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Writer's pictureTim Ahlman

Interruptions, Stories, and Slowing Down: Lessons from Small-Town America


My family and I spent fall break 2024 in small-town America, specifically Alpine, Arizona, and Crookston, Minnesota. 


I needed it. I really did. 



Alpine AZ
Cowboy Church, Alpine AZ

Not only did our family reconnect over evening games without the temptation of TV distractions (I won a lot. I love winning.), but I sensed something deeper and significant happening in my soul. 


I stopped. I noticed. I lingered.


I’m learning to speak about my shadow sides. God gave me big dreams. Big dreams that will likely not be accomplished in my lifetime. They are infinite. They call me to strive, push, and go, all for the sake of God’s mission to get all of His kids back. 


This drive must be stewarded by the Holy Spirit, not by another spirit—a darker spirit, self-absorbed, sinful spirit. My shadow side must be brought into the light of God’s kind, subtle, yet substantial love. A small, noticing love. A lingering love. A small-town America type of love. 


God gave me three words: two for me, and one for us in the LCMS. 

Grandma Alveda

1. Interruptible


Grandma Alveda Scholin is my wife’s 99-year-old grandma. She has lived in the same house in Crookston for most of her life. She’s been a widow for close to 30 years. 


Alveda has a friend named Gordie. Gordie is close to 90 years old. Gordie is Alveda’s close friend. He pops in unannounced daily. Sometimes multiple times a day. He fixes her old appliances. He goes grocery shopping for her. And he sits and talks for long periods of time. 


At two o’clock one afternoon, I was in Alveda’s back sunroom preparing to write this blog. Gordie popped his head out the screen door and said, “Why are you working on your computer?” 


“I don’t know. I was thinking of writing a blog,” I answered. 


“What in the world is a blog?” 


I tried to explain but quickly gave up. Instead, I asked Gordie a question. Any question would do. It was something about how he got into being such an amazing handyman. 

The Spirit told me to shut my computer screen and give Gordie my full attention. Fortunately, I listened. The next two hours flew by with Gordie telling me how he built and sold 43 houses in Crookston in his younger years, all while teaching electronics at the University of Minnesota. Our time concluded with him showing me his 1922 original Model T car that still runs. Amazing. 


I loved Gordie’s interruption.


Gordie's 1922 original Model T

2. Stories


Alveda told stories all week. I couldn’t get enough. Stories of younger years, engagement, living through the Depression, unexpected grief, life as a widow, serving at church, struggles with “young people” who disrespect old hymns, and stories of hard work, all with robust attention to detail and deep faith in Jesus. 


Toward the end of our stay, we had one of our last chats. “I think we’re weird,” Alveda said. 


“What do you mean, Grandma?” 


“Old people. I think we’re weird.” 


“Oh. Why?” I was curious.


“We like to tell stories. Lots of stories.”


“I love your stories.” I meant it.


“That is kind, but I’m not always sure others do,” she said. “We have so many. I don’t think people have time for them.” 


“That makes me sad.”


“Well, some stories are better than others,” she admitted. 


“You still have good stories to tell, Grandma.” 


“Maybe. I’m unsure whether young people have stories to tell,” she said. “Even if they do, it seems like their heads are in their phones too much to tell them.” 


Ouch. But possibly true. Everyone has stories to share. Our stories will be better if we listen to the stories of our elders. 


CLICK HERE if you’d like to listen to 15 minutes of stories with Alveda. 


3. Slower


Life in small-town America is slower. A lot slower. 


I stopped into three Lutheran churches in Crookston (one LCMS, two ELCA). Two of the three pastors were available for a chat. All of them were kind. I could tell they were good, faithful Lutheran pastors. I encouraged one of them to visit Alveda to bring her communion. He promised he would, soon. The third pastor was taking his day off. Good for him. 

I thought about my schedule. I’m so scheduled. Meeting to meeting. Counseling session to counseling session. Podcast to podcast. Conflict resolution to conflict resolution. Vision retreat to vision retreat. Sermon to sermon. Football practice to football practice. 


I’m not complaining. This is my call. God made me to drive, go, run, risk, and spend myself by the end of my day. Get a good night’s sleep, wake up, get a workout and time in the Word, and do it again. 


This is not sin. I work hard. I rest well. I prioritize family, and I love my call to the Christ Greenfield family of ministries. 


Here is the sin that must be confessed. I am prone to judge my brothers who are not made like me. I sometimes sinfully think they’re lazy. They’re not—at least not all of them. They’re simply serving in smaller, slower contexts. 


If this is you, I pray, on behalf of large church pastors, you’ll accept my apology. I love your ministry. I love your context. I celebrate that your context is slower, more available, more interruptible, more able to sit and listen to the stories of the elderly, like Alveda and Gordie. 


Why did I write this blog? I’m not entirely sure. I needed to, I guess. I also think I wrote it because I pray those of us who disagree can find the time to be interrupted, to listen to our contextual stories, and slowly try to understand before being understood. 



 


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mt3174
10月14日

Tim, I loved reading this story about interruptions and slowing down to listen. And, yes, you wrote this story because you needed too. That’s what we do best! You are a good man, brother, and I look forward to seeing where God takes you . . . interiorly, and in communion with God (and the forgotten strangers who need to be seen, heard, and loved).

いいね!
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