Andy Littleton's Blog: Shorts by Andy Littleton, page 5

What We Do With Jesus — #2

This is the second in a series based on the story of Tucson’s Garden of Gethsemane, but meant to help us examine what we do with Jesus…

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What We Do With Jesus — #1

This is the first in a series based on the story of Tucson’s Garden of Gethsemane, but meant to help us examine what we do with Jesus…

Continue reading on Medium »

Part-Time Pastor

“What hat are you wearing right now?”

My friend, fellow church member, and co-worker was looking at me inquisitively across the high-top bistro table. We were amidst lunch at a bustling market down the street from our shared church and workshop. We were grabbing lunch to discuss some of her concerns at work. I was addressing some concerns I had for her.

The conversation meandered. It began with her concerns about changes in our company. She had no idea why we’d made these changes. Many of the complexities of running a small but growing company hadn’t dawned on her. We were amidst some particular challenges that she didn’t know about and didn’t necessarily need to.

I was trying to respond by gently alerting her to some complexities she wasn’t aware of. I also wondered why the strong reaction and asked about that. It’s not as simple as telling an employee “no” in this situation. This employee is also a friend. More than a friend, this employee is a “sister in Christ.” I know a lot of her story and want to know more.

I pastor a church and own a small furniture shop in the same neighborhood. I live about ten minutes away from both. Few interactions have a single layer. My clients usually know I’m a pastor. Two of my workers are members of my church. Sometimes a client surprises me with a spiritual question. Sometimes what feels like a work meeting takes on an extra layer of spiritual meaning.

I have been a pastor part-time for about six years now. The truth is though…that the lines between being a pastor and a small business owner are not so clear cut. Often when I think I’m not pastoring, I am. As this series continues I plan to share reflections back on my years experiencing this unique pattern of ministry. As new experiences come I’ll share them too.

I know there a lot of us part-timers out there. I hope my stories can be an encouragement. I hope to remind us all that the challenges of doing non-traditional things that fuel ministry forward are worth it. Follow along and please share your stories with me!

Spike: The Tonka Guy

My dad worked with a lot of guys at the lumberyard, but I only remember a few. One played football for the University of Arizona. One had…

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My Night in a Music Video

Still image from Bad Things by Seanloui — Filmed by William Morrison

“HI!!! i’m still looking for a classic car for a music video shoot happening on July 22nd… I’ll add you to the music video if you do it!”

I’m in my mid-thirties. Okay, some would say late thirties. I have a family. I have at least two jobs. I am a small business owner and a pastor. I like to get to bed on time. If I eat spicy food late, I can’t sleep. I have flashbacks of acid reflux commercials. I used to laugh at them. I’m starting to make strange noises when I stand up from sitting in a well-cushioned chair. All of this is true, but I knew, the moment I read those words on my friend’s Facebook page, that I wanted to do this.

I have two classic vehicles. One is my dad’s 1930 Ford Model A, but it isn’t running. It also wasn’t the style they were looking for. Then there’s my ’68 rusty green Ford truck. It’s a patina lovers dream. I love that truck. But I knew they weren’t looking for patina and a rumbling exhaust. I did have one more option. In my possession, though it did not belong to me, was a 1985 Ford LTD Crown Victoria that was in really good shape. I thought I had a shot.

I wanted to be in the music video. I’ve always wanted to be in a music video. Driving in a music video would be amazing. I once contemplated going to school to learn to be a stunt driver. It wasn’t just about the car. I hoped that when he said “I’ll add you to the music video” that he meant that I would get to drive the car in the video.

So…he picked me and the Crown Vic. I am officially in a music video! His initial plan was to have who ever brought the car appear in a group scene inside a house, but when I showed up he offered to let me drive. The clothes I wore were apparently perfect for the role. I got to cruise down the wrong side of a busy street. I got to wear sunglasses at night like Corey Hart. We were supposed to do one final driving scene a couple hours after they did a shoot inside of a downtown house. I went outside the house to relax in the cooler air on the porch, while waiting for my final big moment. I pulled out my phone to write about some interesting stuff that happened earlier in the day.

A guy about my age came out and plopped down across the table from me. I’d seem him earlier. He’d joked about being an FBI agent arriving to investigate the house. He pulled out a glass pipe and lit its contents. He offered it to me. I politely declined. I asked how he ended up in the video and he shared that he’d had some hard times lately. The same friend that chose me to drive asked him to be involved, as well. He was also a musician.

I put my phone away and tuned in to him. I asked him why times were hard. He told me about a broken relationship. He told me about his job at a closed-caption call center where the employees translate phone calls by re-speaking caller’s conversations into monotone so they can be captured by a computer system and turned into text. He described the eerie sound of an entire room of people re-speaking other people’s words in a flat monotone. He described the conversations. He would re-speak peoples’ concerns about their health or their angry political diatribes or their racist rants. He, as a black man, would have to re-speak hatred toward his own race in heartless monotone. It sounded like miserable work.

I was riveted by his story. He was a great storyteller. His story was so sad. From time to time he was struck by the irony of something he’d share and he’d throw back his head and break into an incredible cackling laugh. He told me about his plans for the next few months. It was all fascinating.

Our mutual friend who was starring in the video came out onto the porch and expressed how glad he was that we’d met each other. I was glad, too.

I got the word that we were about to head out to shoot the last scene in the car. As I got up to walk over to the old Crown Vic my new friend motioned me back over, “I’m a little toasted and I forgot to ask about you.” he apologized, “What do you do?”

“Oh, I do a couple things. I own a little furniture shop and I’m a pastor.”

“I’m really glad you’re a pastor.” he said as genuinely as I ever could have wished.

During the whole final driving scene, throughout my drive back to drop off the Crown Vic, and while heading home in my truck, I thought about our conversation. All throughout the night, as I lay awake in bed, I thought about the video shoot. I didn’t once think about the driving scenes or the thrill of being in a music video. Instead I thought about my new friend. And I thought about how glad I am to be a pastor.

An Oasis of Silence

After 27 years of providing chiropractic care, Dr. Murrow is closing his doors. I don’t blame him. It seems he’s doing it for all the right reasons. He isn’t trying to make a name for himself or get rich. He’s trying to dial things back and make space for what matters. I don’t blame him. But I will miss his office and my time under his care.

His office is a combination of everything I’d never do. The walls are plain white, offset with mild turquoise accents. Desert art, circa 1992, sparsely adorns the walls. Fluorescent lights blare down from in-between the acoustic ceiling tiles. I hate acoustic ceiling tiles. These tiles don’t match. I can discern three different patterned types from where I’m laying on the Verteflex 2000. A leak in the roof has stained one of the tiles in burnt-orange concentric circles. The Verteflex drones on as my back is systematically stretched before my adjustment. None of these elements are appealing to me at all.

But…I will miss Dr. Murrow’s office. Today on the Verteflex I realized why. Dr. Murrow’s office is quiet. Peacefully, beautifully quiet. On the Verteflex the sound is so obvious because the rest of the space is so still. Dr. Murrow will ask a few soft-spoken questions, but nothing is urgent or stimulating or loud. Many a day I have received not only a spinal realignment, but a spiritual and mental realignment, within the peaceful walls of Dr. Murrow’s oasis in the desert. An oasis from frantic, incessant, anxious noise.

The silence in Dr. Murrow’s office is almost uncomfortable. Many times I’ve thought about gifting him a Bluetooth speaker. Many times I’ve been tempted to pull out my phone and watch something while lying on the Verteflex. Today I realized, I love it. I will miss it. I will miss the ambiance of silent peace that he created. I will miss the man that allowed such silence to exist around him day after day after day.