Lynne Baab

First post in a new series: Listening to God in prayer

Thursday November 16 2017

Throughout the centuries, Christians have valued quiet prayer, reflection on the Scriptures, and meditation on the character and purposes of God. In the twentieth century, these quiet prayer forms were largely eclipsed by an emphasis on more outwardly oriented expressions of faith. Christian spirituality of the twentieth century often emphasized service, evangelism, caring for people in need, fellowship and sharing, at the expense of quiet, reflective forms of prayer.

In recent years, more Christians are rediscovering the joys of meeting God in quiet prayer and reflection. Retreat centers offer quiet retreats. Congregations sponsor contemplative prayers events. More Christians visit monasteries to soak up the quiet and peace.

At midlife, many people experience a turn inward, and contemplative prayer can feel more natural than in the first half of life. For those of us who find quiet reflection natural, learning about contemplative prayer can be a freeing and joyful midlife experience. Next week I’ll write about the way that worked for me.

Others at midlife find themselves surprised at the comfort and delight they experience in quiet prayer, often for the first time in their lives. In the first half of their lives, they thrived on all the abundant opportunities for fellowship and ministry offered by their churches. They are often surprised in their forties and fifties to find themselves seeking out opportunities to spend time with God in a quiet setting. They are also surprised to find how refreshing it feels.

Several extraverted and very social people have told me that at midlife they began to wonder if they really are introverts after all, because they find such joy in being alone and praying alone. Being alone takes on a richness and peace that it never had before. Journaling, creating a prayer space in the home or in the garden, walking alone in nature, and many other forms of prayer and reflection in solitude can take on new meaning and satisfaction as a way to be alone yet not alone, because God is present.

The long history of contemplative prayer offers quite a few prayer forms that can be very helpful tools. In this series of blog posts I will explore those forms:

• Breath prayer, a way of stopping and experiencing God’s nearness;
• Examen, a way of reflecting back to see God’s presence in past moments;
• Lectio Divina, a four-fold pattern of sitting with a passage of Scripture;
• Ignatian Prayer, a way to meet Christ by entering into a biblical story.

These are very helpful prayer forms to learn, because they give us something to “do,” somewhere to direct our thoughts and prayers, as we learn to sit still in God’s presence.

All these contemplative prayer patterns are simply skills to get at the deeper issue. They are useful skills, and I will write about them because they are helpful, rich and rewarding. But the deeper issue that lies behind contemplative prayer, and the goal of using all the skills, is to learn to be present to God and to grow in our ability to hear God’s voice, so we can live lives that are responsive to God’s presence.

In the first half of life, we can easily delude ourselves that we are competent, in-charge people who can easily know and obey God through our own efforts of discipline. In the midlife years, many people find it difficult to sustain these illusions of control and competence. In addition, we find ourselves longing to know if God is real, if God really can communicate to us, if God really does love us just the way we are. We long to experience God’s presence.

Contemplative prayer can give us the space and time in our lives so we can hear God’s voice and rest in God's presence.

(Next week: my journey of growing in listening to God. Illustration: Cambridge, England, by Dave Baab. If you’d like to receive an email when I post on this blog, sign up under “subscribe” in the right hand column. This post is excerpted from my book, A Renewed Spirituality: Finding Fresh Paths at Midlife.)

Two articles I’ve written that relate to listening to God:

     Letting go of agendas so we can listen to God and others   
     Following Jesus each day    

Stories I ponder: My dad the pilot

Friday November 10 2017

My father was born on April 25, 1915, the day the Australia and New Zealand Army Corps landed at Gallipoli in Turkey. The military action there over the next six months would be so inept and bloody that on my father’s first birthday, April 25^th would be declared a national holiday in New Zealand. ANZAC Day is still celebrated passionately in New Zealand, and people with no religious affiliation enthusiastically attend worship services commemorating New Zealand’s soldiers.

Of course, I had to move to New Zealand to learn the significance of my father’s birth date. It seems an appropriate day to be born for someone who flew fighter planes in World War 2. My dad flew P-51 Mustangs in North Africa and Italy for about a year before he became very ill with what was then called jaundice, some unspecified form of hepatitis. After returning to the U.S. to recover, he spent the rest of the war selling war bonds and training pilots. When the war ended, he left the military, but returned to the air force a couple of years later.

My parents met in Washington, D.C., when my father was stationed at the Pentagon. In 1948, he was transferred to Sofia, Bulgaria. My mother waited nine months to get a visa to join him. They were married in Bulgaria, spent a year there, and when Bulgaria severed diplomatic relations with the United States, my dad was transferred to Ankara, Turkey. My mother was pregnant with me when he was again posted to the Pentagon. After I was born, my father was stationed in Greece, Germany, Michigan, upstate New York, Germany again, and Virginia. My younger brother was born when we were in Germany the first time and I was almost four.

In all those places up through Germany the second time, my father flew cargo planes for the air force. My favorite memories include my father returning from a flight, pulling out a map and showing me where he’d been. Sometimes he brought me little presents, which I loved, but those moments with the map were just as precious as the gifts.

When I was nine, my father quit flying because he had reached the mandatory age for stopping.

My father died in 2005 at 90. My mother asked my brother, Mark, and me to give a little talk at his funeral service. When Mark and I compared notes about what we were going to say, I found out that Mark did not remember my father in his pilot years at all.

For me, the quintessential memory of my father involved his return from a trip and that lovely moment of poring over a map together. I was astounded to realize my brother did not have that memory of my father at all.

I have loved maps all my life. I love them on paper and I love them online. My father gave me that gift. That love of maps and distant places motivated me to study for a year in France at 19, and live in Iran, Israel, Sweden and New Zealand with my husband, Dave. God used those conversations with my father over maps to kindle something significant in me that profoundly shaped my life and ministry.

We are shaped by the events in our lives, and it is remarkable that a brother and sister growing up in the same home can have such different memories. Even when people experience the same events, they can remember them so differently.

I’ve been writing a series of blog posts about stories I ponder. All of these stories have shaped me in one way or another. I have LOVED writing these stories. Writing down these events that shaped me has helped me see God’s hand in my life in new ways.

I want to encourage each of you to think about the events that have shaped you. Maybe you could journal about them, talk to a friend or family member, or allow time in a small group meeting for people to share stories.

Here are the key questions:

• What are the events in your own life that you still ponder sometimes?
• How did those events shape you?
• Where do you see God in the events or in your memories of the events?

We must make spaces to share these kinds of stories.

(Next week I begin a new series on prayer as listening to God. Photo: my father during World War 2. If you’d like to receive an email when I post on this blog, sign up under “subscribe” in the right hand column.)

The posts in this series about stories I ponder:

     What I learned in Sweden    
     How I learned about introversion and extraversion, and why it matters    
     The high cost of pretending to be someone we’re not    
     Dave’s sister’s end of life    
     How I changed my mind about women in ministry    
     We are necessary and superfluous    
     My mother and her sister    
     My father-in-law and money    
     A tale of two grandmothers    
     Aunt Lynn  
     The noisy washing machine    
     The tulip

Stories I ponder: What I learned in Sweden

Thursday November 2 2017

Back in the 1980s, when our sons were 3 and 5, my husband Dave got a fellowship to spend a year doing research in Sweden. He had met a visiting Swedish researcher at the University of Washington Dental School, where Dave was teaching, and that researcher invited Dave to come to Sweden to do research together. We were thrilled at this opportunity.

I was a part time student at Fuller Theological Seminary at the time, and I set up a couple of independent study projects to do in Sweden.

To our great surprise, after we arrived in Linkoping, a town two and a half hours southwest of Stockholm, we found we were eligible for a stipend from the government of about $400 every month because we had children. After we returned to the U.S., I wrote an opinion piece for our local newspaper about how this stipend seemed like such a good idea to me. Everyone got it, no matter what their income, so it was simple to administer. It validated the importance of children in a lovely way, and obviously it helped financially.

We also found out that we were eligible for part-time daycare because I was a part-time student. So, for five hours each day, our boys went to a daycare located on the ground floor of the apartment building where we lived. Our older son was the right age for kindergarten, so for three of those five hours each day, he and about a dozen other children had their kindergarten class in a room attached to the daycare.

The daycare was attractive and well staffed, supplied with toys and art supplies. The bathroom had a cute little cubby for each child with a toothbrush and toothpaste. Dental hygienists came into the preschool to do dental exams and to teach the children about how to care for their teeth.

We paid nothing for the daycare and kindergarten.

At the daycare, our boys made friends with a little Swedish girl named Jenny, and Jenny’s parents invited us over for a meal. They lived in a large apartment building that was a co-housing project, my first experience of co-housing.

Jenny’s mom told me about the 18 month maternity leave she had taken when Jenny was born, mandated by law in Sweden. Most of her leave was paid. She told me about the fact that she and her husband were entitled by law to work two-thirds time for several years after each child was born without losing any advancement at work. She said that government employees were given even more generous conditions in their early years of parenting. Government employees were entitled to work half-time for five years after the birth of each child, without losing the right to advancement.

As you can imagine, I was astounded at all of this. Much later in our time in Sweden, someone explained to me that feminists and people concerned about the rights of women had taken a very different tack in the United States than in Europe, especially Scandinavia. This person explained that in the United States, activists pushed for equal pay for equal work. In Scandinavia, they pushed for things that help mothers (and fathers) and children: free daycare, parental leave, and subsidies for parents.

The older I get, the  more I see examples of the law of unintended consequences. If I had been an activist 50 or 75 years ago, I might have been more concerned about equal pay for equal work rather than benefits for mothers, fathers and children. After all, not all women are mothers. Now I deeply wish that the United States had more structures in place to support parents in the early years of parenting.

God has a special concern for the vulnerable, which includes young children and their parents. “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep” (Isaiah 40:11). I am so concerned that in the United States, we don’t care for young children and the parents of young children very well. I grieve about this, and I pray for God's mercy for young families.

(Next week: my dad the pilot. Illustration by Dave Baab: our wonderful daughter-in-law and our beautiful granddaughter at one of Seattle’s wading pools. If you’d like to receive an email when I post on this blog, sign up under “subscribe” in the right hand column.

Two years ago on this blog, a favorite post of mine: When fear, ego and ambition drive the bus

Stories I ponder: How I learned about introversion and extraversion, and why it matters

Thursday October 26 2017

I will never forget the day and time when I learned about the difference between introversion and extraversion, realized I was an introvert, and experienced a huge sense of freedom.

My kids were four and six, and they are now in their mid and late 30s, so that lets you know how long ago it was. We had just returned to Seattle from a year in Sweden, where my husband Dave had been doing dental research. (The time in Sweden was amazing in so many ways, so next week I’m going to write about one thing I learned there.)

While we were away, two of my friends had learned about something called the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. The three of us and our six kids went on a ferry ride together in the nine-seat Suburban one of them owned. On the way to the ferry, they told me about the MBTI in general and they said they knew very clearly what three of my preferences were.

The MBTI presents four sets of preferences describing ways our brains function. (If you don’t know what MBTI type is, you can read a good introduction here.) My friends told me they were sure that I preferred intuition, thinking and judging. They explained each of these preferences and everything they said made a kind of rudimentary sense to me. They talked about the origin of these ideas in the writing of Carl Jung, and they told me about the mother-daughter pair, Isabel Briggs Myers and Katherine Briggs, who adapted Jung’s ideas into a working psychological theory.

They said they couldn’t tell if I preferred extraversion or introversion. They said they saw me as outgoing and talkative, like most extraverts. But there was something about the way I talked about concepts and ideas that made them wonder if I might be an introvert.

We were waiting in a long line of cars at the ferry when they described introversion and extroversion to me. I remember the sunny day, the kids chatting and laughing, and the line of cars stretching ahead of us. The moment is etched on my memory because what they were talking about was and is so significant to me.

My two friends tag teamed as they explained these concepts. Extraverts, they said, are energized by the outer world, including people, things and activities. Introverts are energized by the inner world of thoughts and ideas. Both extraverts and introverts enjoy being with people. However, extraverts will usually be happy in large as well as small groups, while introverts will usually enjoy one or two people the most.

The central concept that lies behind these preferences, they said, is what you get your energy from and what you like to direct your energy toward, either the outer world or the inner world.

As they talked, I knew without any doubt that I am energized by ideas, concepts and deep conversations with a small number of people. I enjoy focusing my energy on the inner world. I find large groups of people tiring. I find the outer world – things, activities – tiring in large doses.

This was a giant AHA moment. My mother, whose values and priorities shaped my childhood, is a strong extravert. I always felt that something was missing in me because I got so tired being in large groups of people, the very settings my mother thrived in. I often preferred reading a book to going shopping for clothes. I had so often felt weird and flawed because my mother and I are so different.

At that time I had many other close relationships with extraverts, including my very loving husband. The work of Jung, Myers and Briggs gave me language to describe the difference in the source and direction of energy between me and those lovely extraverts, and that language conveyed great freedom. Thank you, God, for times when having the right language to talk about something brings clarity, freedom and acceptance.

I still get frustrated from time to time because I’m an introvert. I get tired in so many group settings. There are days I feel that I would give anything to have been created as an extravert. But then I stop and remember that the greatest joy of my work life, writing, comes out of time for reflection and also from deep conversations with individuals or small groups of people. Over and over I need to turn to God in gratitude for making me who I am, and for making others different than I am.

My first book focused on how congregations can use the MBTI: Personality Type in Congregations. Even though it was published two decades ago, it still sells reasonably well, to my great delight. I’ve also got two articles about MBTI type on my website:

• Type and Burnout
• The Sabbath for Introverts

(Next week: One thing I learned from living in Sweden for a year. Illustration by Dave Baab. If you’d like to receive an email when I post on this blog, sign up under “subscribe” in the right hand column.)

Stories I ponder: The high cost of pretending to be someone we’re not

Friday October 20 2017

Like most kids, I grew a lot in awareness of social patterns in junior high school. I entered junior high, seventh grade, at age 12, still really a child. We were living in Hampton, Virginia, and junior high school there lasted three years. I left ninth grade one month before I turned 15.

In eighth and ninth grades, I became increasingly aware of the popular kids, the football and basketball players who moved like gods through the school hallways, and the cheerleaders who accompanied them or who walked in clusters together looking popular and so cute. Even though I had some pretty good friends and wasn’t lonely, I longed to be popular.

Right after I finished ninth grade, we moved across the country to Washington State. I saw that move as an opportunity to remake myself.

When I started high school in Tacoma, I decided to pretend I had been popular in Virginia. I spoke with a slight Virginia accent after three years there, which people commented on with favor. I decided to cultivate an enigmatic and secretive air. A couple of months after I started high school, a cute boy called me “mysterious,” and I knew I had succeeded in my experiment.

In my first year of high school, I had my first boyfriend and my first kiss. Then a second boyfriend, who I liked very much and had a lot of fun with. I made friends with a couple of girls. All of these relationships, however, were based on my attempts to act as if I’d always been a popular person. I didn’t let any of these boys or girls see my true self.

In my second year of high school, I became involved with my third boyfriend, the first person I fell in love with. When he broke up with me after a few months, I was devastated. Because all my friendships were been based on my presentation of a false self, I had no good friends I could turn to in my pain.

In my third and last year of high school, I was the loneliest I’ve ever been before or after. I was extremely active in lots of activities at school, and I did a lot of babysitting to earn money, so I didn’t sit at home moping. I just didn’t have anyone close by to talk to, and the pain of feeling lonely and isolated was huge.

My best friend from childhood lived in Anchorage, and I got to visit her at Christmas of that last year of high school, and then again in the summer after I graduated from high school. I don’t know how I would have made it through that last year of high school without that Christmas visit and her deep love for me.

That lonely year taught me so much. Since then, I have always tried to be authentic in friendships. I have always shared honestly about whatever I’m going through with the people around me. In some instances I am quite sure the quantity of honest sharing has been too much, but vulnerability has nurtured deep relationships, which are a great joy.

I am so grateful for that painful year that taught me how important friends are and that honesty works better than pretense in nurturing friendships that mean something to me.

Because of that high school experience, I have done a lot of thinking about friendships and how they work. A few years ago I wrote a book on friendship, Friending: Real Relationships in a Virtual World. I excerpted a chapter from that book here on this blog, about initiative in friendships, and that series begins here.

May you enter into relationships with honesty and vulnerability. May you rest in the truth that God knows you and loves you, and may this truth give you the freedom to reveal a part of your inner self to others.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
   you discern my thoughts from far away.
You search out my path and my lying down,
   and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
   O Lord, you know it completely.
You hem me in, behind and before,
   and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
   it is so high that I cannot attain it.
—Psalm 139:1-6    

(Next week: how I learned I was an introvert and why it matters so much. Photo: me in tenth grade, at the height of my popularity pretense. I was pretty cute, but of course I didn’t feel cute at the time. If you’d like to receive an email when I post on this blog, sign up under “subscribe” in the right hand column.)