For the past ten days, I've gone to the hospital each day to sit in a chair.
I've been there to get medicine, but I suspect that more than that has happened. From registration to discharge each day, the process lasted a little over an hour. For that hour, I was required to sit still while the medicine did its work.
Early on, I found the requirement to be frustrating. As time went on, though, I accepted my fate and tried to enjoy an hour of quiet in the middle of days that were often hectic. I remember the writer Robert Fulghum pondering in one of his essays about the wisdom of having the whole world take a nap every afternoon - and how much better things would be if we all did that. So I began to look at my doctor-imposed prescription as my daily nap time.
I didn't sleep, but I was still. Sometimes I read. Often I simply sat. Hooked up to monitors, I could see moment by moment what was happening to my blood pressure and heart rate. Let's just say that my blood pressure was quite a bit better at the end of that hour each day than it was at the beginning.
There's a lot to be said for rest.
I am about to begin a season of self-imposed rest.
I will conclude my service as pastor of Huron Shores Fellowship later this week. As I do that, I have no specific plans about my next steps. If you know me at all, you know that such uncertainty is likely to drive me crazy. Surprisingly, though, I am realizing what a gift it is to have a time between this and something else. (At least, I hope there's "something else.") Though I probably won't be able to keep up a slower pace very long, I'm planning on resting, praying, thinking, listening, and trying to figure out how I got from where I was to where I am now.
Only in the past few days has it become clear to me how exhausted I am. And while I have enjoyed immensely these years of serving as a pastor, I am beginning to see clearly the impact of some pretty heavy burdens that I've carried for the past few years. For years, I taught young seminarians both how to deal with conflict in the church and how to keep themselves from substantial harm. Clearly, it is easier to teach than to do - and I would have been wise to take my own advice more seriously.
What I'm proud of is that I saw some things before it was too late. As painful as this parting is, it feels strangely life-giving to me. And that's exactly what I hope it will be: life-giving.
For now, though, it's nap time.
It's time to be still. It's time to think. And, mostly, it's time to listen for the voice of God.