Over-view and Follow-through

Five and a half years ago, we said farewell to a long-term and well-liked pastor at our church. While we looked for a new pastor, we had the part-time services of an interim pastor. Then the new pastor arrived and we were impressed with quality of the Sunday morning services and the sermon. There were lots of creative ideas. But it soon became apparent that the every-day functions of the parish were being neglected. The new pastor spent 30 hours a week on the sermon and only six hours a week in the office. When we offered to help with mundane tasks like compiling an email list, we heard, "I'll take care of it." But we soon learned that when we heard that phrase, nothing further would happen.

We have a functional and capable congregation, and we independently carried on with most of the important activities. But things were slowly going downhill. The new pastor was asked to resign, and we once again had the services of an interim, a retired pastor who was experienced and energetic, but only worked half-time.

Then though an unexpected turn of events, our old pastor returned. At first he seemed tense and tired. But now, after nine months, he's up to speed, relaxed and happy, and so is the rest of the congregation.

I've thought a lot about the qualities we want in a pastor. The spiritual and theological functions are, of course, primary. But administrative abilities are also very important. The congregation now benefits from a leader who can delegate but who also knows what's going on, and a person who gently but persistently keeps everyone moving toward a goal.

Over-view and follow-through.

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There's one more quality that I've recently come to appreciate: constant tweaking. The Pastor is never satisfied to keep things the way they are; he is continually evaluating, molding, and reshaping the way we do things.

The best analogy for this style of leadership is that of a Master Gardener who can make a grand landscape plan, but who can also make sure everything is growing well, is watered, free of pests and weeds. And when a plant doesn't thrive or when it reaches the end of its life-span, it's replaced with something that will do better in that spot. As trees mature and light and shade patterns change, the whole plan is reevaluated and restructured to fit the current situation.

Over-view, follow-though, and tweaking.

Japaspanglish

Our gardener is Japanese and speaks little English. He hires Hispanic helpers who don't know much English, either. I wondered how they communicate with each other. Now I know: they speak Japaspanglish.

One day after the Japanese gardener had fertilized the lawn, he wanted me to sprinkle it lightly. So he instructed me to "Walla pico."

This week, I asked one of the Hispanic helpers to avoid using the blower. "No blow," I said. He understood, then asked if the alternate method of gathering up leaves was OK. "Rakee?"

"Si."

Grandma's Amaryllis

When I was a child, sixty years ago or so, Grandma had a potted amaryllis plant. When it bloomed, the dramatic salmon trumpets were the subject of many oohs and aahs.

Years went by. Grandma died. Mom adopted the amaryllis. Mom died. My sister adopted the amaryllis and offered me a baby bulb from the parent bulb. I planted it, fertilized and watered. Let it die back in a cool, dark place in the fall, then brought it into the house in late winter to let it sprout again.

The first year it produced one long, lash of a leaf. The second year, there were two leaves. The third and maybe the fourth year there were three leaves. If you've never lived with an amaryllis, you may not realize that after it dies back in the winter, it looks like a dead onion. Then somehow, without light, it knows that spring is approaching, and sends up a fat, pointy green tongue. If you bring it into the house, into heat and light, it grows at an amazing rate --- about an inch a day --- until there are a few thick, broad leaves two or three feet long.

This year, Grandma's amaryllis surpassed itself with four leaves, but the middle of the crown was empty. Then I noticed something coming up from the outside of the crown. A bud! My clone of Grandma's amaryllis was going to bloom for the first time!

The stem got longer and longer, thicker and thicker. Soon I could see that there were two buds inside a tight green case. The case opened and died back. The two buds separated and swelled noticeably bigger each day. I thought it might bloom on Easter, but it expanded even more without opening. I began to see color. The suspense was was akin to watching someone blow up a balloon and expecting it to pop any second. On Thursday morning, I blew gently on the swollen bud, and within ten minutes, it had opened. Now both blossoms are arched dramatically over the dining room table where I can watch the stamens and pistil engage in the subtle choreography of fertilization.

It takes patience to be the keeper of an amaryllis, but the process is fascinating and incredibly beautiful.

My New Bike

As kids in a small, flat town, we relied on bicycles to get us where we wanted to go: to school, to the library, to piano lessons. My dad liked to tinker, and bikes were one of his special interests. He had a modest collection of unusual bikes: a tandem, a high-wheeler (in fact, two of them --- one with the big wheel in front and one with the big wheel in back), and a "chainless" bike that he rode for a long time. In addition to regular tricycles, we had an old-fashioned trike with a bench seat, pedals that went up and down, and a steering rod. The summer I was six, I learned to ride a two-wheeler on a small bike made from parts of tricycles. When I first tried my mom's bike, (riding on the pedals since I was too small to reach the seat), I discovered that steering a big bike was quite different, and I rode directly into a rose bush.

Anyway, throughout my childhood, I biked a lot, always on bikes Dad had made out of parts of other bikes. But after I left home, biking ceased to be a part of my life: I lived in a city, or had little kids, or lived in a hilly neighborhood. Then in 1974, there was a gasoline shortage, and I decided to take up biking again. I bought myself an upright, black, woman's Raleigh bicycle, my first new bike.

Since then, I've gone through periods when I biked frequently, followed by periods of a few years when I didn't bike at all. We have only one car, and this spring a situation arose where it would be convenient for me to bike. My dusty bike sat in the garage with a flat tire. I procrastinated, trying to convince myself that it would be quicker to fix the flat myself than to walk it to the bike shop. As is often the case, procrastination took a lot more time and energy that actually fixing the flat, which I accomplished in about 20 minutes. But in the process, I noticed that there was no tread on the tires and one tire had a hole though which the tube bulged. Time for new tubes and tires!

Once again my bike is in good shape and I'm enjoying riding. I've always locked my bike when I parked it, even though I thought since it was old-fashioned, no one would be interested in stealing it. But recently I've been stopped a couple of times while waiting at intersections by other (male) bikers who commented on my "cool" bike. One guy about my age asked, jokingly, didn't I think I needed a new bike. When I turned around to look at him, he was riding a bike of about the same vintage as mine. Another younger guy, riding a recumbent bike, commented that his dad used to have a bike like mine. Suddenly my "new bike" is desirably retro. I don't intend to trade it in; my new bike has become a classic old bike for a classy old lady.