Walking, praying, waiting, listening, watching, hoping, talking, moving

Sunday, November 22, 2009
As I sit here and consider starting my journey towards bed and blissful sleep, my face smiles at the work accomplished today. As a pastor, the work is always about people and God and the connections between the two. It's good work, mostly, but it is demanding work as well.

My face smiles outwardly and honestly I believe. But inwardly there is a creeping sadness which doesn't seem to have a quick fix pill to make it all better. And I have experience enough and training enough to know that there isn't any quick solutions for these kinds of things. There is only the next morning to be faced and you rise to meet the day, hopefully, maybe this day will bring a difference to the heart.

It's difficult to say what it is. It may be physical or emotional tiredness, or not getting ones vitamins. Perhaps it's the infernal darkness that seems to rule most of the 24 precious hours we've been given each day. Maybe it's loneliness or separation. I don't know. Anyway I get tired of trying self diagnosis. People who do that have fools for doctors, or something like that.

It seems we all here in the Field are trying to find our way back to normal. Lauralea is making noises like she wants the Christmas decorations out soon, which chills me to the bone because they are in the closet I packed so tightly that one pine cone pulled out will cause the whole to collapse on top of me. Micah plays guitar and listens to music waiting for a shift in the atmosphere because it's hard days for him too. Seems like it's just trudging through deep sand here for everybody.

I am doing a few things attempting to find level once again. Walking, praying, waiting, listening, watching, hoping, talking, moving.

"It's just a season, it'll pass. Hang in there." Says my dad's voice inside my head. I know it will, I just would prefer it to pass sooner rather than later.

… and in other happy news, it's nearly one month till Christmas…

I knew you'd like that.


  1. I wish you were 6000 miles closer, so we could go for a coffee and a chat - email is so difficult a medium to express these things. Seems you contain your feelings rather better than I do.

  2. Even through this, as well as the wonderful messages you give, unknown as it may be to you...you are encouraging...

  3. Thank you for yesterday, it was a GREAT sermon. Glad to be back to be able to listen!Praying

  4. not that i want to fix or diagnose how you're feeling, but we feel it here too. i think it has something to do with the time of year and being away from family. and no offense to the people here, but the air stinks...and that doesn't help! ;o)

  5. I prayed this for another friend just this morning...
    May God's mercy and grace wash over you and fill you with joy unspeakable...knowing that He loves you. YOU ARE HIS BELOVED.

  6. By the end of the sermon I SO wanted the final hymn to be "Joy Unspeakable"...


    Would have fit very well. It's in our college hymn book, just not the Covenant one...


  7. Thanks guys.

    I think its a fair representation of where we are at, or at least where we have been for a while now. The tough thing is whether to mention it in this space or not.

    Without making it a whining blog I think it's sometimes helpful for others if I'm honest about life. I've had too many people contact me with thanks for that honesty. It's encouraged them and allowed them to be honest too.

    I ALWAYS struggle with knowing that balance. Do I say how things are, or do I link to interesting things happening in the world.

    It is a balance. Some days I fail at it. But I do know this space has been considerably dry lately as I've made choices that are much more conservative (well, except for that pink vibrator post!).

    And Toni, maybe its soon time for a face to face again. How far is it? 6000?


  8. That was me, in case you'd not guessed.

  9. It would seem you're much closer than I thought - about 4200 miles. That's less than a week's driving, if only there was a road.



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