Life at 3 miles an Hour

In recent weeks I've been blessed with a  challenging personal question, followed a few weeks later by an opportunity for some rest and reflection, where the question kept struggling to the surface.  The question in this instance was what I considered to be my greatest weakness as a practitioner of the pastoral arts.  The way it usually works is that a burning personal question appears in one form or another, followed by some brief attention and then a dive deep back into the next thing, resulting in not only forgetting the response, but eventually also the original question.  Ironic because my answer to this particular question was my difficulty in slowing down, backing off, and resting. For twenty four years I've lived and breathed "church".  Although there are some in the world convinced that I only work 30 minutes a week during my preaching and teaching opportunities, multiplied where multiple weekend services are involved and an occasional wedding or funer...

I haven't written in awhile. It's been too long actually. It's been long enough that I can feel it. I wrote earlier that this was probably becoming a therapy. That probably explains the way I feel when I stop for a time. This past week has been..., well let's just say that it's been life. I had to laugh the other day when I passed the sign in front of our church and read "share a real life experience here". I thought, "well yeah, jump on in, the water is fine". It has been real life this past week. I guess it always is. It was just harder without the writing. This morning as I thought about it I also came to the conclusion that not only had I not written much, I also hadn't spoken much... to God that is. My writing has become a conversation and a way of expression just as prayer has to be a conversation and a way of expression. I lived real life this past week and came to the realization that real life, the life that really hap...

I feel like I'm talking to myself again. That's probably because I am. Aimless thoughts and rambling, but I remind myself that it is therapy. I write for myself, although anyone is free to listen in. It's not like a personal diary or anything. I'm thinking I could have found a more private way to express myself if secret thoughts were what I was aiming for. So it is like a conversation with myself because it's directed to no one in particular. The frustrating part is the questions. Why do I ask questions when I'm not really expecting an answer? Why did I just ask that question? I can carry on this conversation for pages or until my spell check checks out and I'm perfectly happy. Throw one question in there though and I'm a bit nervous. Nervous about no answers and nervous that sometime, somewhere an answer might actually show up. That changes everything. It's somewhat like my prayer life I guess. I talk and talk and ramble and talk to ...