To the billionth person who asks me "that question"

Weekly, my husband and/or I are dragged into a conversation that goes like this. Sometimes it happens after being seen playing with or talking to a child at church or in our family. Sometimes, it’s from someone just standing in my office doorway while I should be writing a sermon.

“When are you going to have a kid of your own?”

Never. It’s irresponsible for me to bring another life into the world right now…and maybe ever. “Um, someday, maybe, we’ll adopt a child.”

“There’s never a good time, you know.”

No. But, especially not when you’re drowning in $200,000 of student loans, a $1700 rental payment, a $400 car payment, your vehicle doesn’t run right now, you are both on-call 24/7 and work 50+ hours a week, you have precisely four weekends a year in which you might be able to take short trip or attend a tournament or contest for school. We hardly have time enough to even make a child! Why are you so interested in my sexual habits and life. It’s NUNYA BIZNESS! Oh, yes, I ought to respond. “It’s complicated. Now is not the time.”

“Well, don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Too late? There will be a shortage of children whose parents cannot care for them in the future who cannot be fostered or adopted? IF that’s the case, you—who last week called me too young for my job—think my ovaries are older than I am? “Oh, would you look at the time, I have a meeting! See you Sunday!”

          I have an innate need to justify things. My mind is always explaining why a situation happens or why I choose what I choose. It’s just how my mind works. It makes for some creative stories. But, my answer to this particular question is one I rarely justify to anyone except closest family and friends. When these situations happen, I try to not explain myself, because I should not have to, but also because I’m afraid I’m going to just be a major asshole to the offender...and that’s not pastoral. Prophetic? Maybe. Effective in teaching or making a point? Sure. But, not pastoral. 

As I share this with you, please understand these are givens in my mind, these are realities:

1.    My reasons for not bearing children are not everyone’s reasons for not bearing children.

2.    Though I believe that adoption is the best stewardship of God’s creation, it may not be the right option, or even an option, for you or someone else.

3.    Child-bearing isn’t bad. It’s a part of creation and I’m pretty glad my own parents and my husband’s parents opted for it.

Those realities stated, I feel offended, disrespected, and devalued for all that I actually am and want to be when I’m asked about when I’m going to have “one of my own.”  And, here’s why…

First, I don’t understand any child to be “my own.” As a pastor I hear, read, and preach that nothing belongs to us. Everything is created by God and belongs to God. We are that creation and stewards of that creation—plants, animals, earth, waters, and people. Even more, in baptism we celebrate the Spirit which descended on Jesus and for us all calling us each God’s beloved. I will never have “one of my own.” I will always be deeply intertwined with God’s creation. Every person will always be my brother or sister by creation and in Christ. Theology tells me that living with or for another person isn’t about ownership, it’s a relationship.

Secondly, do you think that I might not want to bear a child? I know, I’m a woman—breasts, hips, PMS, and all—but, I’m also a daughter, wife, sister, auntie, and pastor. I have many other commitments and desires for my life. I also have asthma, a heart that sometimes beats funky, a perpetual kink in my neck, and wicked high cholesterol. That stuff already prevents me from doing things which renew my spirit like hiking, climbing, snowboarding, and even pottery. Can you imagine what a big belly and swollen feet would add to that? Not much renewal for this weary pastor which would mean some really tough days reigning in resentment to be the family-member and worker I already am. Plus, I already eat like a 14-year-old boy. I can’t afford to eat for another person, too. My point: I don’t want to be pregnant—not now, maybe not ever.

Moreover, I feel that it is irresponsible for me to bring another child into this world while I’m surrounded by so many of God’s beloved children who wait and long for family in the foster- and adoption-care systems. These are children who deserve love. Who should not be adopted because a person or couple can’t have one of their own. Who should be adopted into a family because they deserve love and life and because a person or family has that to share. In my mind, these are children—people­—not the crumbs at the bottom of the Pringles can that you scrounge up because there are no whole chips left.  (No offense to chip crumb eaters...I devour those crumbs as if I'll never eat another chip again! Also, there are many people who cannot physically bear children who raise them beautifully and wonderfully never allowing their child to think s/he's second-best, and thanks be to God for you!)

Sometimes another question pops up, when I actually engage in conversation about becoming a parent, “Don’t you want to leave a piece of you, someone to look like you?” The answer is, NO! I don’t need a person to look like me—though, they’d be pretty lucky to—in order to love them. I don’t need my DNA to be in another person to leave a mark on the world. And, I don’t think it’s my call to leave my mark on the world so much as it is my call to share the gospel with the world.

That’s all evidenced by the fact that I work with a congregation of people who look very little like me. And, I love them, or I wouldn’t be there because being a pastor ain’t easy. I’ve gathered my share of that $200,000 debt to be with them, I’ve rented a small house in an expensive metro-area in order to serve with them in their community, and I have stayed with them because I believe all of God’s children deserve love and life. Not just those who are cute and cuddly and look like me.

So, why don’t my husband and I just adopt a kid now? That debt. The entirety of my paycheck goes toward student loans. And the majority of those payments goes to the interest on student loans, so those are going to be around for awhile. My husband and I work crazy hours to pay back those loans. And because we are called to life in community, too. We work because we have gifts to help particular organizations and people and, by God, we think it’s important to do that. Crazy, right? We also have professional goals and dreams. We see these gifts taking us to other callings, in other places.  And, I believe that God’s love for us does not culminate in our being parents. I think we’re a pretty great family together, the two of us. We love each other. We even like each other most days! 

That God called the two of us together is a blessing. This story is mine and he is part of it and I wouldn’t be writing this if we weren’t on the same page in this book of life.  Frankly, we wouldn’t be husband and wife if we weren’t on the same page.  We probably have some different ways of talking about our desire to someday be parents or not be parents. We probably have some similar and some different feelings about these discussions in which people prod into our personal life. And, if the goalie broke and a leg we had an “oops,” then, you know, I guess there would be a new person in the world to love and we’d figure it out. But that’s still none of your business unless we choose to share it.

That’s my personal story. That’s why I do not want a baby to be in me or to come out of me! For someone to assume that I do, to expect me to want that, to tell me that I should want that is hurtful. It denies my personhood. It denies the things that God has created me to be and do!  Bearing a child may be or may have been what you are created for and I celebrate that. I give thanks to God for that! It’s amazing, for real! But, I’m not you and I’m not your wife. You are not my husband and you are not his wife. So, yeah, not your business. Now, if you wanna talk about scripture, about theology, about how to love our neighbors, let’s have that discussion instead.

I was born...

Tomorrow is my birthday.  I'll be 29.  I've had lots of good birthdays, many parties with pizza and friends, many sweet gifts from my parents, husband, and family. 

But, the birthday I remember most was my fourth (at least, I think it was my fourth...that was a long time ago).

My mom and dad were travelling for a few days to another city where my dad was having some health tests.  My younger sister and I were spending that time with Grandma Amy and Grandpa Herb.  Grandma Amy felt bad for me because Mom and Dad were missing my birthday.  She knew a little bit about that.  On the day I was born (to her youngest daughter, a couple weeks early, by emergency c-section, giving my mom lots of health problems), Grandma Amy was out of town with Grandpa Herb who was having surgery on his foot.  I think she always felt a little bad about missing it. But she didn't miss anything after that.

For my fourth birthday I wanted, very badly, for my parents to be there and my dad to be well.  But, my second-best wish was for a round cake with chocolate frosting and blue candles.  I had seen round cakes in pictures and on TV and they were beautiful. 

And, so, that birthday, Grandma made me the perfect round cake with dark, chocolate frosting and blue candles.  I sat in Grandma's chair at the kitchen table and blew out the candles with my sister and Grandpa and Grandma.

I wish I could have that cake again.  I wish that I could look at my grandma with the awesome wonder of a four-year-old whose wish had come true.  But, you know, life happens and we're only four-years-old for one year.

After almost 92 years, my grandma lived her life through and she died on February 6, 2015.  If one picture, one peak at a memory, is worth 1,000 words, I can't imagine capturing almost 92 years of pictures.  

Today, I think back to my fourth birthday.  And I cry because I love my Grandma and she loved me so much and I miss her.  (Yes, I, a cold-hearted Scandinavian-Midwestern-American, cry.)  I hope that everyone has a birthday like that. I hope you all get to celebrate being born with someone who cares enough to make you a round cake with chocolate frosting and blue candles.

For a glimpse at what almost 92 years of memories looks like (in far less than 1,000 words written by someone who has only almost 29 years) here is this poem which was written for Grandma's funeral a few weeks ago:

Amy’s Poem—March 28, 1923- February 6, 2015

I was born and they said, “She won’t live,”

            -her arm is crippled, she’s weak and she’s small.

But I, I would show them: my life was not their call.

I would grow and learn, I would work and write

            I would live life.

I would love—through many of life’s throws

            my parents and dear sister, and a farm boy with dirt on his toes.

I would teach you, my children, to walk and to run

            to learn every day and to always have fun.

I would knock heads together and indeed raise some hell

            if you or your friend or even a stranger were not treated well.

I would hold you, my grandchildren, and sing, “go to sleep,”

            bandage your wounds, sneak you cookies and treats.

I would weave thread and yarn in blankets and clothes

            for you, my beloved, to always feel close.

I would share every thought—ever deep, often smart

            to engage you and change you and open your hearts.

I was born.

And they said, “She won’t live,”

            -her arm is crippled, she’s weak and she’s small.

But I, I would show them—and you, too—my life was not their call.

Because, before I was your friend, sister, grandma and mom,

I was born, fearfully and wonderfully made,

            created in the image of God.

©2015 Katherine J. Chullino (poem and blog)

...from a chaplain

Four years ago, I spent the summer working as a student chaplain at a hospital in the Quad Cities.  Life as a chaplain is weird.  In a matter of moments you can go from consoling a mourning family to calming a person detoxing to rejoicing at a birth. One of the most beautiful practices at the hospital I worked in was that with every birth a song would quietly play down the halls.  The song played as people went into cardiac arrest, as nurses took blood and gave meds, as aids cleaned up vomit, any time a baby was born there was a moment of rejoicing on every floor of the hospital.  Here's an ode to that, written in my last week of chaplaincy:

...from a chaplain

The lullaby sings softly down the hall

--a child is born.

For a moment, there is joy,

sweet celebration, of life, of promise.

But, I wait for the merismos

--a bookend to the birth.

In anticipation, I wait, for the rattling breath,

the labored, gasping, death.

I wait for the merismos.

Which encompasses life and death and all that is between.

I wait, for those coming and those going

and I stay with those in limbo, in the dark and in the light.

I wait, for the merismos.

A sudden long-awaited end,

While I wait, I hear it again

--a voice proclaiming I’ve lived and I will live again--

The lullaby sings softly down the hall.

(c) Katie Chullino 2010

Dash to a New Reality

May 2004.  That was 10 years ago.  That is when I graduated from high school.  Wow, am I getting old, or what?  

Today, I biked to work.  This is the second time I’ve done this in two weeks.  The first time was because I “had” to bike because my 1974 Scout II was getting new suspension. Today, I didn’t have to. Today, I wanted to ride my bike. Like an 8-year-old riding around town all summer. I wanted to fly down hills and fight like the dickens to get my little legs to peddle up them. (Let’s just say my legs aren’t that much longer than those of an 8-year-old.)

I want to make the most of my dash.  Not my dash across Broadway to avoid being one of the pedestrian hit-and-runs that are disgustingly common in the Denver-metro area, but the dash that goes between 1986 (the year I was born) and some other year hopefully decades down the road.  That dash between birth and death.   See, when I graduated from high school one of my band directors gave me a copy from a book about making the most of your dash.

In the past 10 years, I’ve remembered that photocopy.  I can’t remember the exact words or the author’s name or the book title—even though I can picture the citation across the top of the first page.[1]  I’ve remembered it when I was tired of studying for college finals. I’ve remembered it when I was pretty sure I’d never finish my master of divinity thesis. I’ve remembered it as I’ve waited for interviews and call-backs. I’ve remembered it as I’ve sat at the bedside of dying parishioners.

I’ve remembered it a lot in the past five weeks (in which I’ve presided at four memorial/burials).  I’ve learned a lot about other people’s dashes.  Steven’s dash was filled with music and living as an uncle.  Loretta’s dash was filled with joy.  Lilo’s dash was filled with compassion children.  Richard’s dash was filled with support for his friends.  Some of these dashes filled more time and space than others but each dash made a profound impact on the world.

In the same time that I was busy learning about these dashes and burying the people who filled them, I became very aware of my own dash.  I’d neglected for some time (maybe a few years) to take care of some medical issues.  I didn’t want to waste time at the doctor’s office and I didn’t want people to think I was a sick kid. (FYI: Don’t do that. That’s not making the most of your dash.) 

It turns out though, I was a sick kid (not too sick though).  It took a couple of weeks, a few tests, and a cheap, low-dose, daily prescription to make my ticker tick like it should. As I biked today, I realized that I wasted part of my dash.  For the first time in years I wasn’t dizzy or having palpitations while exercising. How much more could I have done these past few years if I’d been on this medication sooner? Would I have hiked longer and higher? Would I have run faster and biked farther? Would I have had more energy to work youth lock-ins and campouts and service trips? Probably.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer (if you don’t know him, Google his name, don’t waste your dash not knowing his story) wrote, “Time is the most valuable thing we have, because it is the most irrevocable. The thought of any lost time troubles us whenever we look back. Time lost is time in which we have failed to live a full human life, gain experience, learn, create, enjoy, and suffer. It is time that has not been filled up, but left empty.”

Today, my dash has new life. It's more full (it wasn't empty before, just not as full as it could have been). Today, I rode my bike. I saved a gallon of gas. My heart is happier and healthier. I felt the wind as I rushed downhill and I broke a sweat as I rode uphill again. In a few hours I’ll plan worship for the coming weeks, I’ll sit at the bedside of our only charter members. And, I will have worked for myself and for the world. I will have accomplished something—if only 6 miles.  Those 6 will be 12 by the end of the day and those 12 will mark a beautiful day in my dash. Thanks be to God (and my ol’ band director) for that. 

Make the most of your dash.  Don’t just do something. Do something to make the world a better place. Do something that pushes you and the world beyond potential and into a new reality.

---

[1] I think the info on the original text is this: Aronson, E. (2004). Dash. : Synergy Books.

The Faces Around This Table

Every week before text study a different local pastor leads discussion over a book, a spiritual practice, an idea he/she has for ministry--pretty much whatever he/she wants to talk about.  A couple of weeks ago a well-established and highly-respected pastor shared with us his new-found practice of poetry.  It was really neat to hear his poetry which ranged from deep, theological thoughts to playful, loving illustrations of his grandchildren.  At the end of the hour he gave us each a paper with a "starter" on it.  We were instructed to write (a list, poem, or prose), draw a picture, or just ponder the starter: When I look at the faces around this table...  I thought about the discussions there, the ministry, the passion, the pain, and the variety of called Children of God who surrounded me.  They reminded me of myself, of friends from long ago, of people in my congregation. They reminded me that people are each pastors, prophets, and preachers at different times and different places.  And this is where the spirit guided me:

When I look at the faces around this table ,

there are faces of pastors, of hearts willing and able

to share a kind word with a mourning soul,

to listen for God’s Word for a world made whole.

When I look at the faces around this table,

                there are faces of prophets, of hearts willing and able

to think and to wonder about a great vision,

to work and to pray for God’s people and mission.

When I look at the faces around this table,

                there are faces of preachers, of hearts willing and able

to speak from a pulpit to people in pews

to go forth and to share that there is good news.

When I look at the faces around this table,

                there are faces of people willing and able

to be called children of God, to call others, too

to be for the world people true,

                who laugh, cry, cuss, and repent,

                pray, teach, learn, and are sent.

Written during Metro South Conference Meeting on 4/10/14.

Things Change

The title of this blog is all too familiar.  In the past two and a half months, I've been ordained and installed in a congregation.  This congregation is a beautiful group of individuals who come together to worship.  Over the past few years, this congregation has seen many changes ranging from the illness and death of a beloved pastor of over 25 years, declining numbers of butts in the pew (because of ELCA decisions, local decisions), kids growing up and leaving the nest, deaths of beloved brothers and sisters in Christ, and now a new, young female pastor.

This also means that my life has changed, drastically.  I went from working part-time jobs which sucked the life out of me, to working with a group of people who I want to work with for a cause I want to work for.

That's a change.  I'm not just working for a paycheck.  I'm working to help people live into their baptismal calling.  I'm working to help people see that God still loves them, God still calls them, and God is still with them.

Some days, that's a rough gig.  Every person has doubts--in him/herself, in the pastor, in the congregation, in the world, and in God.  Every person is broken--in mind, body, spirit.  Every person requires grace and deserves love.  That's the stuff that never changes.  That's the constant in an ever-uncertain world.  People are in need.

Past, Present, and Future

Revelation 1:4b-8

4 John to the seven churches that are in Asia: Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, 5 and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, 6 and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. 7 Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So it is to be. Amen. 8 "I am the Alpha and the Omega," says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.

Reflection

"I am the Alpha and the Omega," says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.  Those are pretty strong words.  Maybe it's strong because you've heard it so many times.  Maybe it's strong because of who is supposedly saying it.  Maybe it's strong because of the sheer thought of some being who is eternal.  Maybe it's strong because, somehow, you believe it. 

This passage gives the reader lots to imagine: seven spirits, freedom from sins by blood, a kingdom and priests, glory, clouds, sight, wailing.  With all that excitement, the bearer of these words begins with a greeting of something stronger than any of that: grace and peace.  And, not just the kind of "grace" we say at the dinner table or the "peace" we claim outside of wartime.  No, this is grace and peace from God who is and who was and who is to come.  This is grace and peace from the seven spirits (the number seven represents wholeness...one could go on forever about the number seven and the seven spirits and what it could mean).  But, what I find most profound today is: This is grace and peace from Jesus Christ who is not only raised from the dead, but plays a major role in the current world--the ruler of the kings of the earth.  

God isn't only eternal.  If we think about God as trinitarian--that is the Father, Son, and Spirit, then God is more than eternal.  God is other-worldly and very much here, ruler of heaven and ruler of the kings of the earth.  God's grace and peace is so much more than a promise for the future, it's for here and now.  John uses this greeting, not like some mindless phrase, but like something awesome and real.

I know, you're probably thinking that things don't seem graceful and peaceful (well, I thought about that).  And, if you thought that, you're probably right.  We live in a world where--even when we want to be perfect mini-Christ's doing good for all humankind--we mess up.  We live in a world where when we want peace, our lives are upturned by joblessness, by disasters, by deaths, and by so much more.  Even-so, we live in a world where we get glimpses of this peace and grace.  

A glimpse of grace: A couple of weeks ago, I was rolling silverware at my restaurant job.  I saw a guy with one leg, scraggly hair, and a big bag, rolling uphill to our door.  I opened the door and he rolled up to the counter and asked for the manager.  As I went on to my work, I heard him ask the manager if she could give him any food.  Her answer was, "I'm sorry, my budget for meals is gone for the month."  A woman who was waiting with her toddler for a to-go order, witnessed the situation and offered to pay for the man's meal.  As she reached for her wallet, my manager said, "Wait, you know what, you can have my meal for today."  She called me to the register, I rang up the man's meal and gave him a fountain pop.  And, I witnessed God's grace pass from a customer, to the heart of my manager, and to the hungry, one-legged, scraggly old man.

A glimpse of peace: Today, I woke up feverish and with a massive sinus headache.  My alarm went off three times--which irritates the heck out of my husband.  But, my husband tucked me back into bed after giving me some ibuprofen and he even put an extra blanket on the bed so our 80 pound mutt, Loo, could curl up next to me to keep me warm.  He went to play guitar for worship and I went back to sleep.  When I awoke a couple hours later, there was a very quiet dog laying on the pillow next to me, looking right at my face.  I got up and took the dog out.  Down the way, I saw a HUGE malamute.  Knowing that Loo is usually only feisty and protective when my husband is gone, I was a little worried.  So, we stood back a bit off the sidewalk as the other dog approached and passed.  Loo didn't raise a hair.  In fact, he and the other dog just wagged their tails as they watched each other.  The other dog walker stopped and inquired about Loo, all the while the animals were quite at peace with one another.  Now, it wasn't a peace between nations or between political parties in one nation.  But, there was peace in my husbands understanding and care, and there was peace between two enormous dogs.

Sometimes, it's hard to see that the eternal God of grace and peace does rule on this earth.  But, I have hope that we will see grace and peace, Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So it is to be. Amen.  Look! (You might just believe it!)