They say that confession is good for the soul and God willing, confessing the stuff that is on my heart right now might actually help this soul to get to sleep at a decent hour (i.e. not 3 a.m. like it is now).
The truth about all that is going on: While I *am* excited to go up to Minnesota and interview, the thought of it is also incredibly terrifying. Yes, I do want to see these parishes. Yes, I do want to move on with my life. Yes, I should be trusting the synod (and God) to get all this stuff worked out. But… it also means that we really are going to move; we really are going to leave Jon’s internship site; and I am going to be taken out of my comfort zone once again and transplanted into a completely new place. (Newark is an hour from Columbus and I could still go back and visit the sem.) In other words, this whole situation is very much a P situation — not what this staunch J can deal with.
But Jen… if you were actually trusting in God, you wouldn’t be scared. You’d be full of joyful anticipation. You’d — *takes obnoxious nagging voice in my head and seals it in a box with duct tape to be mailed to Abu Dhabi tomorrow morning* Thing is… I *AM* trusting in God. I don’t really have any other choice right now. Just because I’m trusting in God does not mean that my stomach isn’t clenched and rejecting food, that I’m not breaking down sobbing, that I’m not having panic attacks, (that all of this didn’t happen during the 10:45 service on Sunday morning… nooooooooo… never…), or that I’m not being a complete and utter control freak. (I think two more days of living in the same space as me should qualify Jon for sainthood.) Jon decided (for some strange reason) to start packing today, which means that the cats are irritated because they know the suitcase only comes out when Mommy or Daddy (or both) are going to disappear and possibly leave them alone to fend for themselves (with catsitters who come twice daily to give them food/water/clean litter and who *WOULD* give them much love if they would drag themselves out from under the bed and be good, social clergy cats); and so they have taken up shop under the bed, giving us withering looks as to say that we are icky, nasty, selfish humans. (You know there’s a problem when your uber-spoiled cats start calling you selfish…) So… we’ve got a household with a neurotic and weepy Jen, two very lemurish and pissed-off cats, and Jon who is down in the dumps because he doesn’t want to leave St.Paul’s. Oh we are such a bunch!
In addition to the incredible fear and trembling (with which I am attempting to work out my faith), I’m also grieving the fact that I have to leave St. Paul’s. Yes… this is the same place that I was kicking and screaming to leave as recently as 6 months ago. But Jen… isn’t it hypocritical for you to announce the change? I mean– *staple guns the nagging voice to the bottom of the box, adds some more duct tape, seals the box with a 5-inch layer of duct tape, and calls Airborne to pick it up PDQ* They’ve become a family to me. I finally got this rammed through my thick skull 4 months ago when I was actually allowed to *stay with the family* during a hospital visit. (Well… that and the roses given to us on our 1st wedding anniversary, the cards telling me of the major prayers lifted up for my candidacy committee to ummmm… reconsider their judgement of my fitness for ministry [took me about three shots to say that politely[, the people hugging me at the gospel concert on Sunday night, my junior high girl who protested muchly when she found out that we were being sent to Minnesota…) I’m being allowed to sing the Requiem with the choir for All Saints’ Day (which is comparable to Christmas at most other parishes — St. Paul’s takes *everything* worship-related up about 3 notches) as a healing thing for the church after the 10 funerals of this summer — this was one of my hopes. I have no idea where I’ll be for Christmas (which is MAJORLY distressing to me as this will likely be my first Christmas away from home and Christmas is BIG togetherness time for my family) and I’m torn about whether or not I’m hoping to be at St. Paul’s. On the one hand, we could probably go home. On the other hand, it would mean that we aren’t in the parish yet and I kind of want to get Jon ordained and in the parish PDQ if only for the completely selfish reason of finances.
Oh yeah… there’s also the fact that yesterday (Monday) was the only real day of rest I’ve had in about a month. I’m just a girl who cain’t say no and this is getting me in some turible fixes. CROPWalk was a good thing for me to do because it was 5 miles of walking — which killed much of my stress from Sunday morning. However… my eyes are ringed and puffy, which means I look like a red-headed raccoon. If only I could actually sleep normally…
Maybe I should stop counting sheep and talk to the Shepherd. It might be good for the nerves and the soul of this little lamb to discuss its state with the One who leads me beside peaceful waters…
