February 2011

February 25, 2011 By Diana

Five years ago, our kitchen/family room/dining area/living room looked like this – CRAZY MAKING. And it looked like some version of this for almost a year. We cooked, ate and lived in the back bedroom and bathroom.

But that difficult year quickly disappeared from memory as the new space began to appear. Part of it shows in the picture below – bright, cheery colors, new appliances, new window seat, fun living and gathering space.

But the real joy of this space is perhaps more perfectly shown in this picture – celebrating our eldest grandson’s 19th birthday last year. The ‘joys’ of remodeling are nicely replaced with the true joys of family life.

Five years ago, the bigger of these two precious girls was a newborn (as was her equally fabulous male cousin). And the littlest one wasn’t even on the horizon. How quickly things change, how blessed we are in most of those changes.

But five years ago, we still had our son-in-law with us. Five years ago, we still had my youngest brother with us. Five years ago, my husband did not have prostate cancer. Five years ago, I had no major health issues. Five years ago, I was working as a pastor, a ministry I loved and was called into. Five years ago, life was different in some much-missed ways, too. Thankfully, during each of those 5 years – and every event in them, both large and small – God showed up. Not always in the way I might have imagined, not always in the way I would have chosen – but God showed up. So, overall – I stand at this end of those 5 years and say, “Thank you.” Thank you for presence, thank you for promise, thank you for lives – as well as houses! – remade.

Changing Seasons…

February 8, 2011 By Diana

So, I’m retired. What the heck does that mean? For one thing, it means not having a schedule requiring me to be anywhere official. For another, it means an awareness of how very tired I have been for a very long time. And for another, it means a strange sort of free-floating anxiety, a sense of uncertainty, a lack of rootedness. Not having the schedule is lovely – at least for a while – and feels like a gift. Strangely enough, acknowledging my deep fatigue is also a gift, of sorts. Stopping for a while somehow gives my body permission to say, “Whoa, it’s about time, sister.” And that’s a good thing in the long run, even if it feels a bit disconcerting in the moment. But that last piece – that semi-anxious uncertainty….not so much a gift. At least I haven’t found the gift angle to it yet.

It was to be expected, I think. We moved to a community new to us so that I could take the job I’ve just left. It wasn’t THAT far from our home of almost 30 years, but just far enough so that it wasn’t easy for long-time friends to see me or me them. Family made the effort, for which I am deeply and continually grateful. But…this was a place where we came to work. And now I’m not – working, that is. Funny thing is…it sometimes feels more like I’m not, period.

It took me a long time, a time of praying and talking and several complicated and interesting dreams, to understand that my biggest fears – fears about my loss of identity in this place if I were no longer a pastor – were pretty groundless. I AM a pastor, whether I’m paid to be one or not. But I am now a retired pastor, without a congregation to serve, without a title, without a space and a role that is mine to fill. I am almost embarrassed to put that into writing. What’s in a title, for heaven’s sake? What is a ‘role?’ Was I created and called to a title? I don’t think so….so there’s the pride thing to let go of, first of all.

And then there’s the ‘what’s next?’ part to grapple with. And I’m still there. Still grappling, that is. Wanting to do more writing, but terrified of it at the same time. Wanting to learn more about spiritual direction, but still so tired as to feel overwhelmed by it all at times. Wanting to go deeper spiritually – but frankly, a little scared about that, too.

It’s a time of changing seasons in life – and this season is the last one, pretty much. That is a sobering truth, causing me no small amount of angst about how and when the end of my life will arrive. So, as I try to navigate my way through this brand new territory, I am slowly learning more about trust, about breathing in God’s grace from moment to moment, about relishing the joyful beauty of the ordinary, about beginning and ending each day with gratitude, about leaning into the mystery that is the source of all life and hope and peace. It’s early yet – not quite six weeks into this strange new place – so I’m on the lookout for clues, small pieces to the puzzle, evidences of good things still to come. And last night’s sunset helped a whole lot in that department!