Justin Day 2013

Happy Justin Day!

For those of you who are not familiar with this holiday, Justin Day commemorates the birthday of my brother Justin who would have turned 27 today had he not had an unfortunate accident involving a mountain and not listening to his sister almost ten years ago.

Some time ago, I came up with a list of ways to observe Justin Day (see http://jilliansjourneys.blogspot.com/2007/09/justin-day.html), but this year I got to thinking.  Justin Day is essentially a birthday celebration, and birthdays are supposed to be fun.

In light of this new understanding, I have some new suggestions for ways to celebrate Justin Day:

1. Make a cake or do something else ridiculously indulgent.  Life is too short not to use every excuse to celebrate it, and Justin loved cake.  Once he ate an entire sheet cake by himself.  In the name of good health, I do not recommend such excess, but you get the general idea.

2.  Call up or contact any brothers or brother-figures you have.  Brothers are a gift, not to be taken for granted, and life is short.  Show them some love.

3.  Encourage a high school student to be the best they can be.  Justin was the person so many of us loved because so many people invested so much care into him while he was still young. 

4.  Reminisce about your own high school years and celebrate what you were able to do with that time.  Tonight, Stephen and I will be celebrating by looking at and laughing at our terrible high school student films and writing.  Justin prided himself in not taking himself too seriously, and his birthday is a great time to laugh and celebrate personal growth.

Right now, I am sitting in the Andrews Library, and for the first time, I can't help but think about how Justin very well might be at seminary with me right now were it not for his unfortunate accident.  He loved God and was passionate about the good news.  A part of that good news is that I will see him again. The other good news is that God is wise; He knew my brother better than I, and did not allow him to fall without it being of deep, lasting significance.

God has a plan for your life and for mine.  Go show a brother some love.

Wedding, August 4, 2013

A little over a month ago, I embarked on one of the most important journeys of my life: marriage.  Marriage is a complicated journey, involving both the masses of community of witnesses and the intimate privacy of my traveling companion.  It is a great life change, and to some extent, a change of identity.

After Stephen and I got engaged, I stopped writing Jillian’s Journeys for a while, and it has taken me over a month since the wedding to get around to writing about the wedding.  Why?  Because for the whole course of the engagement, my beloved Stephen and I were constantly in the public eye, with every detail of our lives that went public being viewed, commented on, and generally discussed.  

We were impressed by the love of our communities.  We received a multitude of gifts—which have made our little Maplewood apartment at Andrews University a veritable castle compared to the stipend we’re gratefully living on for now.  Three of our communities threw us showers: Yountville, where Stephen was dedicated when he was a baby and has attended continuously for twenty-five years; Alhambra, the first church I pastored at, which was incredibly difficult to leave for its warmth; and Pleasant Hill, where I was baptized, trained, and my family experienced some of its greatest joys and sorrows.  

We were overwhelmed by this display of love—not counting the cards, calls, and general ribbing from our inner circle of immediate friends and family.  Even my bachelorette party was tastefully over-the-top—a Disney adventure with my bridesmaids.  It was a whirlwind.

While Stephen is the known introvert of the two of us, I’m not as extroverted as I look.  I’ve been faking extrovert for a long time, and the public nature of our engagement really took its toll on me in the long haul.  We have both needed this last month of relative radio silence to defrag, adjust, and remember what our own voices sound like after the choruses of loving community have had their say.

Now that Stephen and I have had some time in peace and quiet and I have finally managed to vanish into the anonymous ranks of Andrews seminarians, I’m ready to write about it.

Saying goodbye to my Alhambra church members was hard, both for them and for me.  As I drove away from the church for the last time, it felt strange knowing that I would not be coming back the next Wednesday for staff meeting.  Even though the last two years with my parents were bonus years, it was still difficult for both them and I to know that this time my moving out was final.  I started to shut up my emotions to survive—my fever pestered me.

As everyone around me fussed and flitted for the last week before the wedding, I withdrew more and more.  I was so glad that the people who love me and know me best allowed me my own space for the last two nights before the wedding—a room to myself at NVARE.  At church the day before the wedding, Stephen and I looked at all the people who would be there the next day in that very room, and panicked a little.  We retreated with some of the wedding party to my room across the street.  That helped.

I had lunch with my extended family that day—the food my grandmother had procured was perfect, and my aunt Lisa had “thrown together” some centerpieces that would have taken me hours to make half as beautiful.  My aunt Cheryl took good care of everyone, acting as lodging for my parents and hosting the meal in her back yard.  I sat with my cousins from both sides of the family, enjoying their company.  

My fever was hot by the time the rehearsal dinner rolled around—100 degrees, but I took some ibuprofen and forced myself to suck it up.  I was so glad to see my friends the McMillans, and to catch up with my friend and mentor Pastor Ron Torkelson.  It was fun to watch him, Pastor Don (my Alhambra mentor), and Pastor Sam (Stephen’s childhood pastor and my former supervisor) talk.  

Physically, I barely made it through the rehearsal, and worried about the next day.  I had a hard time leaving while others were working so hard to get the fireside room ready for the reception.  However, Stephen and I were both under orders to get sleep, so we exchanged our gifts to each other before parting ways for the night—for the last time so far.

Despite the fact that my bridesmaids drugged me, I had a hard time sleeping that night, perhaps because I knew how important it was to sleep.  When morning came, I took some ibuprofen, and thanked God that I could put my makeup on in the sweet privacy of my room.  The first person I saw on my wedding day was Grandma Sandi, bringing me breakfast.  I ate it as my distant relative and friend, Natalie, came to assist me for the day.  It was so nice to have her there for me—someone I know and trust, but who is not distracted by being a member of the wedding party.

Mrs. Brinley did lovely things to my hair, and my bridesmaids properly “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” when they saw me in my dress.  They all looked amazing in royal blue, their shoes glittering in the morning light.  They enthusiastically walked me over to the church, where Stephen and I finally got to see each other.

I cried like a baby to realize what was actually going on—that I was actually, finally marrying him after looking at him for over ten years.  I cried again when I saw the incredible flowers Lisa had arranged in the church.  We collected ourselves, and numbly endured the two hours of photographs, then had about forty-five minutes of peace and quiet before the ceremony.

As I listened to Tori, Lauren, and Wendy play, I was so grateful that I had picked calm music.  I needed that.  As they began to play “Gabriel’s Oboe,” I got my first look at the guests, and was stunned.  I am ashamed to say that I wasn’t staring at Stephen—one would expect that, but I got to look at him a lot during the photographs, and I have the rest of my life to look at him, and in the moment, I could not handle it emotionally.  As I looked from side to side at who was there, I almost lost it, knowing how far some had traveled, and how much I loved them. 

My brain just sort of sat in a stunned state until it was time to light the unity candle.  As my aunt Shirley sang, “At Last I See the Light,” I broke down, thinking about how many years it took to reach that moment with Stephen, and how many years we have ahead of us—what a treasure I was receiving that day.  He kissed my hand to reassure me.

As my dad played us out of the church, a thought popped into my head.  When the bridal party caught up with us, I embraced Cedric and Gilbert, rejoicing that in addition to a husband, I now have two brothers!  While they will never be Justin and they will never take the specific place he has in my heart, the world just feels right again to include brothers.

After another round of pictures, Stephen and I made it to the reception, where the speeches made us cry and everyone was so nice.  I was so glad that people stopped the receiving line to the cake my cousin Amy had made, and fed us every once in a while.  Stephen and I were very hungry indeed when we finally made our way out of there to where the car we would use on our honeymoon was parked by a field.

As we circled back to NVARE to pack up our things, I was glad that we got a more intimate good-bye with my parents, Caroline (my maid of honor), and Christian (Stephen’s best man.)  They were kind enough not to delay us long, as we were all very tired and a little numb from the excitement of the day.

It was only much later that night, as I lay in the dark and Stephen seemed to be asleep already, that I let myself feel the full happiness of the day, and it changed my life.  I’ve felt strong emotions before, but they’ve mostly been negative ones—fear, grief, and anger.  But this was a happiness so strong I couldn’t handle it.  It finally got me thinking, “I don’t have to expect bad things to happen to me all the time.  This one day was actually, surprisingly, almost perfect.”

And that’s where I leave you.  While some of you have asked about our honeymoon, I do believe that some experiences should remain privately treasured, as a sanctuary from public life.  I will always remember the eccentric town of Arcata and the little cottage where we stayed fondly, and carry with me the memories of the northern coast and tall, quiet Redwoods—as tall, quiet, and refreshingly peaceful as the man with whom I am so glad to live.

As a small footnote, I am happy to say that my fever shrinks with each passing week, now that I am not so heavily in the public eye and have fewer responsibilities.  It may be eradicated soon, even though after over a year, we still don’t know what caused it in the first place.  If I haven’t called/texted/emailed/written you since I got married, don’t take it personally—I still love you and am glad you’re in my life.   Now that I’ve finally recovered from the wedding, I will make it my business to start keeping up these letters again, as a Sabbath afternoon activity.  Don’t worry—they won’t all be this long.  Life in Michigan so far is delightfully slow and uneventful, and will not require so many words.

I love you all and thank you for all of your support throughout Stephen and I’s engagement.  If you have not gotten a thank-you note for a gift you sent, we’re still working on it.  There were many of you, and you were all very generous.  It takes a while to respond to such overwhelming generosity.  Thank you.

Rekindle Retreat, Jan 14-16

Last week, I had so much to do that even though I'm such a conformist, I really wanted to skip my conference's mandatory retreat for all of its pastors at Pine Springs Ranch.  I had a sermon to prepare by the end of the week, a newsletter to craft, a large all-conference event to strategize, and a certain amount of pressure to get things rolling on my wedding planning.  It just seemed nuts and counterproductive to take three days out of such a week as that just to hang out with other pastors because the conference said so.

But a few things nagged at my conscience that got me to go.  One was that it was required, and I generally do what I'm told.  The other is that it was the first time all of the pastors in our conference have been called together socially across our separately managed regions in a very long time.  I am passionate about cross-regional relations with the hope of someday seeing the regions vanish, or at least no longer be drawn along ethnic lines.  So as not to be called a hypocrite for saying I believe that and then not supporting the conference when it does something like that, I went. But I still had a bad attitude about the time it would take.

On the way up to Pine Springs Ranch, though, my attitude started to change.  My regional director had told us all to read Dr. Joseph Kidder's book, The Big Four, before going, and I was listening to it on the Kindle text-to-speech feature.  As I listened to how taking time out to pray transformed his ministry, I realized that this retreat would probably give me a good reality check about that.

And it did. After an initial presentation about how different thinking styles affect ministry (which is very similar to brain quadrant preference, but this guy explained it more clearly than anyone else has), Dr. Kidder was the speaker for the rest of the weekend, and it was all about prayer and keeping Christ the center of ministry. While many of his talks were almost word-for-word from The Big Four, the passion with which he delivered them was powerful.  His life story, which wasn't in his book, was amazing, too--native to Iraq, he became a Christian and an Adventist at the cost of being beaten and disowned by his family.  After many hurdles and difficulties, he came to the US and eventually became a professor at Andrews.

I sought him out at lunch the middle day of the retreat, partly because I was curious about some aspects of his life in Iraq but even more curious about some aspects of life at Andrews University.  He took me aback by taking an interest in me and my story, especially my plans to go to Andrews in the fall whether there is a sponsorship involved or not.  He surprised me, at the end of the walk, by actually praying for me one-on-one to get a sponsorship.  Somehow, until he did that, it had never occurred for me to pray for that specifically myself.  My prayers had just been feeble sorts of, "If you want me there, God, you figure out how to get me there."

I've known so many people who have been disappointed by asking God for specific, concrete things that I suppose that I've been afraid to ask.  But I realized after Dr. Kidder prayed for me that this has been holding back my ministry.  It is no crime to pray for specific results, after all, if those results are already a part of God's revealed plan.  I had never had the guts in my whole life to pray for wholesale heart conversions or baptisms, even though theoretically these are the things my ministry is supposed to produce.  I realized, then, that the three days I was spending away from the supposed business end of my work were really being spent exactly where they need to be--in prayer for my congregation, God's mission for it, and the people I care about.

That night, the conference treated all of us pastors to a very special communion service modeled after the Passover celebration.  We were all mixed up so that no one was next to a pastor of their same region, and that was powerful.  At the end of it, the conference officials all spread themselves throughout the room and made sure that every single pastor got anointed.  It was really strange and powerful to see these men and women I was used to seeing wielding authority in suits at their offices humble themselves to serve us in this way.

Our worships consisted of both music and testimonies, and the testimonies were the most interesting, because it was kind of the first time I've heard that many pastors be that honest at once.  They owned up, in front of their peers, to their failings and their growth. Pastors who had never met or spoken to each other before bared their souls. It made me smile to realize that most of them had an equally bad or worse attitude going into it than I had, but had also gotten something really amazing out of it.

From there, I plunged into the work of the week and weekend to follow.  But I felt so much more directed, clear in my thinking, and connected to why I was doing what I was doing.  The Sabbath, which was perhaps the busiest I'd had in a long time, energized me instead of wearing me out (though i did crash the next day).  When I encountered my colleagues throughout the weekend as I collaborated with them on various things, they looked more passionately focused on their purpose in all this activity as well. 

And once I had recovered from the weekend in all of its insanely busy splendor, I finally gathered the courage to pick up the phone and start calling my family, one by one, to tell them that Stephen and I confirmed our wedding date of August 4 at the Yountville SDA Church.  Was I scared of them?  No.  I was scared of being overwhelmed by all the wedding talk, and yeah, by the end of the day (it takes all day to talk to each family member individually, even if a few do go straight to voicemail), I was emotionally wiped.  After all, calling all those people is like taking a person-by-person tour of relationships that will change in some way once I get married. But it's like something inside of me has finally clicked enough to face not just my work better, but these major life changes of marrying Stephen and going to Andrews with more courage than I had before.  I have my health back, and for that, I am grateful, but I am even more grateful for this wonderful attitude adjustment that my conference just forced me to attend.

This time, when I sign off to the email edition of Jillian's Journeys, I mean it more sincerely than ever that you are in my prayers. I love you all so very much, and pray that God will energize, bless and focus you in whatever it is that you are doing this week.

A Holiday Adventure: Dec. 22-Jan. 7

What a whirlwind!  The year ended with an incredible crescendo and opened up the new year with great fanfare.  After the fugue of large scale church Christmas events, my parents and I drove up to Oakland after their last day of school.  We flew out of there early the next morning to see our beloved friends the McMillans in Los Alamos.  I would have loved more time with them, but Christmas Eve is a time for family.  So, we flew back to Oakland (insultingly by way of LA, so close to home but not home) to drive to Napa to be with family for Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve, I had my boyfriend Stephen at my side, and I was pleased to see how well he got along with my family.  I was also overjoyed just to see some relatives that I haven't seen since my mother's birthday in May, and some since last Christmas.  I met for the first time my two adorable twin cousins, Lincoln and Mateo, who were born maybe two months ago.  That night, after all the good food and presents, Stephen took my Dad aside for a brief conversation which left them both smiling.

I spent Christmas Day with Stephen's family in Angwin.  It was a joy to see his two brothers, who are also friends of mine, home for the holidays.  I was touched by how they treated me like one of the family, his parents even giving me a stocking along with their sons.  We ate, talked, played games, and they introduced me to Stephen's grandmother, a very beautiful woman under Piner's care.

After the traditional playing of awful music on Boxing Day, the Lutes family picked me up for us all to go to Leoni Meadows for a few days.  It was snowing on the way in, and we had to put chains on their van.  After the six of us settled into the cabin, Stephen took me on a walk through the moonlit camp.  We stopped at the door of the cafeteria, laughing at his first memory of me (I remember him some two or three years before that) trying to talk to him when he was so shy when we were in high school.  The conversation flowed far more freely than that first remembered one as we walked to the porch of the Leoni House, where he held me as we overlooked the moonlit, snowy meadow.

Then he suddenly wasn't holding me anymore.  I turned around, and there he was, on one knee with a lovely little ring in hand.  "Jillian Spencer, will you marry me?" he asked. 

And of course, I said yes.

We walked back out to the bridge in the middle of the meadow, where he had gotten his parents to set up a rose, a candle, some Martinelli's and two goblets.  We took our time to process what we had just done, toasting to the future and praying for wisdom as we go about it, as well as for the people we care about as they react to hearing about it.  I was incredibly grateful to have that time before sharing it with the world, something private before it all became so public.  That night, we would tell his brothers and my immediate family. The next morning, we would post it on Facebook for the world to see.  But I was glad to have something private first.

And I was glad to have a few days just enjoying the scenery of Leoni Meadows in the snow and the company of the Lutes family before going back to face everyone who would surely pester me with questions. "When are you getting married?'  "Can I do this?"  "Can I help you with that?" and "Have you thought about this, that, or the other element of the wedding?"

While I understand this loving curiosity and desire to help, I feel it distracts from the simple joy of the narrative.  God has brought Stephen and I together, and we want Him to lead us together for the rest of our lives.  Sure, I'll have to plan a wedding and all the fussy things that go with it, but I worry about that becoming a distraction from the life that Stephen and I got engaged to build.

So I was grateful that Sabbath when his home church in Yountville was congratulatory, but low on questions, and that night when we were actually able to celebrate my father at a private screening of Les Miserables without my engagement being a distraction from it.  Dad was genuinely surprised to see a theater full of his students throughout the years, and it really touched him.  I think all three of us were crying at the end of the movie, and he had to break up all the emotions of the thing with his flippant, "Don't forget to pay for your silent auction items!"

The next day, the four of us drove back to LA, and spent a lovely evening with our friends, the Staubbacks, including a trip to the El Capitan Theater for Monster's Inc. On New Year's Eve, Stephen and I went to Disneyland (I won't do that again or recommend it; it is far too crowded on New Year's Eve).  From there, we went to camp all night on Colorado Blvd for the Rose Parade, catching up with my friend Diane through the cold watches of the night.

After drinking in the sights and sounds of the parade, we repacked and headed out to Vegas with my parents. That night, we strolled through the lit gardens of the Ethel M factory--it was magical, and even more magical without glasses.  The next two days, instead of getting good and refreshed, somehow Stephen and I ended up wandering the Strip, admiring the architecture of some of the casinos while getting tired out by the swarming masses of people and irritatingly constant advertising.  We did enjoy some good food at the different Feast buffets in the evenings, though, and finally got around to seeing The Hobbit in its magnificent high frame rate.

Once home on Friday, it was a quick rush to create the church newsletter and come to church for Pathfinder Sabbath the next day.  Like the members at Yountville, my own church members were very gracious about not prying us with too many questions--we even managed to run an Amnesty International letter-writing campaign and actually get people interested in the issues.  The next morning, however, I woke up with 103 degree fever.  So, instead of Stephen ending his trip to LA with something more adventurous and journeysome, he spent it taking good care of me and now I am actually probably at my physically best since June now. 

And now I am at a loss at what to do with this blog because from here on out, my journeys are no longer "Jillian's Journeys" but "Jillian and Stephen's Journeys."  But then again, God has been my constant traveling companion the whole length of my writing this blog, and I've never given Him title credits, either. The purpose of this blog has always been to satisfy the curiosity of friends and family who have found it an impossible task to keep track of me, and sincerely want to know where I've been and what I've been doing while absent from them.  From now on, though, this is no longer just my story, but our story.  But it always has been an "our story"--the story of keeping up my relationships with all of you while far away from you.

Justin Day 2012

t's Justin Day again, a day I originally set up to honor the life of my illustrious brother Justin, who took on the world in his 17 years with a ferocity and focus I rarely see elsewhere.  It's been five years since I started sharing the observance of this day with the rest of the world with these customs:

http://jilliansjourneys.blogspot.com/2007/09/justin-day.html

This year, as I'm remembering Justin, there are other things on my mind as well.  Yesterday, there was a memorial service for one of the most beautiful women I've ever met.  What made her beautiful was her hands--Nadine Robinson did sign language for Christian Edition for many years until disease claimed her life.  She spent many years in a wheel chair, but I still remember the first night she came into a Christian Edition rehearsal on her own two feet, and signed "Day Star" for the first time.  My friend Nikki and I, while on the road, would often play hookey on the entire CE concert--except for the part of it Nadine signed, because it was so beautiful.  Like my brother, she had a beautiful soul.

This year, I'm also thinking about a child that was born into my congregation at Alhambra about a month ago.  This infant, who is deeply beloved by his community, is still in the hospital.  Like my brother, he will be living on preciously bought borrowed time for all his days, and I hope and pray that, like Justin, he will embrace each day for the gift it is.

It seems like no accident of God's that Justin's birthday would fall in October, a month that so many people spend thinking about the spookier side of mortality.  Justin's birthday, every year, is a poignant reminder both of the power of a single life to effect change in an amazingly short period of time and how mortality brings that life into focus.  Death, which frightens so many, did not seem to frighten him so much (which was a part of what killed him, actually), perhaps because he knew he barely survived his own birth.  He accepted it as a reality of life and instead of fearing it, boldly defied it left and right, much to the consternation of his concerned family.

Awareness of death focused his life.  Not just that it would end, but that it would someday begin again.  That he will have another birthday.  It may not be October 1, and he may laugh at his silly sister for the observances set up for it, but it will be much better because he will be able to do whatever adrenaline-spiking crazy thing he wants without concerned people having to rightly warn him to be more careful.

And on the same day, Nadine will ice skate.  The baby that was born in my congregation will be free of all his medical issues.  My deaf grandfather will hear again. 

For Justin Day this year, I challenge you to take a good, long look at what scares you.  Make a list or something.  Then make a list of things you really want to do, but are scared of doing.  Think about these lists.  What's holding you back?  Probably the fact that on some level, you're scared of death.  Even if you don't believe in the resurrection, "We're all gonna die," as a 7-year-old Justin used to say, so why fear it?  Celebrate Justin's birthday by celebrating your own life in following his parting advice, "No fear, no regrets, no holding back."

Reflections on Summer 2012

It's funny how quickly time flies when you don't take time to pause for reflection.  It's strange how insanely fast time moves when you do not pause to connect with people who are important to your life and tell them what's up.  And it is sad for something as mundane as a busy schedule to come between you and people you care about.

This summer was about learning not just the relational, but the physical boundaries of a busy schedule.  Somehow, I thought I could invincibly take on my routine pastoral duties, extra special events for the summer, and a new long-distance relationship all without having taken a week off since Christmas.  Granted, I took little three and four-day trips here and there, but I generally fit them around my weekend duties, just compressing what needed to be done. 

This seemed to work out for a while. I went to a wedding on a Sunday after a long Sabbath and managed to stay up half the night chatting with my grandmother afterwards, returning to my duties not long after. I went to Disneyland with my friend Hillary right before the weekend crunch, and still made it through that. I went on a wonderful moonlit hike up Half Dome with my aunt, uncle, and Stephen (a young man I've had my eye on for years), watched the sunrise with him, and after all that still managed to get the church newsletter ready on time that week. 

It worked out until a weekend in mid-July that contained two beach parties and a baby shower.  The day after began a long summer of fever, nausea, and generally feeling nasty.  Yet, woven alongside that, were days that I felt just fine.  Sometimes, I would just go and have a good time anyway because I was so tired of my life being put on hold.  I went to the free Shakespeare festival at Griffith Park four times, having the time of my life with Stephen and my youth group.  I explored the amazing Disney exhibit at the Reagan Library even though I was barely holding down saltine crackers that day.  (It's an amazing exhibit, by the way--if you have any affection for anything related to Disney in your heart, you must come to LA and see it.)  I went to Sea World with my aunt, uncle, and cousin and had a wonderful time, even though I could barely hold down my dinner that night.  I went to Disneyland with Stephen, even though I got so sick that not even my stubborn will could keep me around to watch the fireworks.  I went to a wedding in Greeley Hill, out in the middle of nowhere, and enjoyed it even though I was not strong enough to stay for the whole reception.

In the midst of all this activity, I couldn't help but marvel that in some ways, it's been the best summer of my life--if only I weren't sick for so much of it!  Fortunately, when my vacation the first week of September rolled around, I was feeling healthy.  I could enjoy the company of the family and friends I'd come up to Napa and the Bay Area to see.  I could catch up with people I hadn't seen in months and enjoy the beautiful Napa Valley with some quality face time with Stephen.  I rounded off my time in Northern California speaking for the Pathfinder Leadership Convention, which gave me the refreshing blessing of being far, far away from some of the things that had started to grate on my nerves about LA (noise, traffic, light pollution, obnoxious drivers, etc.)

But something went wrong on my way back.  After catching up with a friend at IHOP, I felt such nausea as I hadn't felt all summer, not since the beach party weekend.  I could not drive back to LA like that!  Fortunately, I had a friend in Dublin who has had this wonderful habit of rescuing me for as long as I've known her, and as soon as I told her what was up, she took me into her apartment and took care of me.  She took me to the ER when I wasn't even in the state of mind to realize how badly I needed to be there.  Between her and the ER doctor, I got put right just enough to drive back to LA.

Since then, I've been having the strange adventure of experiencing the world mostly from my bedroom, leaving the house only to go to the doctor and do the most important church duties on days my fever is not too high for me to attend to them.  While both my doctor and I wish we could figure out exactly what's going on so that we can stop it, I've been so grateful for everyone who's been so understanding about it and even helped to take care of me.  It's been very educational to have to learn how to put my energy where it matters most, and I suppose that's why, after such a long silence, I've decided to write in here again.  This blog kept on getting put at the bottom of my to-do list because it wasn't "urgent."  But here's the thing--what's more important, an "urgent" bit of church paperwork, or dropping a line to people I love to tell them what I'm up to and that I care about them?

From here on out, I want to concentrate on what matters most, and try to weed out wasted motion.  What matters most to me?  People, Jesus, and learning.  And that means actually dropping all of you a line once in a while, because otherwise, I'm only paying lip service to the idea that I value you.  In a way, I'm glad I got sick, because it forced me to come back to my senses and start approaching life right again.  I love you all, and hope that you are enjoying better health than mine. :)

C3 Retreat and Desert Visit, March 30-April 2

So, given that I am leaving on yet another trip this coming weekend, it behooves me to catch up on the failure I've been at keeping this correspondence up to date.  It's been two months since the weekend I'm describing here, and that's just tragic.  All of you who were snickering about how I would quit this blog once I start working, well, I'll never quit!  But I am behind.  I've been staying far more current on Facebook, so if you've never friended me, go for it!  I don't bite, and I don't post annoying gaming stuff on other people's walls.

The C3 Retreat at Camp Cedar Falls was for all the young adults in the Southern California Conference to get together and accomplish what the C3 stands for: Connect.  Cultivate.  Carry.  In other words, to make friends, develop skills to enrich their spiritual lives, and hopefully learn something that they can take back home with them.  The theme of the weekend was, "The Main Thing is that Jesus is the Main Thing," a simple yet difficult concept to communicate.

I promoted this retreat for months, both at my own church and in other places.  I sent emails.  I distributed fliers.  I texted people.  Some even gave me a hint that they wanted to go.  But when I got there, no one from my church showed.

As I helped my fellow pastors on the Pheron committee (which puts all of these young adult events together) set up the ridiculously huge screen (20 feet tall!  We barely got it under the rafters), for the first day, I was awfully quiet about the lack of attendance from my church.  I was ashamed that, after being the promotions powerhouse that got a large number from the Hispanic Region to show, none of my actual local young adults had come.  I focused on building up my friendships with my fellow pastors instead.  I got to know the men better as I helped haul A/V equipment, and the women as I helped set up the prayer room. 

The prayer room looked amazing; Pastor Cherise had done an incredible job conceptualizing it and doing all the research to pull it off.  It had 12 stations that involved different kinds of prayer activities.  One involved planting a marigold, another praying for someone abroad and marking it on a map, still another meditating in front of a mirror on how God sees you.  The people who went through it really got something out of it, and it was beautiful, both visually interesting and offering options for kinesthetic thinkers to experience God.  So much of Adventist worship is auditory, which I love--but not every person is auditory, and the appeal to the other senses was really valuable. 

Friday night's opening meeting was a bit chaotic because we had never assigned someone to oversee the order of service, and there were some technology glitches, but it was still powerful.  In an impromptu move, Iki Taimi lead them in singing acapella without the (really excellent, but really loud) band we'd brought along, and the voices were incredibly strong.  These young adults weren't used to the joy of being with other believers their own age, and later on, we would receive correspondence about how the music brought them together so powerfully.  Glenn Gibson's messages throughout the weekend, just re-teaching the very basic but very important connection to Jesus really hit home for those listening.

On Sabbath, between the meetings we had break-out sessions, and I was teaching one on the spiritual discipline of writing.  Because of the personality types attracted to writing, I hadn't expected many to sign up for it, and was afraid there would be no one.  After all, who would want to come to a break out session on writing when Iki Taimi is teaching one on relationships, "Girl.  Guy.  God." at the same time?  I didn't even know where my break-out session was going to meet until the one token task-structured organizer of our group, Tony, told me where to walk.  I had a respectable sized group, and we started to walk.

And we walked.  I wasn't sure if we'd really find the place we were supposed to meet, or if Tony was playing a trick on me in passive-aggressive revenge for me not bringing anyone from my church.  I used the walk, which offered stunning vistas and snow, to teach my group observational skills, and we even threw snowballs at each other on the way.  Then, we found it, and it was perfect: an outdoor space with a fort, luscious trees, and the sound of a river.  I gave the group time to write before teaching them the content, but as I wrote as well, I think it did me as much good as it did them.  The evening version of it was indoors, and the people who went to it seemed to enjoy it, but it wasn't quite as magical.

There was also a break in which we could all do whatever we wanted, and I enjoyed walking out to the swinging bridge with my fellow pastors.  It was a great out-of-office, no-business, just getting-to-know-each-other little hike.  These moments are rare among such driven people.

At the mealtimes, I met some pretty awesome students, but concealed my age as I realized that many of them were older than me.  I felt awkward--I was a pastor, and therefore not one of the campers, but I am also 4 years younger than the youngest of my colleagues.  After the evening's meeting and games, there was an impromptu raucous karaoke night.  The band, without using any music, played to each of the songs requested.  I joined in the fun, reveled in listening to the voices and talents of the campers, and suddenly realized, "I need not be ashamed.  I did bring along a young adult who needs this retreat.  I brought myself."  From that point on, I gave myself permission to enjoy the retreat.  Pity it took me so long.

At breakfast on Sunday, I confessed my true age and profession to the people I'd met, and though they were a little shocked ("A 22-year-old pastor?  I didn't know that was possible!"), they still accepted me.  I refused to feel weird about the age gap with my colleagues as I wrangled communion cups with them.  The final communion seemed to bond the whole group that had been there that weekend in a special way.  I am still in contact with some of the people I met there, and I feel like it really re-energized me to go back to my church and rebuild the young adult program that had fallen apart in the weeks leading up to the retreat.  (Yeah; the previous weekend I lost my lay leader and two members.  The two members seem to be interested in coming back, though, so things are looking positive.)

I did not go straight home from the retreat, though; I drove out to the desert for a long overdue visit to my relatives there.  Grandma Spencer was delighted to see me, and we went out with my aunt, uncle, and cousins to the Spaghetti Factory to celebrate my uncle's many years of working at Rose Mortuary.  My favorite part of the whole thing was reconnecting with my cousin, Tommy, and putting faces to names I had heard for years.  It was hard to leave the desert the next day; Grandma and I had plenty to chat about.  But I had a young adult program to rebuild, and avoiding it would do no good.

The young adult program seems to be doing better now, and I've gotten a bit better about that delicate balance between work and play, and I'm finally developing a social life outside of work.  (No easy task.)  I am thrilled to announce that I've been picked up for a second year at Alhambra, which will give me more time to fix the young adult program, and to make the things I have been successful at sustainable so that they don't collapse when I eventually leave for Andrews.  Speaking of Andrews, it will be featured heavily in the next episode of Jillian's Journeys, which hopefully I will have the discipline to write tomorrow. That would be awesome, as it is really hard to write about a trip like this when you took no notes and it happened two months ago, and the Women's Clergy Conference was really incredible. 

I hope that life has been treating all of you well, and I'm so sorry for falling off the grid like this.  For some reason, whenever I've gotten to "Write Jillian's Journeys" on my to-do list, I've found it a convenient time to stop working.  Today, I made NO to-do list, and thus, you got an episode.  I love you all, and wish you the best