another week, I feel like I have emails coming out my ears. Ear-mail.