The word “moved” is true of my situation at several levels.
First, there is obvious application to the fact that I am now physically moved out of the parsonage. That has been not only a physically challenging thing in terms of the work of reducing a household (geared for two parents and their five children and what the future normally brings) to a mobile housing situation for one, but the emotional challenge of finding things representing memories and deciding what to do with them was another level of “movement.” I have seen again that I am not good at those choices (tending to favour keeping things “to help tell the story” or “in case” instead of getting rid of them, so I often turned piles over to family members to make the decisions for me, hoping the stories and meaning would remain without the things that prompt the memories) and having to acknowledge that I am not at all efficient at that kind of work.
Then there is the moving-along-in-life aspect of this change realistically-or-possibly representing several different “endings” and it is no wonder I am tired. In all this I have no doubt and in fact a hard to describe inner sense – confirmed by discerning people who ‘follow’ my life – that God is in this whirlwind. That sense allows my foundation to remain firm and safe, and believe me, it is good to have something feel stable in such a moving time.
On Tuesday I was informed by email that I did not make the short list for the prison chaplain’s position. The reason was that I do not have the required supervised Clinical Pastoral Education training component on my resume.
So today — the first day in a month that I did not pack or move stuff — has been a good break. I am moved, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I plan to take the weekend off, so to speak, and rest and regroup and on Monday begin afresh with renewed energy.
I will preach for the first time in a few months this coming Sunday, and I hope I’m not too “rusty” (that’s not likely).