My name is Donna Gayley Spearman. I am the daughter of an EUB (Evangelical United Brethren – the denomination that merged with Methodists in the late 1960s to make them “United”)-turned-Presbyterian minister; the granddaughter of an EUB-turned-United Methodist pastor; the 3-times great-granddaughter of a Methodist Episcopal minister (who was also a physician, pharmacist, surgeon and Union soldier in the Civil War); the daughter-in-law of a Presbyterian pastor; and, last but definitely not least, the mother of Rev. Mrs. Sweet Baby Girl (a.k.a. Emily Cannon), who is commissioned toward ordination in the United Methodist Church and hopes to be fully ordained by this time next year.

I often say that the “pastorin’ thing” skipped my generation.  And when someone joked with my husband (then fiancé) about becoming a pastor – because he’d read the scripture so well during worship – I told him to let me know if he was entertaining that thought seriously, so that I could find someone more suitable (no pastor’s wifin’ for me and no raising up the pesky preacher’s kids!).  Fortunately, he became a software developer instead.  But the truth of the matter is, that while I don’t believe I’m called to be a member of the clergy, I have been “called” to various ministries throughout my life.

I was long ago called to be a librarian.  In the beginning I thought of it as merely a profession.  But over the course of a 30+ year career, it has become a vocation.  I have come to believe that it is, essentially, a ministry of justice – a ministry that evens the playing field and brings information, literacy services, technology and more to those who might otherwise have no access.

From the age of 3 – standing up bravely in front of my dad’s EUB congregation in Niwot, Colorado and singing “Jesus Loves the Little Children” – I was called to a ministry of music.  That became a rockier road for me in college, when the college choir rejected me after my audition.  I stopped singing for about six years.  Then a choir director at Community UMC in Naperville, Illinois changed my life.  Dale McCurdy told me he would give me three free voice lessons and then he’d tell me whether or not I should take up the tuba.  As it turned out, he inspired me and helped me to regain my voice and my confidence.  And I have sung the Gospel, in worship, in weddings, and at funerals – in choirs, in quartets, in duets and solo – for more than three decades.

My husband, Steve, and I have not only sung in church choirs together for most of our 34 years of marriage, but we also spent about a dozen years mentoring high school kids through United Methodist Youth Fellowship.  Being a youth sponsor and helping kids to find a spiritual center in the midst of teenage chaos – through work trips, camping trips, lock-ins, parties, youth conferences and all kinds of wacky activities – was our passion and calling, at least until our kids were old enough to be active.  Suddenly, we felt sure that it was time to graciously bow out and allow others to lead our children.

And then one day, about 12 years ago and while I was searching for my next ministry opportunity, someone from the nominating committee at Louisville UMC asked me if I’d like to be the “lay delegate” to Annual Conference – it would get me an all-expenses paid, multi-day trip to Laramie, Wyoming in June.  Having never been to either Laramie or Annual Conference, I gamely said “sure!”  Little did I know that over the course of the next ten years, serving in that capacity, I would become a United Methodist polity junkie and a real lover of all things Wesleyan – especially the “quadrilateral” and “prevenient grace.”

That led me on toward reading other theologians, toward prayerful contemplation, toward finding a theory of Salvation that did not involve plunging in a fountain filled with Jesus’ blood, toward service in food ministries (and even trying my hand at rebuilding houses in Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina and swinging a hammer for Habitat for Humanity a few times), and finally toward weekly journal writing as a spiritual discipline.  I gathered a few trusted folks who would be willing to read whatever I wrote (early each Saturday morning) and who would hold me accountable should I start to grow complacent.  From time to time, I share what I’ve written a bit more widely.  And I’ve heard, now and then, that I might have some talent for writing, that I might have something worthwhile to say to an even wider audience, and that I should “blog.”  I continue to find that surprising, but have begun to believe that those encouraging voices may actually be the voice of Grace (not just your run-of-the-mill, everyday kind of grace, but the sacred capital-G kind of Grace).

If I’ve learned anything over the years, on my journey from preacher’s kid to preacher’s mother and beyond, it would be that it’s useless to ignore that, as my Grandpa Gayley always referred to it, “still small voice” (a moniker that I love, but that has always seemed inaccurate, given that there is truly nothing “still” or “small” about it – I would more appropriately call it “the voice that will not be ignored”).

So, I’m paying attention.  A blogging opportunity was offered and I’m saying: “Here I am Lord. Use me.”