Shannon S. McKee

musings and moments

Making the Most of Your Time

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Today marks the last day of our church’s women’s Bible study through the book of Genesis. Among other things, we have made lists, looked for repeated phrases, watched the genealogies, studied the history, noted the characteristics of God revealed in that history, highlighted key words, and looked up the meaning of words like “covenant”. Three hundred women on an adventure through these 50 chapters of this, the “Book of Beginnings”.

Fifty chapters of seeing God’s patience. His sovereignty. The way He keeps His promises. His love, mercy, and justice mingling together. His scarlet thread of redemption that started in chapter 3 and kept on throughout the book. His constant foreshadowing of Jesus. His provision for His covenant people.

I have loved watching our women go after it. Making time to read and study their Bibles. In fact, I was so inspired that when they posted on social media, I started downloading their photos to make this little collage. I love that they didn’t wait for life to slow down or their circumstances to change – they seized the time they already had. Reading and studying on the go if they had to.

I share the photos here now, because I hope you’re inspired and encouraged too. We can do this. We can tend to our inner souls and let our worldview be transformed in the small, ordinary moments of our days. A prayer breathed as we change a diaper. A verse of truth internalized while we wait at our kid’s swim meet. A big thought about God pondered while we take our lunch break at work. A moment alone with our journals before the chaos starts and everyone else wakes up. A chapter read while kids or pets climb on us. A choice to read over our letters from God while we travel (for work or pleasure). Honestly, I wonder if it’s in those spaces that God is most honored because of the intentionality and desire that goes with all those interspersed moments.

It reminds me a little bit of Brother Lawrence who learned to practice the presence of God as he went about his day. He even penned a prayer that started, “Oh Lord of the pots and pans…”

He is the God of Creation. He is the God of Covenant. And, yet, He is also the God of our ordinary moments. What a joy to know Him!

Considering Your Legacy

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“Leaving a legacy.” It’s one of those phrases that feels weighty and important. Something within us leaps at the idea but it’s also vague and hard to pin down. It’s certainly the buzzword on the news lately with the retirement of SCOTUS Justice Anthony Kennedy.

What DOES it mean to leave a legacy? A strict dictionary definition defines it primarily in terms of money – an amount of money or property left to someone in a will. A secondary definition is still “sfuff” focused – a thing handed down by a predecessor (it’s an effect/consequence that could be good or bad). But, in recent years there is more and more being written about this idea of legacy. Time/life management books wisely challenge you to start with the end in mind: to imagine your funeral and consider what kind of legacy you want to leave.

Legacy is the idea of being remembered for what you have contributed to the world. In some cases, that contribution can be so noteworthy that history is changed and the whole world takes note. Think men and women like William Wilberforce, Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King, Jr., Winston Churchill, etc. Truthfully, most of us won’t fall into that category. We will leave a more modest legacy that doesn’t necessarily change the world but does leave some kind of lasting footprint on the lives it touches.

The thing that strikes me – whether the legacy is world-changing or life-changing – is that I suspect the legacy-leaver was just a regular, everyday person like you or me who had been captured by two things: (1) a vision or calling that propelled them forward and (2) a desire to be faithful in light of that vision.

A vision that propelled them. They didn’t leave a legacy because they were all about “legacy” for legacy sake. Something had captured their hearts and imaginations. Their lives became about that something that was bigger than themselves. They went after that ideal or vision… and ended up having lasting impact. Take Wilberforce as an example – a series of events brought him to a place where he became convinced that slavery was wrong. He knew he had been placed in a position of influence for his job so he used that position in service to the broader conviction that had captured his heart. The result was that most of his adult life was devoted to, first, stopping the transatlantic slave trade and, second, outlawing slavery in England. The vision compelled him.

A desire to be faithful. For most legacy-leavers, the impact came along the way in small, everyday decisions to act or follow-through. Their vision caused them to order their life in such a way that little investments were made all along the way. Some call this personal mastery or personal effectiveness. Peter Senge says it this way: “Personal mastery is the discipline of continually clarifying and deepening our personal vision, of focusing our energies, of developing patience, and of seeing reality objectively.” These legacy-leavers stick at it. They overcome obstacles. They are disciplined in the small stuff. They do the next thing.

For Christians, both are clearly summed up in our discipleship to Christ. My life is not ordered around my family or my career or my hobbies. It’s ordered around God and His kingdom. My vision is a kingdom vision – He might call me to something specific within that (like He did with Wilberforce) but it also might just be a lot of years of becoming more like my Lord, faithfully loving others, giving my time and money, going out of my comfort zone, studying His Word, and praying. Basically, looking at my priorities and doing the next thing that is right in front of me.

The trick is that you never really know when your small act of faithfulness will produce something huge.

Like Lydia in the book of Acts. She was an entrepreneur in her community of Philippi – a seller of purple linens. As part of her weekly routine, she used to gather with some other girlfriends down by the river every day – to pray. They didn’t yet know the God to whom they prayed but they were obviously hungry for spiritual truth. Today, we’d call them seekers. The apostle Paul noticed them there and decided to seize the moment tell them about Jesus. Lydia’s heart leapt at this and she opened her life to Christ.

Something transformative happened in that moment and Lydia became captured by a vision bigger than herself – a Kingdom vision. So she acted. First, she told her whole family about Jesus – they responded like she had in faith. Then they all got baptized. The first church in Europe was planted that day. Because Lydia was responsive and faithful. It wasn’t long after that that she told Paul he could use her house to gather this fledgling church together. Because of her wealth and success as an entrepreneur, her house was likely an ideal place for such a gathering.

Some years later Paul would write a letter to the church at Philippi – at that writing, it wasn’t a fledgling church anymore. It was a thriving, influential church in the region.  A sending church. A giving church. A mature, theologically solid church that brought deep encouragement to the embattled apostle Paul.

Do you think that Lydia had all of that in mind when she offered her house as a gathering spot? Do you think she was thinking about her legacy? I don’t. I think she loved her Jesus, was compelled by His kingdom, and offered up what she had in service to that vision. Legacy was the result.

And, today, thousands of years later, another woman sits at her kitchen table in a small town in Ohio in the USA. She’s a little teary-eyed as she reads the words Paul wrote to that church in Philippi where sweet Lydia opened up her life and then her home.

A Peek Into My Journey With Race

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My first experiences with racial diversity went right over my head. I think the best word to describe it is naïve. Or maybe oblivious? Bear with me for a sec while I explain with a little bit of my story:

One of my closest elementary school friends was black. It never occurred to me at that age that there was anything unusual about our friendship – I loved Venita and her family. The thing that initially drew us together was our shared faith. I had just started learning about Jesus (along with my parents who were new Christians). She had been raised in a Christian home. So, we bonded over books and Jesus. Her family took me to Pioneer Girls every Wednesday night and I ate it up. We eventually grew apart because she was brilliant and skipped a grade. For me, that was a harder gap to bridge than the color of her skin! In my naiveté, it never occurred to me that her “blackness” might mean that she experienced life differently than I did. I never considered what it might be like for them to be one of the only black families in our entire elementary school.

My other experiences were similar – my Mom’s best friend was a Philippine woman who had married a white man. I thought it was cool that Dorothy could make unique-to-me foods, that she could pull off that black, thick line of eyeliner on her eyelid, and that she had some interesting artwork in her living room. That was it. Her racial history intrigued me but I just never really thought much about it beyond that. Except that my Dad called her our “little yellow friend” – a reference to Cato in the Pink Panther movies. Before you freak out on me, please note that it was an endearing, loving reference in the comfort of a close friendship – Dorothy wasn’t offended by it because of the context. So, it never occurred to me that it would be offensive in another context. Or that some people would say it with disgust toward people of Asian descent.

By God’s grace, I grew up in an environment without any of the undertones of racial superiority. My parents always had people of color in their lives – even though we lived in a very rural area that was predominantly white. My Mom talked openly with me about some of the atrocities of things like the holocaust or the Japanese internment camps in the US during WW2. Our small church had two bi-racial couples. Whenever I heard about other races at that church, it was always in a positive context with a nod to God’s love for ALL people. My earliest days as a Christian were always infused with the idea that every kind of people would be represented in heaven, worshipping our good God. This was the context in which I grew up.

Enter Billie – A Pivotal Moment

And, then, there was Billie. Billie hung around the garage where my Dad worked on his high performance funny car. Sometimes he was part of the pit crew and traveled with us to races. I have vivid memories of him teasing me as I pushed the broom around the garage. He was just sort of a fixture around the shop and, as with my other encounters with racial diversity, his blackness never really meant anything to me one way or the other. I just never thought about it.

Until I reconnected with him as an adult. I had just moved back to the area where I grew up here in Northeast Ohio. He was still living here, working now as a janitor in the school system where my kids attended. We were chatting and just catching up a bit when his mood changed from jovial to serious. His eyes moistened as he recounted a memory he had of my Dad. Evidently, they had been traveling together in the 70s in the South – funny car in tow as they headed to a drag race to compete. Weary from their long day of travel, they went to check into a hotel. No problem, right? Wrong. My Dad was welcome to stay the night in the hotel… but Billie was not. According to Billie, my Dad refused the room too. He wouldn’t have Billie sleeping in the truck while he had a bed. Clearly, it was a deeply impacting event for Billie.

That story had a huge impact on me too. Not because of my Dad’s action (though I do remember breathing a huge sigh of gratitude and awe at God’s goodness in giving me parents of such conviction and example – I’ve learned so much from them!). But, something else shifted in me in that moment. It hit me like a ton of bricks. My Dad wasn’t the hero of that story. My proclivity to view everything through my white eyes, was tempted to make him such. The truth is, Billie is the main character of that story. BAM!

Like a vending machine about to spit out something yummy, the coins were dropping for me in that moment. Things started to click in a way they never had before. My old friend Billie had experienced life through a lens that was very different than my lens. He had lived through things I never had to deal with. I’d never been turned away from a hotel because of my skin color. I have no idea what that feels like. What other prejudices and slights had he been dealing with his whole life that I was oblivious to?

It’s not that I hadn’t had people of color in my life all along the way. I’d had black friends over the years. I’d even done ministry with a small group of black students at Bowling Green State University in the late 1990s. Jua, Lohn, and Audrea were precious to me. I’d mentored students of color over the years. I have always delighted in other cultures and have enjoyed living in university towns for most of my adult life because they tend to be more ethnically diverse than other suburban towns.

But, this moment with Billie was pivotal for me. My eyes were open to a whole new reality that, unbeknownst to me, had been there all along. As part of the majority culture, I just hadn’t noticed it. No one has ever followed me through a store. Or locked their car doors because I happened to be walking by with my friends. I’ve never gotten stuck on the hiring committee because the dean says it needs a black person – as if my presence meets a quota instead of being valued as a real contributor. I’ve never had anyone look at me with suspicion for walking through the neighborhood where my house is located. I’ve never had someone eye me with disgust at a traffic light because they question whether or not I deserve to have a car that is nicer than theirs.

The Journey Continues

That conversation with Billie was 10 to 15 years ago. Since then, God has had me on the hot seat, continuing to push me. Another coin dropped when someone yelled the N-word out the window at a friend as the two of us walked downtown Kent. Another coin dropped when my son was profiled with his black friends in a store. Another when I realized that some of my Christian black friends viewed the same current events through different eyes than I had always assumed. Another when I talked to a friend whose husband had reached a sort of glass ceiling in his job – not because of his talent but because of his color – today in the North! Another when I read The Warmth of Other Suns and books like it. Another when Rick and I started going deeper in our friendship with Pastor Bryndon and his wife Yvonne, looking for ways for our churches to truly partner.

Here’s the place I’m coming to: It’s one thing to not look down on someone because of their color or ethnicity. That’s where I had been for most of my life. I was comfortable there and even sort of proud of my background – truly, I remain very thankful for that background.

But God has been pushing me further because it’s another thing to try to actually empathize and understand what someone else lives day in and day out. To be aware of the slights going on all around me. Not to pity them or have a white savior complex like I need to be the hero of their story. But to just enter into it with them. To have conversations. To be a voice for bridging the misunderstandings. To look at history with different eyes – to be proud of my country’s heritage in many ways but honest about the many ugly things both in our history and in our modern psyche. To apologize when I need to but not be consumed with unhelpful, white guilt. This is the hard work of building on that initial foundation. And I’m still very much a work in progress. I hope I always will be. (Maybe not quite so clumsy with it… )

For better or for worse, this is my journey. This is where God has me right now and I know He’ll keep upending the junk in my life so that I see it. He’ll push me forward, out of my comfort zone and into His perfect will. Because He’s good like that.

And He knows I’m a better woman for the friends of other colors and cultures who are in my life.

A Few Good Women

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I don’t know if I’ve ever told you how much I love these three beautiful women. And when I say beautiful, I don’t just mean outward (though that is true too). For now, I’m talking about the inward. These women have some precious hearts. Each one has a different story. They come from different parts of the country with different backgrounds and nuances to their lives. They each have unique gifts and strengths and passions. They have each touched my heart in different ways as I have watched them seek to live out their faith with fear and trembling before our good and gracious God.

The glue that binds us together? Our husbands are all ministry staff at our church. As the lead pastor’s wife, I have the privilege of loving on these girls and getting to do life with them. Sometimes that means just the four of us getting away for the weekend. Sometimes it means reading a book together or grabbing dinner out or huddling up together on a Sunday morning to pray for each other. Sometimes it just means texting funny GIFs to each other. However it looks, I know for sure that we need it.

Because being a ministry wife is a unique thing for a few reasons:

  1. Our husbands live pretty public lives so that often means we live pretty public lives.
  2. The health of our families can directly affect the health of our church so we each feel an extra sense of stewardship as we live out Biblical womanhood.
  3. A healthy, local church is more like a family than a job. Which is a beautiful thing. But, it also means a level of vulnerability and friendship among the staff and the congregation that I wouldn’t necessarily have with my husband’s work relationships if he were the CEO of a corporation.
  4. Ministry is demanding and sometimes very weighty. Our husbands don’t clock in and clock out. They just don’t. There are days when they come home bearing heavy burdens. Most of those are confidential issues and not things they share with us; but I can tell when my man comes home saddened by something that is happening with one of his church members.
  5. People don’t always like the decisions our husbands make or the things they say from up front. Remember #3? So, yeah, that feels kind of yucky sometimes.
  6. Spiritual battle is real. And leadership is often at the center of it.

Those are not complaints. They’re just realities. All four of us love what God is doing in our midst and we adore our church family. Thankfully, we are part of a church culture that values authenticity coupled with the gospel. So, I don’t feel a ton of pressure to be a perfect family. People are very gracious with my kids and me.

But, I’m so grateful for this little circle of staff wives who “get” me and the life to which God has called me. I love that we have each other’s backs and pray for each other and invest in each other. In the last year alone, we have cried together and laughed together and celebrated together and talked deeply about the things of God together.

It’s really a lovely thing. And, who wouldn’t want to do life with these ladies? Duh.