between chapters

It was inevitable. The grief, I mean. When I learned that I would be losing my job I was upset, angry, sad, jolted...  you name it. I had to process what I knew and what I would come to know and make my peace with it. I saw this transition as an opportunity for my benefit and growth. All well and good. The last day came and I turned in my keys and took home the last of my belongings: vestments, prayer book, stoles. The door closed behind me.

The following day I worked at cleaning the house and preparing for my mother's arrival, packing my own things and making arrangements for my trip to New England to see my family. I got in the car the following day and away we went.

Now, with that envelope of peace and comfort and familiarity and love and support back in another time zone, I face my life where I live my life.

Saturday night I didn't need to review the lessons or the logistics for the morning to come. Sunday morning it didn't matter what time I got up or what I did once my coffee cup was empty. I wasn't on vacation, I was in a new world.

I directed my attention to the jumble of chaos that my office contained. Sort, pitch, relocate, repeat. You wouldn't know it to stick your head in to my office, but it weighs considerably less than when I began. The ironing board is down at least, and the piles that were on top of it have been dispatched to their necessary resting places. Time to begin again.

And then I took a break, sat in the recliner and noticed the sun filtering through the windows. Sunday sun. And I wept. The grief is trickling, but it stings. The reality is that in spite of saying yes, in spite of praying, discerning, laboring, listening and yielding all these years, I am meant to be somewhere else. Perhaps one day I will make sense of the path that I followed. Perhaps one day I will see the opportunities and choices and experiences as divinely guided to bring me to a place of deeper joy and greater service. For now I grieve.

I do not regret the sacrifices to study. I do not regret the bumpy road that led to consecration. I do not regret the opportunity to meet and serve the number of lives that intersected with mine. I do not regret the tears or the joy of sacraments shared, lives welcomed or bid farewell. I do not regret any of it.

But I am sad. The loss is great and deep, and apparently necessary. I will welcome whatever comes next with gladness. I know that to be the truth because the bud of gladness is forming within my being, and it longs for light.

But today I am sad.