Leaving town is a spiritual practice.
Whenever I am making preparations to be gone for a time, the worries raise their voices.
For example, I seem to be convinced that if I am in close proximity to my beloveds I can keep them safe. It’s a fine fantasy. If I’m in my zone, somehow my people are safer.
Church details feel monumental. Our church has the best staff bar none and a wondrous crew of retired clergy. There should be no worry. Should is the operative word. Worry I do.
Like so many other things, I suspect thriving happens when space is made. Offspring turn to each other or their step-Coop. Pets are tended. Church folk know the power of community. All these things are good.
And for me? Stepping out of my self-appointed role of keeper of well-being is flat-out crucial.
I’m off for five days. Preparing to leave has lessons to lend.
Perhaps the spiritual discipline most necessary for digesting a magnificent Holy Week is the sacred revel of fun.
I can work with that.