You will recall, a couple of posts ago, my whiny online handwringing over my vocational impasse: Who am I and why am I here? You'll also recall that today is the day I was to finally put my mother's ashes to rest in a family plot.
We did that this morning -- a dark, drizzly morning. I met my pastor at the cemetery. (The gravediggers were there too, snoozing in their pickup truck off at one end of the place.) It was actually more conversation than liturgy; my pastor asked me how I was doing, which spun into an extended and wildly rambling conversation about a lot of things, there in the mist. And then we got out the liturgy for the Burial of the Dead, and said that, and it was over. (And, as if on cue, the gravediggers' truck slowly proceeded up the drive. We thanked them for being there, which seemed to take them aback; big, rough guys getting all bashful and gee-shucks.)
I invited my pastor back to my house for coffee, and we talked some more -- about my life and his, about our church, about ministry in general. He told me that he was interested in adding a spiritual practices component to the training he helps give the young counselors at one of our synod summer camps and asked me if I'd like to be in on that process. Then he talked about an idea he had for lending out our congregation's lay ministers to other area congregations, to assist them in creative ways; would I be interested in that as well?
I think for me vocation is going to be less about seeing a clear path laid before me, stretching into the horizon, and more about simply being nudged around the next corner: Turn here. Now turn here. Now turn here.