Three, Two, One . . .

Well, it's almost time to go off the clock. June 1 is the beginning of a three month break from pastoral work. 

What does that mean? No new sermons to prepare and preach, no committee meetings, no hospital visits, no office hours, no drop-in guests, no phone calls to return, no emergencies, no classes to prepare and teach, no squabbles to moderate, no tragedies to be strong for, no new members or church leaders to train, no prayers to write for worship bulletins, no Bible commentaries to study. More to the immediate point: no pandemic decisions to make.  

No wonder I'm weary!

Today was a good departure. I kept the details to a minimum, and the church joined me in a litany of blessing. I feel commissioned to practice some self-care, to rest, to pursue my vision of how to make the most of the time, and to find my way to flourishing.  For those are interested, here is today's summary of the sabbatical and the farewell litany. 

Departures are bittersweet. In addition to hearing the kind wishes of our church family, we bid goodbye to Brent and Karen, two dear souls who will move this week to Colorado. It was hard to say farewell, even after sharing a leisurely brunch together. After fifteen months of pandemic disruptions and separations, I am reminded how precious friendships really are. And I'm certain we will see these two friends again, probably in the shadow of the Rockies.

Today has been a rainy, cold day. It was a good day to apply the brakes and begin to slow down. Much of the afternoon was spent puttering in my basement hideaway (affectionately called Presbybop Music World Headquarters). Three old jazz LP's were digitized and directories of some computer files were reorganized. Nothing pressing. For the next few days, I'll be floating.  And breathing deeply.