I am readying myself to rest.
What this means is that many bulletins must be prepared and many phone calls made in order for things to be tended while I am gone.
It’s worth it!
In the midst of all the getting ready, the stack of books intended for vacation reading is growing by the back door. They are legion.
Too, I have the great good of feeling into days of unstructured being. In the midst of the stretch of days will be a weekend with my children and bike rides and tennis games and walks and swims and time with my guy away from phones and did I mention, books to read.
I love my work. I get to be engaged with amazing people doing work that gentles the world to a better place. It is creative and meaningful work, this ministry.
And, in order to be fruitful, fallow times are crucial.
So, come the final “amen” on Sunday I am off seeking Sabbath.
Holy work, that.
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.