Pastor Joyce the Teacher

I have taken a lot of spiritual gift inventories in my life.  I am one of those people who love to take these type of inventory things, it doesn't really matter whether they are true or not.  It's also pretty easy for me to be able to manipulate them.  I usually can figure out where it is going and skew my answers.  Now why I do that? I don't know. Perhaps it is the challenge of it.

I usually end up on spiritual inventories with one of my strengths being pastoral ministry.  I also end up high on the teacher scale as well.  All that makes a lot of sense I suppose and seems to fit me.

Those of you who are my friends in real life, or on Facebook, know that I have been very frustrated that no one seemed to accept or receive my gifts.  I had a LONG talk with God a while back. Oh it was a talk all right.  I cried.  I argued. I sort of told God just how I felt.  I said God - this is just not right.  You've given me these gifts and yet You open no doors for me.  I went on with how I did everything I thought He told me to do.  I went back to school.  I'm a very well prepared unemployed, unused but willing vessel.  I really just want to serve and when the one giving out the assignments doesn't give you one, what do you do?

I've found that it is one thing to reach the end and it is another to reach the end and tell God what you think.  Okay, for those of you who have never wrestled with God and wonder if it's okay to do, let me tell you this. I've found that sometimes it is the only way to get the answer.

It wasn't long after this "conversation" with God that I got an email from the Pastor of the church to which I belong.  He wondered if I would teach the Book of Acts to the Adult Bible study on Wednesday night.  I was like HUH?  Really? Of course I would.  That's like asking a kid if they want candy.

Finally, a place to use my gifts. I love it!  I love teaching.  I love digging through the scriptures and getting all nerdy - then I have to work to break it down so I don't bore the folks with all my nerdiness...The folks seem to like it. I'll miss them tomorrow night while I'm at my summer residency at school.  But a few weeks has turned into the end of August. Woo-hoo!

Not only am I teaching but I'm actually beginning to feel a part of this little church I belong to... that's a plus!  And, I get to preach for them on an upcoming Sunday - I think I love preaching as much or probably more than teaching.

In two weeks, I'll start a job.  I haven't had a job in years.  I'm going to get paid for what I love to do - okay, it's not a full-time pastor job - but it's a close second.  I'm going to teach at a Technical College - they'll even pay me!

And last, but certainly not least - pastor ministry.  Now you don't have to have a church, or a title, or a paycheck to engage in pastoral ministry.  Every day I find opportunities to minister to people.  It happens on line a lot.  Sometimes I wonder - where are the pastors?  Perhaps they are too busy to be with the people who hurt and have needs - so they find me.  And that's just awesome!

Cliff Silliman by Jenna Vick Silliman

I already knew Cliff was the one for me. God had told me I was going to marry this man, months and months prior to Cliff getting the message, but I persevered. Cliff proposed on Christmas Eve 1979 at San Gregorio Beach, about a half hour South of San Francisco. I ignored the sign that said BEWARE OF DANGEROUS CLIFFS and waited for the romantic moment. The rain stopped, the clouds parted, and a single sunbeam shone down upon us. I waited. Cliff turned to me and said, “Will you marry me?” Now you have to understand I thought every marriage proposal consisted of the guy getting down on one knee, but I was soon to learn the lesson that this is not standard proposal procedure for everyone.

I had to ask, “Is this a proposal?”

Cliff said, “Yes.”

I replied, “Yes.”

Later I asked him why he didn’t get down on one knee. Cliff explained that he didn’t want to get his dress slacks dirty on the wet sand. Makes sense now, but at the time I was confused. Almost 32 years later he still teases me about how I didn’t know he was proposing.

There are many good qualities in the man God gave to me. Here are 10 things I like about my husband, Cliff Silliman.

1. Cliff is DEPENDABLE. If he says he is going to do something, I know I can count on him totally.

2. He is PROMPT. Cliff feels it is honoring to another person to arrive at least five minutes prior to the arranged time. We have a clock or two in every room of our home, but it is still a struggle for me to be on time—I’m just not a clock watcher—but I AM getting better at it, thanks to my dear husband. I was late to get engaged and he’s never let up teasing me about that either. Hahaha!

3. My husband is a COMMUNICATOR. He likes to share insights into God’s Word, what’s going on in the world, and/or his latest bowling experiences. Anyone who knows Cliff, knows he likes to talk! I couldn’t have married a man who was shy or quiet, because I like to talk too. One of my favorite things is when he shares at church meetings and the Holy Spirit works through him. Cliff can get quite fired up and start preaching his heart out. It’s awesome when that happens.

4. Cliff is a STORYTELLER. I like that! I think stories capture people’s attention and communicate a lot of information in a fun way. Cliff tells stories about his colorful past; growing up in California in the 50’s, drug dealing on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley and being a Hippie in the 60’s, growing with God in the Jesus People Movement and living in Christian community with a bunch of Jesus Freaks in the 70’s, married life with me and father to eight in the 80’s, 90’s, and to present day!

5. My husband is a STEADY going guy. I can be quite changeable. I like to say “It is a woman’s right to change her mind.” Cliff is a good match for me and God knew it. I am right brained and in the creative flow and daydreaming. Cliff is left brained and sticks right to his routine and his logical thinking. I like to be spontaneous and he is a planner. I don’t always think things through, but Cliff ponders the outcome of his choices. Cliff plods steadily like a horse to the plow and I like to run full steam ahead, back track, make a couple of loop-de-loops, and then sit and daydream awhile. He puts up with me so well.

6. Cliff is a HARD WORKER. What a good quality! He has provided for our big family for all these years and even worked two jobs when necessary, so I could be a stay-at-home mom with our eight children. (Four are grown and on their own now, so we only have four sons at home now.)

7. I like to joke around and have fun and laugh and be a big kid, so I’m thankful God gave my husband a good SENSE OF HUMOR. With a last name Silliman, you can’t be too serious!

8. Cliff is AFFECTIONATE and likes big hugs and to cuddle and well…you know…to be romantic. (Despite his stunt on the cliff of San Gregorio Beach when he stood up for his proposal.)

9. My husband is excellent at MAP AND MATH USAGE. He takes care of all that left-brain stuff. He enjoys figuring out directions and doing all the accounting and the business stuff in our lives. Yay! (I had my own checkbook for a few months and made a royal mess of it and I have a hard time finding my way back to my car when I go to the grocery store.)

10. Cliff LOVES GOD with his whole heart and mind and strength! He has dedicated his life to following Jesus and has an unshakable faith.

What an awesome man I am married to! Happy Valentine’s Day to you, Cliff!!!

My Dad, Jim Vick by Jenna Vick Silliman

My father, Jim Vick, has positively influenced me in many ways. Like my father, I love music, dancing, singing, and laughter. Growing up, whenever my dad was home, he would have music on the radio or stereo or he’d pick up his guitar and play music. He liked to have fun and make us laugh with whatever jokes he’d heard, by telling a story, or by singing a silly song. Now I am like that too! I’m such a silly mom (The name Silliman fits!) that one of my son’s friends said to me, “You are more like a kid than a mom.” I took that as a compliment!

Dad likes to sing and whenever the mood strikes, he sings out with gusto. He sings all kinds of songs. Last summer we visited him in Northern California and I told him about some of the songs we sang at the nursing homes in our sing-a-longs on Wednesdays. As I knew would happen, we ended up having a sing-a-long right then and there. We sang, “Take me out to the ball game…” It didn’t matter that we were in a restaurant! Hahaha!

I like to think about how, as my dad’s firstborn child, I influenced him and “broke HIM in” to the world of babies, bottles, diaper-changing, and sleepless nights. Dad likes to tell the story of the first time he saw me. I was born at St. Joseph’s Hospital in San Francisco, four days after Valentine’s Day. Dad said, “They put you in my arms and you were all red and squallin’ and you had this big wrinkle of skin on your forehead. I thought to myself, ‘What have I done! I’ve created a monster!’”

We lived in San Carlos, about a half an hour south of San Francisco, and Dad commuted on the train to the city. He sold insurance bid bonds to contractors for a living for almost thirty years. Though he didn’t particularly enjoy selling, he did what he had to do make a living and provide for his family. That attitude of sacrificial giving of your life for your loved ones has been a shining Christ-like example to me my whole life. I was a “Daddy’s Girl” and sought to please him every chance I got. This has served me well in life because now I’m my Heavenly Father’s “Daddy’s Girl.” I delight in His Presence and seek to please Him.

After school I waited on the sidewalk for Daddy to walk home from the train station. I roller skated, played with my Barbie doll, or bounced my red, rubber ball to pass the time till Daddy got home. Many was the day I didn’t see my father because he left for work before I woke up and he worked late and didn’t get home till after I went to bed. When I spotted him I squealed with glee, ran to him with open arms for a hug, and put my little hand into his big one to walk him home. I loved to see his monthly train ticket—a long strip of paper with multi-colored squares and little holes punched on the dates. At the end of the month I was thrilled when he gave me his expired ticket. I collected them in a scrap book and still have them to this day.

Some of my earliest memories of dancing were rocking out with Dad in our living room to music on the radio. When I was little, my dad would pick me up and spin me around. Maybe that’s why I like twirling around so much when I dance! He now watches old movies of musicals and dance performances more than he dances himself. He’s 80 years old now and doesn’t boogie as much as he used to. However, on a recent visit we all went out to eat and there was some rhythm and blues playing and I noticed he enjoyed a little dancing down the hallway on the way to the men’s room.

Whenever there is a teachable moment, my dad takes the opportunity to give a lesson. I still think of him when I fold a letter into three equal parts, when I tie my shoes, or when I introduce myself to someone and make a point to say upon leaving, “Nice to meet you!”

I learned to love the ocean from my dad. Some of our happiest memories were Saturdays spent at the Pacific Ocean beaches near San Francisco. There is something so refreshing and invigorating about breathing in the salt sea air, listening to the roar, feeling the wind in your hair, and watching wave after wave crash and smoothly slide out onto the sand. I also love rock hunting along the shore like my father. I never get tired of picking up a rock that catches my attention and marveling over the beauty of it. Rocks rock! I learned that from my dad.

My father is a very positive man. He taught me to try to always say something nice about people. He told me you can always compliment a person’s smile. My father is very charming and in his day you would describe him as tall, dark, and handsome. Though he is stooped over and white haired now, I see him through love-filled eyes as one of the most good-lookin’ men you’d ever meet. I love you, Daddy!

Waiting for the call...but still currently in training.

I'm excited about my first missionary quest, but I have no idea when or where it will be...

That may sound like a strange statement for a person so adamant about sharing the Good News, and I'm a little disappointed, honestly, that my first travel abroad for Him is yet to happen. But, I have extremely been focused on what I believe is the ministry where God wants my energy and attention. Disappointed might be a strong word...maybe understanding is a better one. 

I'm convinced God has put on my heart where my work abroad (and in person) will be in His name. While a mission trip to Nicaragua will probably be my first opportunity in the next year, my plans are already being made for a much different destination. China.

Christianity is spreading at a rapid pace in the socialist state. While tolerated as a benign religion by the state, the Chinese people are starving for the Hope we have to share in the message of Jesus Christ. God put this on my heart about 8 years ago. I don't find it a bit coincidental that one of the first people I met in my current job 6 years ago was a Chinese immigrant who runs the company IT Department. He was only a few years in this country then. Over the past 6 years, we have had extensive conversations about faith and the role of religion in his country. Educational conversation.

While my co-worker and friend remains a devout atheist, I find it a blessing to have the opportunity to minister to him 5 days a week. Just this week we had a funny exchange that is typical of the dynamic of our relationship. I had prepared a PowerPoint presentation for a series I'm speaking in at church on the historical reliability of the Bible. I had printed the slides with my notes at home, but I initially failed to change my printer settings from our work copier/printer.

The next day when I got to work and plugged into the work network, the queued slides started printing on the office machine. I was in the bathroom at the time (takes a minute for things to boot up), but when I emerged, I see my friend standing there looking at the printing slides...

Co-Worker (in his broken English): You print Bible stuff?

TonyC: I did at home last night. My computer should still be booting up. If that's printing, you'd better cancel it or you'll get 25 pages.

Co-Worker: You not printing this?

TonyC: No, I used those last night. I have no idea why they're printing (which was true at the time).

Co-Worker: That very weird (looking at one of the pages).

TonyC: Maybe that's intended for you. God works in mysterious ways brother.

Co-Worker: So does our network!

TonyC: (laughing)You'll need to take the network issue up with the IT Department, and that's a long wait from what I hear.

Co-Worker: (repeatedly pushing buttons to cancel print job) Stop. Please stop!

I'm paying attention Father and should be well prepared when I get Your call...

Give me warm weather and Attie Gene's lemonade anytime...

What's not to love about Summer! If I sat down and made a list of my Top 10 best memories from my youth, I'm sure at least 6 would come from the summer months. Like Tracy, Vacation Bible School was a big part of the break from regular school. The adults always made sure each year was memorable and exciting...and I greatly appreciate that fact to this day.

As a teenager, I was always looking for ways to make money in the summers. Opportunity usually came in either a hay or tobacco field. Growing up in East Tennessee, both types were in abundance. It wasn't unusual to gain a day of work by word of mouth. My dad would say 'so and so' needs help with hay on Saturday or 'so and so' needs to top his tobacco tomorrow...and there you go. The going rate was usually $20 for an entire day which was a fortune for a teenager back then. Once you got the rep for being a good worker, you'd stay busy most all season.

Putting up hay was hard labor in those days because everyone 'square-baled' back then. For you urban types and kids born after the Reagan Administration, a square bale of hay is a near extinct commodity that was neither light nor square.


These days, square bales are usually limited to Fall decorative displays...well...and erosion controlling devices in some of the poorer counties. Farmers got away from baling this way because it was labor intensive...and labor for such task has gotten both scarce and expensive.

The process involved a tractor, trailer/wagon and a dozen or so workers. The weak link usually drove the tractor. Stacking the bales on the trailer required the most skill, so the process wasn't a perpetual repeat of throwing bales on the wagon, stacking, bales falling off the wagon, throwing bales on the wagon...

Everyone else was a thrower, and I was usually in that group. We would work, share stories, and laugh at people who picked up a bale with an unfortunate tortoise or unusually slow rabbit who got in the way of the baler and ended up mauled. It was hard work, but at the end of the day, the $20 was very real to me. I wasn't about to run out and spend it frivolously on something that would be a distant memory by the next weekend.

Later in college, I worked  in the warmer season as the gardener for Judge Thomas A. Shriver, a former member of the Tennessee Court of Appeals in Nashville. Judge Shriver liked to help local college students where he could, and through a stroke of totally blind luck, I got the gig to work at his home when he needed things done around the grounds. Now it was my responsibility to contact the Judge or his wife, Attie Gene, to see if they needed me for work. I would check in a couple of times a week with each call always resulting in a few moments of encouragement from both of them on my school efforts.

But working at the Shriver's became much more than just a paying job for me. The day would start with meeting the near 90 year old judge 'out back', where he would be in his yard hat and boots. There I would get my marching orders for the task at hand with each list always ending 'and turn the compost pile.' Often Judge Shriver would point at a tree or bush he wanted trimmed, but the shaking of his hand would leave me wondering which of the 3 or 4 plants he was referring. So not to embarrass him, I would walk over to the area and placing my hand ask, 'This one Judge Shriver?'

Lunch was always educational and more adventurous than the yard work. Mrs. Shriver would call us in by literally ringing a bell. The Judge would change footwear and put his hat up for lunch. We would wash up in the basement and proceed upstairs where lunch was served on the Shriver's silver settings. Not to paint a wrong picture here because the Shrivers were obviously well off financially, but their home was modest and seasoned. Judge Shriver would eat his lunch in front of the television from a TV tray after his wife got him situated and served. She would then join me at the table where the lunch spread was both diverse and plentiful. I experienced my first crumpet at that table and hot tea poured from a silver pot. It all seemed so...surreal.

Mrs. Shriver: So you found a snake in the yard? Was it the poisonous kind?

Young Tony C: No ma'am, just a black snake. I took care of it.

Mrs. Shriver: More blackberry preserves? Could they get into the main house?

Young Tony C: No thank you. I don't think so. We've got the doors around back sealed pretty good.

Mrs. Shriver: Thank heavens. I would just die if one got in the house. God made the woman and the snake mortal enemies in the Garden of Eden...you remember.

Young Tony C: Yes ma'am I do. But don't worry. That one will never bother you. That I'm sure.


By the end of lunch, Judge Shriver would be well into his afternoon nap in his reclining chair. I would go back to the yard to finish my list and any other task I could see needed to be done that day. By the time the turning of the compost pile got around, the Judge would be awake and back in the yard with me. Then came my favorite part of the entire job. Getting paid? No, not quite. Judge Shriver and I would clean up and go to the front porch where Attie Gene's famous lemonade would be waiting. No matter how busy I was or what I needed to get back to at school, we would always sit and talk over at least one glass of lemonade. He would share with me a story from his past that was actual living Tennessee history or a favorite story from the Bible.

Don't ask me how I knew the magnitude of those stories as a naive, brash college student in Nashville looking more for the fun side of carpe diem than the philosophical significance...I just knew. I needed the money, and that's why I took the job. But no matter how hard I worked, the payout I received in time spent with the Shrivers combined with the actual wage always outweighed my efforts. It was an experience in my education that I consider invaluable.

I've never been on any court that didn't involve a ball. I'm pretty sure there are no silver serving trays in my house...well...at least to my knowledge. My home is modest at best. But I truly hope to share the same experience with some young person at some point in my life.  I have a ton of stories, know a bit about biblical life application, and Mrs. Tony C makes a pretty decent pitcher of lemonade too...

Understanding

"Do it because I said so!"
"That's the way we have always done it!"

Two phrases everyone has heard. The first, from a parent when growing up and the second usually on the job or maybe even at church.  Two phrases that I despise.  To me, when I hear these statements or ones similar, I get furious, I get exasperated.  I wonder how a person can be so thick headed, ignorant or lazy.

Now that I am a parent, I can understand why I heard those two phrases so much as a kid. "Why?" "Do I have to?" ""What about her?" "It's his turn!" "I did it the last time!" "BUT, why is that?" .......
I have dropped those two phrases on my 7 and 6 year old a couple of times outta my own frustration.  I am not excusing my laziness, I am just admitting I have been that lazy.

Now on the job, I absolutely despise hearing that ignorance and laziness come out of the mouths of coworkers, bosses and management.  I am appalled that another adult would think that sorta response to a legitimate question could be considered adequate.  I am amazed at how stubborn people can be when a new idea is proposed.  I am baffled by how much an individual's identity is wrapped up in their job and how they do it.

That is what disgusts me so much about religion.  People stupidly follow the same set of rules, procedures for doing things because that is 'the way we have always done it'.  'Leadership' deems itself above questioning or the possibility of another way that Holy Spirit could be moving.  People limit God because they are too comfortable, lazy, insecure or satisfied with their 'place' in the church.

Thankfully, I know that God is not above being questioned. He invites us to understand who He is and why He is God.  It doesn't mean we will get the answers we want or when we want them, but more than likely we ain't gonna ask Dad a question He ain't heard before.  I have also learned that God does not respond to my demanding tantrums, similar to how I ignore my kids' tantrums. 

This entry is kinda a rant and I suppose you can tell what the environment is at my work, huh?  Maybe it also reveals why my Sunday a.m. attendance ain't too consistent. I am hoping that my conclusion will show how God is so unlike us when it comes to asking people to do things His way.  I hope that the three verses below reveal how God desires that we understand why we do the things He asks. 

Psalm 119.27 

Psalm 119.34

Psalm 119.73