finding my way. or not.

I'm feeling uncomfortable this morning. Not yet 7:30 and only 70 degrees out (just wait!), a trickle of sweat is making its way down my back, and my face and forehead are damp with sweat. Cursed humidity. I don't have kind words for humidity. But my discomfort stems from more than moisture.

I have struggled for a long time to find the right niche for myself vocationally. When I first felt called to priesthood I understood that call as being in parish ministry. I also understood that the form of ministry into which I would live would not be parish ministry. I have prayed to and waited on God to reveal a path, some clarity to point me in the right direction and discover that place where work would be meaningful and the exercise of my gifts would offer fulfillment. I wait. I wait some more. I pray. I sigh.

This month will mark 15 years of priesthood. During a period of unemployment eight years ago I made an effort to push the envelope of what ordained ministry looks like. I applied for jobs at retreat centers (why doesn't being a homeowner count toward experience in facilities management, I want to know?), ventured toward associate positions that offered license for creativity, looked into chaplaincies and I-don't-remember-any-longer what else. Phfffft. Discouraged, I returned to parish ministry via a model in which I believed, had experience and gifts. It was a dismal experience for a number of reasons. I've filled in during interim periods at two churches, and served as interim at one. Now I am back at the parish where I had the most satisfying run of ministry ten years ago. But it is not the same place. The people who helped to make it vital then have left, and there are only a few that fit that bill who have joined that family. It is not a bad place to be, but there is lots around which to feel discouraged.

And I struggle. When I left regional ministry I found the courage to do so through the truth of words I heard spoken by Joyce Meyers. Whatever you may think of her, happening upon her TV program Christmas morning while recovering from strep throat pretty much saved me. What she said, in essence, was this: if you're struggling, you are not where God wants you to be. She wasn't saying that struggle is a bad thing, but if day in, day out, life was an uphill battle then it was time to find a more suitable terrain.

The struggle in which I find myself now isn't as bad as the former experience. Still, there is too much struggle to serve God, and God's people, well. I get whispers occasionally of ways to have more fulfilling days, but I lack the confidence the follow them. And then there's little matter of trust of which I wrote a few posts back. Is clarity too much for which to ask? Is a signpost out of the question? How about a financial gift that would alleviate the concern about paying bills while something could be put together and given time to launch?

And so I continue to wander the maze that is my life, hoping that I will find the path that points the way. There aren't that many years left. I want them to count. Is that too much to ask?

just thinking

He called the president a liar in front of God and everybody.

What has gotten into people? Shout outs at town hall meetings, boycotts of a presidential address to schools, and now there's a case before the supreme court where the argument is being made that because money can buy a media blitz it should be considered a right to free speech. Yeah, no.

I think it's all about control. The loss of it. At least it is that to which I attribute the anger, hostility, rudeness and self-righteousness that is so pervasive these days. There is so much uncertainty about jobs, money, whether or not the mortgage payment can be made and a family will be homeless in another month. It is about the cultural ego-slam when a man can't provide for his family. It is about gender bias when a woman is the head of a household and can't keep up. It is about the fear among the elderly whose nest-eggs have been robbed by the greed of a few. Closer to home it is about the concern for Junior when he deploys next in a unit that doesn't have the training and won't have the protection to which he's accustomed.

It's about daily survival, and it takes its toll.

We have concerns about money in our house, too. I'm not worried about the mortgage, but my credit rating is in the tank. That doesn't bode well for the future. There's no telling if it will recover or how long that will take. We have concerns about family estrangements, and the heartbreak tears at our souls a little with each day that goes by without movement toward resolution. Depression sucks air out of the motivation to do more to provide for our needs and recover from our wounds, fiscal and familial.

It's one day at a time, and it takes its toll. There are days when I feel right with the world and I get lots done and the people in my care are well served. There are days when survival barely allows me to spare them a thought. It's not fair to them, and I pray that the efforts of my better days compensate for those when I am merely surviving.

But I am not striking out. I am not disparaging another's character or shouting hateful words. I am not even thinking ill of someone who puts a bad face on the things I care about. In survival mode I am doing what I can to manage my life and use my time in a way that at the least benefits my household and my family, and then serves the needs of others. When we can't control the big things why can't we focus on the little things? Get the family together for a meal, wash a neighbor's car, plant a garden. Say "thank you" to someone every day for something they've done, expected or unexpected. Slap on some lipstick. Look at each day as a gift.

I have some friends who, when they get together for dinner they go around the table and offer up one thing that sucked about their day, and one thing that lifted it above the ordinary. It's a worthy endeavor, to acknowledge the crap and recognize the blessings. It puts life in perspective, shifts the focus away from the dregs and brings into the light at least one aspect of life that can be celebrated.

It's a place to start. And a world better than calling someone a liar.

hopes and dreams

This colorful swirl of a quilt's center is a signpost of hope for me. I have been struggling lately with how to balance the reality of difficult and painful circumstances with the desire to focus on what is positive. I am fully aware of how attitude impacts behavior, and even decisions, and I have had one foot firmly planted on the ground of optimism for many months. That posture has served me well, kept me centered even in the midst of uncertainty and chaos. At the same time I am beginning to feel that the reserves of my strength, though substantial, are being drained to a point that is dangerously low.

As I evaluate how to care for myself I look to the things that restore and replenish me. Why am I not surprised that I am being drawn toward the world of creativity? Through the myriad threads of connectivity that facebook offers I saw a quilt created by a relative of my friend Genie. I was taken with it immediately, and began to search out sources whereby I might create one like it myself. Having tracked the source, I raided a stash of emergency cash to buy a book that details how to make this quilt, and others like it. The pattern and its creation are more difficult than the quilts I have made in the past, and I don't think I am yet up to taking on doing one of my own, but I now have the means to do so when that moment comes. In the meantime there are smaller projects that will serve as a vehicle through which my spirit can plunge into the creative process. Through those my experience tells me that the tears in my soul will begin to knit together toward healing, and strength will begin to accumulate once again in the vault that is my being.

The image here, then, serves two purposes. One is that is represents creative effort, a known balm to my hurting soul. The other is that the spiral, as shown here, has light at the center radiating out. That is where I find my hope. No matter how dark the days have become in the past, at the center there has always been light. It is that light, with its power to radiate out through the darkness, that holds me steady and serves to ground me in the spirit of peace and wholeness. Even when the best of days dissolve into tears of confusion or fold under the weight of burdens, the light holds fast, and hope, like the phoenix, rises from the ruin.

I will bide my time with the spiral quilt. As I do so, however, I will move toward its future reality by warming up with other creative efforts. As a portion of St. Patrick's Breastplate proclaims:

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.