I was 21, had recently graduated from La Sierra University, and was serving at my first church as an assistant pastor.
They were in their early 80s and had served the church as a ministerial couple for almost three times as long as I had been alive.
Having no children, they had given their life as evangelists, assisting in countless spiritual births and adopting multitudes. They took me under their wing.
They were the best kind of conservative Adventists, living according to their convictions, while treating others with kindness and respect.
One Sabbath, the wife handed me a plastic bag. Inside were women’s suits she had purchased for me from the second-hand store. The shoulder-padded jackets and calf-length skirts were from a different era, better suited for a woman in her seventies than one in her early twenties.
She believed in women in ministry, and I imagine she felt like I might be treated with more respect if I fit the image better. I felt like David trying on Saul’s armor.
She was doing her best to offer help, and I took it as such, though it could easily have been interpreted as critique.
Prayer 1 from Justin McRoberts and Scott Erickson’s book, “May It Be so: Forty Days with the Lord’s Prayer,” reads, “May I offer help more readily and joyfully than I offer critique.”
Critique suggests I know better. I’m coming from a superior position, from above, descending to offer my instruction.
Help suggests you know best. I’m coming from beside you, or even underneath you, offering my support to lift you up.
When I walked out of the childcare center today, pushing a stroller, with my four- and two-year old in tow, the lady coming the other way held the door open for me and said, “You’re in the trenches.” She smiled, pointed at her four-year-old and said, she’s number five. Our oldest is 16. I miss those days.
While I anticipate missing these days, these are the trenches indeed.
That’s why I hesitated before going on the latest hike with the Get Outside Club. Jeffrey Brand was leading the group to Box Springs Mountain Reserve Park. It was the end of January, the hills were green, and it was close to our house. But my husband, Mike, had to prep for an event we were hosting that evening, so if we went, I would be taking the three kids solo. I decided it was worth making the attempt to get the kids out of the house and be with church family.
When we got out of the van, my two-year-old was groggy and grumpy from waking up too soon from his impromptu nap. I was having second thoughts. I was sure we would soon be left alone in the dust. What was I thinking, bringing three under five on an uphill hike on my own? I found myself wishing I had at least brought a stroller, along with the carrier I was wearing.
As we were falling behind, Sylvia Clarke insisted on carrying my backpack and Sandra Ingram took my daughter, Eleanor’s, hand. While their friends and family members went ahead, they stayed behind, with us. They coxed and swung, told stories, and carried tired ones. They offered help, readily, joyfully.
As the rest of the group caught us on their way back down, they cheered us on. Jeffrey and Krista Brand walked at the back with us. Sandra’s husband, Fabio, who had probably gone the farthest of the whole group, was the last one back, as he waited with my son, Eric, watching a drove of donkeys walk by.
They didn’t offer critique. They offered help, slowing their pace to walk at ours.
In May It Be So, interspersed between the daily prayers are reflections on various phrases from the Lord’s Prayer. The first one is “Our Father in Heaven.”
McRoberts writes, “I am often compelled to pray because circumstances have convinced me that I am alone in my struggle and that the only honorable way to move ahead is to do so alone. These trials are mine. These burdens are mine. These fears are mine. I have them, and they have me. These lies begin to unravel with the words, ‘Our Father.’”
As Pastor Iki Taimi shared in his message last weekend, “Our” is plural possessive. We’re family. We’re on this journey together.
This season for our 40 Day Blog, we’re going to slow our pace, pausing daily to hear various members of our community reflect on the sentence prayer, corresponding visual, and/or Lord’s Prayer phrase from the book, May It Be So.
We’re going to pray these prayers together, not offering critique, but help, not advice, but company. We’re going to slow our pace to accompany one another.