Beauty Tips for Ministers

Vestment Bags for Mon Petites

The lovely and petite Mrs. P submits this very helpful tip for the less-tall among us:

Hi PB- I have a tip for your petite readers about vestment bags. Regular garment bags are too short for vestments, but the vestment bags sold by Almy or other companies are way longer than those of us of brief personage will ever need, and also somewhat awkward to carry.

Instead, I found a garment bag online that is “evening gown length,” 60 inches, which is perfect for transporting the liturgical garments of the Rev’d Shorties among us (since our vestments are head-and ankles-length shorter than we are). I found one on eBags in a lovely Pentecost season green.

grace and peace,
Mrs P

“Rev’d Shorties!” Oh Mrs. P, you are too much.

No More Knock-Offs!

By God, it’s a sad day for those of us us who just can’t get through the week without our blood-red Valentino gowns and enormous Galliano ballerina skirts.

Play a dirge, someone. The fashion world a-trembles.

There may be some pastoral care required here, friends. Be on alert for crestfallen faces on Seventh Avenue in NYC.

I DO Read And Respond To Your E-mails!

My dear readers,

I just wanted to let you know that I DO answer my mail from blog readers, but for some reason that e-mail has been going not to you but to an Outgoing Mail folder on my computer that I just found tonight.

There I was thinking, “Gee, I haven’t heard from J. and S. and that nice person from Los Angeles and some other people. I guess everyone’s at their Maine cabin or something. I wonder if Lori and Suzanne want to get together in New York to work on their book or not. I wonder why Robin never gets my e-mails and why Juniper never got my mea culpa about contacting her when I was in Seattle.”

I don’t know what the glitch is, but I’m glad to have found the many letters.

Please forgive the perceived rudeness. I love your letters and I will do my best to fix the problem.

The Adorable Parker

Here’s The Adorable Parker, who came to see me in Seattle wearing a very special shirt created just for the occasion:

(Just for the record, PeaceBang NEVER asks that question, because she knows the answer!!)

Hamhock Alert! More on Self-Care And I Mean It This Time

Bonjour from the beauteous Pacific Northwest, my doves!

I am staying in Seattle as the guest of a Methodist clergy brother who offerered me hospitality DURING THE PASSING OF THE PEACE at the Festival of Homiletics in Nashville this past May. What trust! What kindness! What Christian virtue! I still can’t quite get over it. Not only did he invite me to stay with him and his wife for three nights without having any acquaintance with me whatsoever, he left a key for me yesterday afternoon because he and his wife had an opportunity to spend a night away. It seems they hosted a youth group last week and needed a bit of R & R for themselves. One can only imagine. What is harder to imagine, however, is leaving a key to your home for a total stranger and inside, a note that says, “Make yourself at home!”

I am humbled by their goodness.

I am also, to get to the subject at hand, humbled by the photographs of me taken at General Assembly. The Bad Hair is one thing (either too dry or greasy, too blonde, unstylable) but the enormous hamhock upper arms are another. I am becoming my great-grandmother! You can start calling me Baba Billo. I knew the gut was deteriorating. I knew the legs were getting more tree-stumpish with every week away from the gym. I knew the face was losing its battle to retain notable bone structure. But mon Dieu! My upper arms are going to need their own zip code soon!

Here it is, chickens. Looking back over the year and realizing that I have given my congregation 100%, my doctoral program 100%, my new student minister 100%, and the class that I’m teaching 100% helps me to understand and to accept that I have been giving myself the Leftovers. Ooh, and such yummy leftovers! Macaroni and cheese! Quesadillas! Steak tips and Ben & Jerry’s!
All kidding aside, and all self-acceptance in my heart, I’m going to change some priorities and lose some habits. I love my life too much to let it continue so out of balance. I do believe that these are excellent years for working hard — and even too hard. I’m only 41, and I have tons of energy and passion. Why not? But it’s just not fair or wise to keep loading weight onto my body as though I am some kind of indefatigable sherpa and not a fairly small person with an insatiable appetite, love of food and rebellious denial of the effects of both.

I saw this morning that our fall district minister’s retreat is on the subject of self-care, and that it will be led by a colleague who runs several miles a day and who has always been incredibly fit and trim. He has a message that clergy have to model health and wellness in body as well as soul. Isn’t that serendipitalicous?

I can’t make weight loss my goal, because I know how THAT works, and it’s called failure. But when I get home I am going to join Weight Watchers with the aim of re-learning portion sizes and mindfulness in the mangia department. I’m going to try to find some kind of dance class or activity to do on a regular basis, return to the gym (I actually LIKE the gym!) and I’m going to have a long hard talk with myself about some of the habits that need to get kicked to the curb (like reading celebrity gossip mags or beauty magazines while munching snacks as the ultimate brainless break).

While on the Oregon coast the other day I was praying about the weeks of summer: “God, what would you have me do with this time?” And God said, “HOW ABOUT TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF, DINGBAT?”
And I said, “Oh! Ha ha! Oh yeah! Thanks, God! I forgot all about that!”

Out of the Blogosphere…

…But only for a few more days!

My lambs, I am missing you after a week away but I won’t be home for another three or four days.

I won’t lie to ya, it’s been fun slogging about in jeans and Keene’s and barely any makiage.

Kiss of peace to you all,
and see you next week.

This morning: SEATTLE!

Juniper, are you game for drinks or coffee tomorrow?