I was reminiscing this morning about what it was like two years ago today, the first Sunday of regularly preaching, the only Sunday as Pastor-elect, since I was ordained later that day.

Most of my family was here: mom and dad, sister (My brother's ordination gift to me was a plane ticket for the three of them to fly up, even though it is only 350 miles--my mother could have never tolerated six hours in the car.) My brother had a baseball game, or some such event that day. He couldn't come up. (Come to think of it, that's the same reason he didn't attend my college graduation or visit after either of my kids were born, but that's another blog post. Oh well, some people just don't operate well outside of the limelight. Over it.)

My in-laws even made a decent showing: FIL came with wife #3, MIL came sans husband #2, Youngest BIL with two teenage daughters came as did Closest BIL with wife and three kids. Missing in action were Fundy SIL and her equally Fundy husband...they stayed home on principal. Didn't want to give off the false impression that they supported me or anything. (Not quite over that one, am I?)

And then there was my friend from California. She was my rock and my sanity that weekend. Though born in Nearby Flat State Famous For Tornadoes, she hadn't been back to this part of the world in years. Neither had I--we'd just moved back less than two weeks prior to ordination.

The house was a wreck--boxes everywhere. Even though every member of my husband's family asked if they could stay with us, God love him, he told them "No!" the one time it really counted. He's a keeper.

My mother-in-law and the woman who is currently married to MIL's first husband got along famously well. That would not have happened if the Woman He Left MIL For was still alive. (Did you get all that? It's complicated.) They kind of commandeered the kitchen so that my Mom could lay on the couch dramatically under a throw and be pampered. Dad sat next to her on the sectional couch, reclined and asleep most of the weekend. Par-tay, Mom and Dad!

Like teenagers, my friend and I kept sneaking drinks out into the driveway, where we sat on the hood of her rental car and marveled at the twists and turns of our lives, toasting each other in the moonlight. (My family does not approve of alcohol, and I didn't see the need to flaunt it in front of them.) It was fun. Her visit was way too short.

On that afternoon, the 6th, I had almost everybody I cared about in one room. A few friends were missing, but praying for me in places like CA, PA, AZ, FL. The people from this Presbytery, who have watched over me, walked beside me to the Session of my little home church, CPM, COM and finally the floor of Presbytery were all there, decked out in red. Some nice words were spoken, some prayers were prayed, the Word was proclaimed, hands were laid on me, I got a robe, a stole, a cross, some other gifts, I got to preside at table, and then it was over.

It was a good day. A good way to begin a life that I hope I get to live out for many years to come. I wrote to one of my MIA friends the next day that there was no Pomp and Circumstance, no famous speaker, no choir of hundreds, no dignitaries there. It was simple, touching, and very...real. It's worth remembering when the crazies get to me.

Here's to year three. Here's to staying real.