Today is my birthday. As birthdays go, and compared to some of the 64 other birthdays I've had, this one has not been the greatest. It hasn't been the worst either.
Having a birthday one week before Christmas always elicits groans from others when they find out; then the stories about people who have birthdays on Christmas Day, or anytime the week after Christmas are trotted out to reassure me that I could be worse off. I know that. I have the utmost sympathy for my great-nephew Cory, who was born on December 29 and for my grandson, Colin, who was born on January 2. But they are still kids with parents who creatively figure ways to celebrate and make the birthday special.
My mother did that for me when I was growing up. My birthday usually fell during the last week of school or right after school ended, but people didn't travel so much during the holidays back then, so she could usually find a decent number of kids to attend a birthday party. I always had a birthday cake and presents that were wrapped in birthday-themed paper. I was allowed to feel special on my special day. After the birthday celebration was over, we started decorating for Christmas. We usually put up the tree on my birthday, which made it part birthday, part Christmas and made the day even more special. I never felt at a disadvantage because I had a December birthday.
Alas, I grew up and lived too far away from my mother to have the birthday pampering continued. My birthday celebrations were spotty during my thirties and forties. In fact, my fortieth passed without a single black balloon or over-the-hill card. When my 50th approached, I laid down the law to hubby: I want a party. I want cards that joke about how old I am, and I want friends and champagne, and I want a birthday cake!!! He dutifully delegated the planning to my children, who were in college nearby, and assigned the task of inviting people to a church friend. So, I had a party. The problem that year was that, on the actual birthday -- a Friday -- I came down with the flu while at work. I had the fever, chills, aching, the whole nine yards. Adding insult to injury, my car battery was dead and I couldn't find anybody at work with jumper cables so that I could take myself home and to bed. When hubby finally got home from work, I called him (no cellphones then) and he came to my job, jumped my car, and got me home. My son was in the kitchen baking a cake; he warned me not to look, but I was heading for the couch as fast as my fever-ridden, aching body could move.
They had planned to take me to Olive Garden for dinner. Olive Garden is my favorite Italian restaurant but I tried to suggest that we postpone anyway. Nope -- I wanted a birthday celebration and a birthday celebration I was going to get, even if it killed me. I could barely taste the food and wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed. On Sunday, I was feeling only slightly better, when hubby mysteriously disappeared and returned with a deli tray. Then the doorbell started ringing and various church friends and in-laws began arriving. I soldiered on and enjoyed the get-together and appreciated the effort that hubby, children, and friends had put into it. I got my party; it wasn't anybody's fault that I was too sick to enjoy it.
When one becomes an adult, there are certain milestone birthdays -- the 21st (which, in my day, meant I could vote as well as drink); the 40th, which as I said, went by unheralded; the 50th -- for reasons I don't completely understand; the 65th, which used to mean retirement and now means Medicare -- not a particularly great present. My 65th was, however, a truly outstanding one. My sweet daughter and her children took me to Walt Disney World and I had breakfast with the princesses on my birthday WDW also makes a big fuss over birthday people, giving you a badge to wear. All day long Disney staff and visitors alike told me "Happy Birthday."
After that, if you live to be 100, you get your picture in the paper, the nursing home staff throws a great party, Willard Scott puts you on television, and the President sends you a birthday card. Since it's highly unlikely that I will make it to 100, I treasure each birthday and want it acknowledged. Unfortunately, the December birthdays get short-shrift by co-workers. Today, on my 66th birthday, I started the day with a dentist appointment, then went to my first part-time job at the church. Later I will go to my second part-time job tutoring students for the SAT. (Why is someone of my age working 2 jobs, you ask? That is a shame on the state of Texas for the way it treats its retired teachers, and I will save that tirade for another day.)
At my other jobs, birthdays were celebrated in various ways. At one workplace, staff drew names and planned a party for the birthday boy or girl. At another, a pile of cards mysteriously appeared throughout the day on the b-day person's desk. At another, department members surreptitiously signed a card while the birthday person pretended not to see, and then a box of donuts would appear for all to share. At the church, birthdays are usually acknowledged during staff meeting, but no special celebration happens. The choir usually sings to the birthday person during rehearsal in the birthday week. So what about this birthday girl? Staff meeting was replaced this week by the staff Christmas party, which I didn't get to attend because my roads were iced over. Choir practice didn't happen, because the Christmas music was sung last Sunday and we had the family Christmas party the day before my birthday. I took dessert and chose what was supposed to be my birthday cake, hoping somebody would get the hint and they would take 30 seconds to sing Happy Birthday to me. Of course, Kroger didn't have any birthday cakes, so no one, except the one or two that I told, knew the purpose of the green and red decorated bakery cake. Those that I told apparently saw no reason to share the information.
So, I should get over it. Birthdays are just another day and when you're as old as I am, you shouldn't even still be celebrating them. No -- that's just wrong. One's birthday is the only day that is completely one's own and every one of them deserves recognition, even if a catered banquet is not in order. And people who have birthdays during the Christmas season should get every bit of the attention that birthday folks get the other 11 months of the year. Think about that next time you are invited to a birthday party in December, assuming the poor birthday person has anyone who cares enough to have a party for them.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Wisdom of Our Elders
Every now and then, I will say something that I didn't even realize was true until I hear the words coming out of my mouth. Yesterday was one of those occasions. My son had picked me up at the airport after I returned from visiting my daughter, and we were chatting in the car on the way home. I can't remember how we got on the subject, but it is a frequent topic of conversation anyway -- that of career decisions and changes. I have made several career changes in my life and am currently looking for a part-time job that will supplement my inflation-eroded teacher's pension. But first, some background:
I came of age in the 1950s when the only career paths open to women were teaching, nursing, or secretarial work. Although I didn't really expect to need a career--I would be a wife and mother--I needed something to do until I found a husband and had a family. I chose nursing, knowing little about it, but it seemed exciting and a bit romantic to my teenaged mind, fueled by fluffy fiction about student nurses who always fell in love with handsome interns, and who occasionally solved crimes while they were learning to change beds and give injections. Nursing education at that time was almost exclusively the domain of hospitals, where a few basic science courses might be taught in local colleges, but the rest of the learning took place in the hospital, giving care to real patients. There were a handful of university-based nursing programs, of which three were in Texas. During the 1960s and 1970s nursing education would move into the domain of the universities and by the mid-1970s very few of the "diploma" programs, or hospital-based programs still existed.
But I didn't know all that. I wanted to go to nursing school and assumed I would go to one of the diploma programs in Memphis, 80 miles away. Enter my uncle and aunt. My dad's brother, Fritz and his wife Mary lived in Fort Worth and Aunt Mary happened to be secretary (or in today's parlance, Administrative Assistant) to the Dean of Texas Christian University's Harris College of Nursing. They persuaded my parents that I should attend nursing school at TCU, and my parents agreed, to my good fortune. At that time I was much more excited about going to school in Texas than I was about the fact that I would have a BS degree in Nursing when I finished my education.
Many times over the past 40+ years I have regretted my choice of nursing as a profession. I stayed with it for more than 10 years, even earning a MSN along the way, but I never really found the satisfaction in it that I had hoped for. And I didn't find any handsome interns or solve any crimes either. Eventually I went back to school and earned a teaching certificate in English and then another Masters in English. After that it was a MS in Library Science.
But the realization that came out of my mouth in the car on the way home from the airport was this: because my aunt and uncle influenced my parents and me to get my nursing education in a university, I had the necessary educational foundation to make the later changes that would prove more satisfying to me than nursing did. I had the two years of core education which ALL college students need, no matter what their major. My parents, who had not attended college, and I did not understand all of this, but my aunt and uncle did. For their wisdom and guidance, I am most grateful.
Thanks, Uncle Fritz and Aunt Mary.
I came of age in the 1950s when the only career paths open to women were teaching, nursing, or secretarial work. Although I didn't really expect to need a career--I would be a wife and mother--I needed something to do until I found a husband and had a family. I chose nursing, knowing little about it, but it seemed exciting and a bit romantic to my teenaged mind, fueled by fluffy fiction about student nurses who always fell in love with handsome interns, and who occasionally solved crimes while they were learning to change beds and give injections. Nursing education at that time was almost exclusively the domain of hospitals, where a few basic science courses might be taught in local colleges, but the rest of the learning took place in the hospital, giving care to real patients. There were a handful of university-based nursing programs, of which three were in Texas. During the 1960s and 1970s nursing education would move into the domain of the universities and by the mid-1970s very few of the "diploma" programs, or hospital-based programs still existed.
But I didn't know all that. I wanted to go to nursing school and assumed I would go to one of the diploma programs in Memphis, 80 miles away. Enter my uncle and aunt. My dad's brother, Fritz and his wife Mary lived in Fort Worth and Aunt Mary happened to be secretary (or in today's parlance, Administrative Assistant) to the Dean of Texas Christian University's Harris College of Nursing. They persuaded my parents that I should attend nursing school at TCU, and my parents agreed, to my good fortune. At that time I was much more excited about going to school in Texas than I was about the fact that I would have a BS degree in Nursing when I finished my education.
Many times over the past 40+ years I have regretted my choice of nursing as a profession. I stayed with it for more than 10 years, even earning a MSN along the way, but I never really found the satisfaction in it that I had hoped for. And I didn't find any handsome interns or solve any crimes either. Eventually I went back to school and earned a teaching certificate in English and then another Masters in English. After that it was a MS in Library Science.
But the realization that came out of my mouth in the car on the way home from the airport was this: because my aunt and uncle influenced my parents and me to get my nursing education in a university, I had the necessary educational foundation to make the later changes that would prove more satisfying to me than nursing did. I had the two years of core education which ALL college students need, no matter what their major. My parents, who had not attended college, and I did not understand all of this, but my aunt and uncle did. For their wisdom and guidance, I am most grateful.
Thanks, Uncle Fritz and Aunt Mary.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Pets, Allergies, Ax Murderers and a Hurricane Called Ike
Pets:
The family in which I was raised never had indoor pets. My parents, having both grown up on Missouri farms, had always thought of animals as utilitarian. The cats hung out in the corn crib and barn and earned their keep by keeping the rodent population down; the dogs helped with herding animals and earned their table scraps providing an alarm system for visitors. They never came inside -- with 14 children in one household and 8 in the other, there was barely enough room for people.
While the animals of my childhood were not expected to perform any service except to be cute and playful, they were still expected to stay outdoors. It was not until I was already retired that I ever had an animal in the house. My son's dog stayed with me for a few months while he finished up school and he and his wife moved to a house. He was used to being indoors, therefore, I had to get used to having an animal share my space. And when Raleigh got to stay inside, it became a problem to explain to Aussie, the lab-mix adopted from a shelter by my daughter, why she had to stay outside. That's how I acquired not one, but two indoor pets. After Raleigh had gone to live with his rightful owners, I adopted a cat, whom I dubbed Minnie Paws. Minnie was the first pet in my entire life that I had chosen for myself. All other animals had been adopted because I thought the children needed a pet. Minnie was mine. For nine years we lived as two old spinsters alone in the house -- Aussie succumbed to old age a few years ago.
Allergies
I felt like I had been punched in the gut when my son informed me a week before I was to move to Texas to live near him and to spend time with my grandson that allergy tests had shown said grandson to be allergic to cats. After the shock wore off, I started looking for a home for Minnie. I hoped to place her before I moved so that I wouldn't have to put her through the trauma of a move and then have to give her up in a strange city where I didn't have as large a network of friends. It was not to be. Minnie and I drove down and settled in to our new Texas house. The first few times grandson came over, it seemed not to be a problem, but eventually we saw that he was miserable with itchy nose, watery eyes, and he began to stay at home rather than come to Grammy's house. The allergist was opposed to using medication to control the allergies. Decision time once again.
Ax-Murderers
Several years ago when I was in direct sales for a nationally known crafting company, I found an online forum of other consultants and began to get ideas for promotions, organization, and other business-related information. Even though many of the board members have since moved on to other or no direct-sales opportunities, we have formed a community of women worldwide who come together in cyberspace to share hopes, joys, sorrows, humor, dilemmas, and assorted other issues. When members of the group get together in real life (IRL) we sometimes get raised eyebrows from friends and family who are just sure that we are going out to meet ax-murderers. So, we have begun to refer to each other as our fellow ax-murderers.
It was only logical to me that I would go to this group with my sadness over having to give up my cat. I had already tried a local no-kill shelter, but they were full and didn't think they would be able to find a home for a 9-year old cat anyway. I posted all of this to the forum. The ideas started coming back: visit grandson at his house, have them give him medication when he was coming over, sympathy for having to take this step, admiration that I would do this for my grandson. Finally, a member who had lost her cat to an accident posted that she "might" be interested in adopting Minnie. She wanted more information, so I posted a picture and gave a full profile of the cat's personality. She wanted to think about it overnight, and the next day she had decided that she would adopt my cat. She lives in Texas, but Texas covers a lot of territory and her house is about 450 miles away.
Hurricane Ike
The day we had set for me to drive down to South Texas, Hurricane Ike was threatening the Texas coast and people were evacuating from Houston and Galveston to the very area I would have to drive through. Minnie's prospective new owners were not directly hit by the hurricane but lived in an area that had been evacuated. Since I was going to visit my daughter the next week, I had to postpone the cat transfer two weeks. As it turned out, that was providential, since another ax-murderer who lives in my area was available and willing to ride down with me. She had not been available on the original date.
So, two ax-murderers and a cat set off, after a visit to the vet for a sleeping pill to keep kitty happy, and drove for 7 hours to get to the meetup point. We exchanged greetings with Minnie's new owner, I gave her a bit of information along with the supplies I had brought, and she went back home with her kids and their new cat. After a quick supper at McDonalds, I pointed my car north and headed home. It was after midnight when I fell into bed.
I've heard from the new owner via our online board that Minnie is adjusting to her new surroundings and I feel satisfied that I did the right thing. I am grateful to her for giving my kitty a new home. And I am grateful to my local friend for going down with me -- her company made a long and painful trip pleasant and much quicker than it would have been with me alone.
The family in which I was raised never had indoor pets. My parents, having both grown up on Missouri farms, had always thought of animals as utilitarian. The cats hung out in the corn crib and barn and earned their keep by keeping the rodent population down; the dogs helped with herding animals and earned their table scraps providing an alarm system for visitors. They never came inside -- with 14 children in one household and 8 in the other, there was barely enough room for people.
While the animals of my childhood were not expected to perform any service except to be cute and playful, they were still expected to stay outdoors. It was not until I was already retired that I ever had an animal in the house. My son's dog stayed with me for a few months while he finished up school and he and his wife moved to a house. He was used to being indoors, therefore, I had to get used to having an animal share my space. And when Raleigh got to stay inside, it became a problem to explain to Aussie, the lab-mix adopted from a shelter by my daughter, why she had to stay outside. That's how I acquired not one, but two indoor pets. After Raleigh had gone to live with his rightful owners, I adopted a cat, whom I dubbed Minnie Paws. Minnie was the first pet in my entire life that I had chosen for myself. All other animals had been adopted because I thought the children needed a pet. Minnie was mine. For nine years we lived as two old spinsters alone in the house -- Aussie succumbed to old age a few years ago.
Allergies
I felt like I had been punched in the gut when my son informed me a week before I was to move to Texas to live near him and to spend time with my grandson that allergy tests had shown said grandson to be allergic to cats. After the shock wore off, I started looking for a home for Minnie. I hoped to place her before I moved so that I wouldn't have to put her through the trauma of a move and then have to give her up in a strange city where I didn't have as large a network of friends. It was not to be. Minnie and I drove down and settled in to our new Texas house. The first few times grandson came over, it seemed not to be a problem, but eventually we saw that he was miserable with itchy nose, watery eyes, and he began to stay at home rather than come to Grammy's house. The allergist was opposed to using medication to control the allergies. Decision time once again.
Ax-Murderers
Several years ago when I was in direct sales for a nationally known crafting company, I found an online forum of other consultants and began to get ideas for promotions, organization, and other business-related information. Even though many of the board members have since moved on to other or no direct-sales opportunities, we have formed a community of women worldwide who come together in cyberspace to share hopes, joys, sorrows, humor, dilemmas, and assorted other issues. When members of the group get together in real life (IRL) we sometimes get raised eyebrows from friends and family who are just sure that we are going out to meet ax-murderers. So, we have begun to refer to each other as our fellow ax-murderers.
It was only logical to me that I would go to this group with my sadness over having to give up my cat. I had already tried a local no-kill shelter, but they were full and didn't think they would be able to find a home for a 9-year old cat anyway. I posted all of this to the forum. The ideas started coming back: visit grandson at his house, have them give him medication when he was coming over, sympathy for having to take this step, admiration that I would do this for my grandson. Finally, a member who had lost her cat to an accident posted that she "might" be interested in adopting Minnie. She wanted more information, so I posted a picture and gave a full profile of the cat's personality. She wanted to think about it overnight, and the next day she had decided that she would adopt my cat. She lives in Texas, but Texas covers a lot of territory and her house is about 450 miles away.
Hurricane Ike
The day we had set for me to drive down to South Texas, Hurricane Ike was threatening the Texas coast and people were evacuating from Houston and Galveston to the very area I would have to drive through. Minnie's prospective new owners were not directly hit by the hurricane but lived in an area that had been evacuated. Since I was going to visit my daughter the next week, I had to postpone the cat transfer two weeks. As it turned out, that was providential, since another ax-murderer who lives in my area was available and willing to ride down with me. She had not been available on the original date.
So, two ax-murderers and a cat set off, after a visit to the vet for a sleeping pill to keep kitty happy, and drove for 7 hours to get to the meetup point. We exchanged greetings with Minnie's new owner, I gave her a bit of information along with the supplies I had brought, and she went back home with her kids and their new cat. After a quick supper at McDonalds, I pointed my car north and headed home. It was after midnight when I fell into bed.
I've heard from the new owner via our online board that Minnie is adjusting to her new surroundings and I feel satisfied that I did the right thing. I am grateful to her for giving my kitty a new home. And I am grateful to my local friend for going down with me -- her company made a long and painful trip pleasant and much quicker than it would have been with me alone.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
ChurchSearch: The Decision
I suppose it will come as no surprise to those of you following this search that Custer Road is my choice of church with which to affiliate. Over the past few weeks I have met numerous people and have been warmly welcomed. Last night I joined the Chancel Choir. I expect to actually join the church after I return from a visit to my daughter in late September.
A few reflections on the choir: This is by far the largest choir in which I have sung since college. There are about 200 members and the Chancel Choir sings at two services -- a number of people sing at both, and members are allowed to choose whether they will sing at 9:45 or 11:00 or both. For now, I will be attending a 9:45 SS class and singing at 11:00. Old habits die hard. I have to confess to feeling guilty last night when the 1st sopranos sang the descant and there were at least a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty, singing that part. I am not and never have been a first soprano, but my previous choir was so thin on first sopranos that I was wishing I could share the wealth. There were times when this 1st alto had to be a faux soprano when there weren't enough real ones. But guilt aside, I really enjoyed the experience.
I had wondered how such a large choir would even notice the addition of a newbie, but I needn't have worried. I was met outside the choir room by a couple of ladies who had me fill out an information form. I was introduced to another alto and escorted into the choir room, shown where the folders and hymn books were kept, and then shown where to sit. Shortly afterward, amid enthusiastic greetings from others in the section, the greeters brought me a name tag and a folder with my name on it. Several times during the rehearsal Tim called for us to shuffle, turn around and greet the front row, back row, or whatever. This group, large as it is, does not permit anonymity. I was pleased to be joined by a fellow visitor from the information class.
My thoughts strayed several times to FUMC Jackson, who I knew would be rehearsing at the same time, in sadness over the loss of a beloved and valued member, Greg Tillman, who lost his battle with cancer yesterday. My love and sympathy flows to my friends and former choir-fellows in that loss.
On another note, I have had some varied church experiences over the past couple of weeks. On August 13, a Texas cousin and I were in Philadelphia visiting another cousin -- our fathers were brothers -- and we experienced a "high church" evening prayer with a sung liturgy. I'm afraid I was concentrating so hard on getting the melody right that the words of the Psalm did not register, but it was interesting to experience another type of worship. Of course, as cousins with evangelical and musical roots, we had to sing a few old favorite hymns as well. People with the same DNA harmonize especially well, and I think we did. At any rate, we enjoyed ourselves. It is a hallmark of my dad's family that where two or more are gathered together, there will be singing.
Upon deplaning, Melba turned on her cellphone and found a message from her sister that another one of our dads' brothers was hospitalized with congestive heart failure. That was on Thursday, and the following Tuesday that uncle passed away. The two of us drove to Missouri for the funeral and, along with about 25 other assorted cousins, we sang at the funeral. Again,the harmony created by DNA was at work, as well as the passion with which we sang our youngest uncle's favorite songs. So from high church liturgy to gospel in one week -- what a ride.
A few reflections on the choir: This is by far the largest choir in which I have sung since college. There are about 200 members and the Chancel Choir sings at two services -- a number of people sing at both, and members are allowed to choose whether they will sing at 9:45 or 11:00 or both. For now, I will be attending a 9:45 SS class and singing at 11:00. Old habits die hard. I have to confess to feeling guilty last night when the 1st sopranos sang the descant and there were at least a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty, singing that part. I am not and never have been a first soprano, but my previous choir was so thin on first sopranos that I was wishing I could share the wealth. There were times when this 1st alto had to be a faux soprano when there weren't enough real ones. But guilt aside, I really enjoyed the experience.
I had wondered how such a large choir would even notice the addition of a newbie, but I needn't have worried. I was met outside the choir room by a couple of ladies who had me fill out an information form. I was introduced to another alto and escorted into the choir room, shown where the folders and hymn books were kept, and then shown where to sit. Shortly afterward, amid enthusiastic greetings from others in the section, the greeters brought me a name tag and a folder with my name on it. Several times during the rehearsal Tim called for us to shuffle, turn around and greet the front row, back row, or whatever. This group, large as it is, does not permit anonymity. I was pleased to be joined by a fellow visitor from the information class.
My thoughts strayed several times to FUMC Jackson, who I knew would be rehearsing at the same time, in sadness over the loss of a beloved and valued member, Greg Tillman, who lost his battle with cancer yesterday. My love and sympathy flows to my friends and former choir-fellows in that loss.
On another note, I have had some varied church experiences over the past couple of weeks. On August 13, a Texas cousin and I were in Philadelphia visiting another cousin -- our fathers were brothers -- and we experienced a "high church" evening prayer with a sung liturgy. I'm afraid I was concentrating so hard on getting the melody right that the words of the Psalm did not register, but it was interesting to experience another type of worship. Of course, as cousins with evangelical and musical roots, we had to sing a few old favorite hymns as well. People with the same DNA harmonize especially well, and I think we did. At any rate, we enjoyed ourselves. It is a hallmark of my dad's family that where two or more are gathered together, there will be singing.
Upon deplaning, Melba turned on her cellphone and found a message from her sister that another one of our dads' brothers was hospitalized with congestive heart failure. That was on Thursday, and the following Tuesday that uncle passed away. The two of us drove to Missouri for the funeral and, along with about 25 other assorted cousins, we sang at the funeral. Again,the harmony created by DNA was at work, as well as the passion with which we sang our youngest uncle's favorite songs. So from high church liturgy to gospel in one week -- what a ride.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 2, Weeks 1-2
So I didn't get around to posting last week, but I have gone back to Custer Road for the last 2 Sundays. They had a Visitor Information class starting last Sunday (Aug. 3), which I decided would be a good place to learn about the church. I was right -- it was, so I went back there today. I am meeting more people each week, and have met several choir members. The choir is on summer hiatus this month, so I will plan to start when they resume rehearsals in a couple of weeks. I also registered for the Disciple Bible Study, Christian Believer course which starts in September.
At first the idea of attending such a large church (7,000 members) was intimidating. But then I realized that, regardless of the size of the church, my "home" is going to be the small groups of which I am a part. The advantage of a large church is the range and number of small group opportunities it offers. Of all the churches I visited in Round 1, I liked the worship service at CRUMC the best, so that will probably be the deciding point.
At first the idea of attending such a large church (7,000 members) was intimidating. But then I realized that, regardless of the size of the church, my "home" is going to be the small groups of which I am a part. The advantage of a large church is the range and number of small group opportunities it offers. Of all the churches I visited in Round 1, I liked the worship service at CRUMC the best, so that will probably be the deciding point.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 1, Week 4
Today I visited Custer Road UMC in Plano, TX. It is the largest of the churches I have attended. Size has its benefits and its drawbacks.
Distance 9.7 miles
Travel time: less than 20 minutes; easy to get to on major roads.
The narthex was bustling with people and I did not see any designated greeters. After a few minutes I went in and sat down on a row near the back where another single woman was sitting. Another unaccompanied woman came in a joined me as the service was beginning, so I did not get into conversation with her until later.
The music was glorious. CRUMC has a magnificent pipe organ and an organist who knows how to play it. The choir sang a Mozart piece which was nicely balanced with no voices standing out. The offertory was a solo by a very accomplished young woman singer. I especially enjoyed the hymns, "Let All Things Their Creator Bless," " Great is Thy Faithfulness" (my all-time favorite) , and in closing, "Here I Am Lord," which fit the sermon text in Isaiah.
Although large screens are present at the sides of the choir loft and altar area, they were not used as cheat sheets for hymns and liturgy. They were instead used to provide a better view of the speakers and choir, for those who might not be able to see. I can live with this use of media. The other compromise I will obviously have to make is that of accepting that congregations are going to applaud the musical selections. I don't care for it, but it seems to be the norm here. FUMC Jackson may have been one of the last hold-outs in this area.
The sermon was engaging and the children's sermon was tailored to deliver the same message.
I felt very ambivalent about the church until after the service. I was thinking that I wished I could have the music of CRUMC, the preaching at First McKinney, and the friendliness of the people at Frisco. But I also realize that for me, a single woman, the key to feeling at home in a church is going to be the small groups I affiliate with. I have learned to be assertive about introducing myself and not just expecting that someone will somehow figure out that I am a visitor and approach me. With that resolve, I introduced myself to one of the Associate Pastors, Leslie Herrscher, and as we chatted, I found that she was in seminary with Charlie Overton. When she found out I was interested in choir, she took me to meet the Minister of Music and gave me a brief tour of the facility as we searched for him. Turns out Tim (Morrison) was one of Charlie's profs at Perkins, so he was also very welcoming and encouraging me to come to choir.
On the way home I had much of the same feeling I had the first time I visited FUMC Jackson, that I had found my church home. Now I have a decision to make: I had planned to start Round 2 next week by visiting SS classes in the churches I had already visited. Now I am not sure I want to. I think I might just go to the visitor's class at CRUMC next week and begin to make friends there. Of the 4 churches I have visited, I think CR has most of what I am looking for.
Distance 9.7 miles
Travel time: less than 20 minutes; easy to get to on major roads.
The narthex was bustling with people and I did not see any designated greeters. After a few minutes I went in and sat down on a row near the back where another single woman was sitting. Another unaccompanied woman came in a joined me as the service was beginning, so I did not get into conversation with her until later.
The music was glorious. CRUMC has a magnificent pipe organ and an organist who knows how to play it. The choir sang a Mozart piece which was nicely balanced with no voices standing out. The offertory was a solo by a very accomplished young woman singer. I especially enjoyed the hymns, "Let All Things Their Creator Bless," " Great is Thy Faithfulness" (my all-time favorite) , and in closing, "Here I Am Lord," which fit the sermon text in Isaiah.
Although large screens are present at the sides of the choir loft and altar area, they were not used as cheat sheets for hymns and liturgy. They were instead used to provide a better view of the speakers and choir, for those who might not be able to see. I can live with this use of media. The other compromise I will obviously have to make is that of accepting that congregations are going to applaud the musical selections. I don't care for it, but it seems to be the norm here. FUMC Jackson may have been one of the last hold-outs in this area.
The sermon was engaging and the children's sermon was tailored to deliver the same message.
I felt very ambivalent about the church until after the service. I was thinking that I wished I could have the music of CRUMC, the preaching at First McKinney, and the friendliness of the people at Frisco. But I also realize that for me, a single woman, the key to feeling at home in a church is going to be the small groups I affiliate with. I have learned to be assertive about introducing myself and not just expecting that someone will somehow figure out that I am a visitor and approach me. With that resolve, I introduced myself to one of the Associate Pastors, Leslie Herrscher, and as we chatted, I found that she was in seminary with Charlie Overton. When she found out I was interested in choir, she took me to meet the Minister of Music and gave me a brief tour of the facility as we searched for him. Turns out Tim (Morrison) was one of Charlie's profs at Perkins, so he was also very welcoming and encouraging me to come to choir.
On the way home I had much of the same feeling I had the first time I visited FUMC Jackson, that I had found my church home. Now I have a decision to make: I had planned to start Round 2 next week by visiting SS classes in the churches I had already visited. Now I am not sure I want to. I think I might just go to the visitor's class at CRUMC next week and begin to make friends there. Of the 4 churches I have visited, I think CR has most of what I am looking for.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
ChurchSearch: Round 1, Week 3
I took last week off after doing a face-plant on the sidewalk during my walk Saturday morning. I decided my swollen and bruised visage needed privacy. Today, with the swelling subsiding and the bruise concealed, somewhat, under an inch or so of DermaBlend, I resumed my search by visiting FUMC Allen, TX.
Distance: 10 miles
Driving time: 17 minutes
Allen FUMC has 3 services, which seems to be the norm here in Texas. The 8:30 service is Contemporary, the 9:45 Blended, and the 11:00 is normally the Traditional service. With the combination of summer informality and the message, today was not exactly Traditional. There was no choir; an ensemble sang the Offertory. The message on the relevance, or lack of, the church in society was preceded by a PowerPoint slide show of 1960's scenes accompanied by the music of the time. The minister was dynamic, the message interesting and thought-provoking, although I sensed a bit of "we need to change with the times and do the new music, etc." which is not my favorite theme.
I engaged in conversation with one of the greeters, a woman about my age who, when she found out I was new in town, was very eager to introduce me to others and even walked me to the room where a recommended Sunday School class meets. As the service was about to begin, another woman asked to sit with me, the first time that has happened. The sanctuary was sparsely populated, possibly because of mid-summer vacationing and several church groups off doing projects elsewhere. I will be interested to see how the attendance is during the fall, after school has started back.
My one real disappointment was with the organist. I realize my expectations are quite high after being treated to the organ and piano skills of Dr. Terry McRoberts, to whom anyone is unlikely to measure up, but this lady (I don't know if she is the regular organist or a substitute) played the congregational hymns so fast it was impossible to keep up. I don't like draggy hymns, but I do like to observe punctuation and to catch a breath now and then. She seemed oblivious to everyone and just plowed through the hymns as if she wanted to get them over with. If she is the regular organist, I don't think I'll be joining FUMC Allen.
I did take a moment after the service to meet the Minister of Music, who was a seminary classmate of my Charlie Overton at FUMC Jackson. He is an affable young man, and I am really happy to see seminary-educated Ministers of Music. From my association with Charlie I know that they have a perspective on worship music that a secularly trained musician may not have.
So, I will return to FUMC Allen at least once more and will attend a Sunday School class. Next Sunday's ChurchSearch will take me to Custer Road UMC in Plano.
Distance: 10 miles
Driving time: 17 minutes
Allen FUMC has 3 services, which seems to be the norm here in Texas. The 8:30 service is Contemporary, the 9:45 Blended, and the 11:00 is normally the Traditional service. With the combination of summer informality and the message, today was not exactly Traditional. There was no choir; an ensemble sang the Offertory. The message on the relevance, or lack of, the church in society was preceded by a PowerPoint slide show of 1960's scenes accompanied by the music of the time. The minister was dynamic, the message interesting and thought-provoking, although I sensed a bit of "we need to change with the times and do the new music, etc." which is not my favorite theme.
I engaged in conversation with one of the greeters, a woman about my age who, when she found out I was new in town, was very eager to introduce me to others and even walked me to the room where a recommended Sunday School class meets. As the service was about to begin, another woman asked to sit with me, the first time that has happened. The sanctuary was sparsely populated, possibly because of mid-summer vacationing and several church groups off doing projects elsewhere. I will be interested to see how the attendance is during the fall, after school has started back.
My one real disappointment was with the organist. I realize my expectations are quite high after being treated to the organ and piano skills of Dr. Terry McRoberts, to whom anyone is unlikely to measure up, but this lady (I don't know if she is the regular organist or a substitute) played the congregational hymns so fast it was impossible to keep up. I don't like draggy hymns, but I do like to observe punctuation and to catch a breath now and then. She seemed oblivious to everyone and just plowed through the hymns as if she wanted to get them over with. If she is the regular organist, I don't think I'll be joining FUMC Allen.
I did take a moment after the service to meet the Minister of Music, who was a seminary classmate of my Charlie Overton at FUMC Jackson. He is an affable young man, and I am really happy to see seminary-educated Ministers of Music. From my association with Charlie I know that they have a perspective on worship music that a secularly trained musician may not have.
So, I will return to FUMC Allen at least once more and will attend a Sunday School class. Next Sunday's ChurchSearch will take me to Custer Road UMC in Plano.
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