Metaphysical Quail

I need to get my house on the market.  But before I do that I need to get all of the landscaping taken care of.  And new doors bought.  And touch up painting.  And staging.  And packing.  I've known all of this for months but I'm getting down to the wire and I just need to do it.

But I haven't.  

It probably has something to do with the fact that I'm not moving where I expected to.  Late in February I got a call from a congregation in Southern Texas and since then I'd been in the interview process with them.  It felt right.  I felt called to be their minister and the search committee was on the same page.  In early May I went down and preached for them, talked with them and shared my own conflicted stories with them.  It felt right.  I felt called to be their minister.  But they wanted a week to think and pray before they voted and as I drove away from that church I felt a realization growing in the dark parts of my mind: "This week wait is a bad thing.  It will only give them the opportunity to be swallowed by fear.  I need to prepare for a No."  

And I was right.  On Mother's Day, the Search Chair called me and told me that I'd only garnered 50% of the vote and so it was a "No."  He was brokenhearted and shocked at the outcome.  I wasn't shocked but I was still brokenhearted.  And just like that, the moment of resurrection and joy and goodness that I so desperately needed was stripped from me.  I thought I was going to finally be able to leave Holy Saturday behind and walk on into Easter morning, but instead I'm still leaning my back against a firmly closed tomb and praying that dawn will come soon.

Instead of moving down south I'll be moving up north; north as in my parent's house.  My job as an associate ends on June 2nd and I have no prospects anywhere else despite the fact that I've been searching and praying and waiting for a new call for 15 months.

I suddenly understand the grumbling of the tribes of Israel as they wandered in the desert looking for the promised land.  God has been caring for me in the wilderness and I believe will continue to care for me for as long as this search takes but I AM SO TIRED OF METAPHYSICAL QUAIL AND MANNA.  I just want to GET THERE.   I understand the horror of Joshua and Caleb as they walked into the promised land and then had to walk away from it.  Not because THEY were afraid! Not because THEY were disobedient!  Not because THEY distrusted God and God's plans! Because OTHERS were afraid and disobedient and distrustful.  They suffered the consequences of other people's fears.  I get that now.  I'm living that.  

I'm thankful that I've never struggled with my faith during these terrible years of loss.   I feel good about who God is and how God loves me.  I trust in God's game.  I told a clergy group yesterday that the real difficulty has been finding the strength to have faith in PEOPLE, as all of my difficulties and pain have come at the hands of those who should have known better and acted accordingly.  Now I fear that the feelings I have when I think about my husband (I want to trust you but how do I trust you?) will be applied to any future congregation I interview with (I want to trust y'all, but how do I trust y'all?).  

::Deep Breath::

So here I am, wandering in the desert again.  God is leading me, clouds by day and fire by night.  I like to imagine that God is just as upset with the turn of events as I am, that the clouds by day are thunderous and heaving and the fire a crackling, whip of light.  That God is striding ahead of me with power and anger and purpose and peering into the unseeable places to find a place for me and my future.  And I will wait because how could I do anything else?  I will be a pastor again and not because I have some kind of stubborn chip on my shoulder.  Because its the song of my soul, the story that tells itself in all of my dreams, because its the weight of my bones and shape of my very breath.  I will do this because it is what God intends for me to do, because it is the shape of me.

I will wait.  

So, This is My Life Now

Sunday Night, I got a call from Cliff at 8:56pm.  The phones in his unit usually shut down around 9 and we'd already spoken earlier in the evening, so I was surprised that he was calling again.  Very quickly he told me "I'm on chain." 

And there it was - he was finally being moved from his "transitional" facility (where he'd been for a year!) to his permanent facility.  And here was the note of anxiety - there was NO TELLING where that permanent facility was going to be.  He could be moved to El Paso or Pampa or Beeville, and there would be no recourse for us.  Palestine was a 4 hour round trip for me, but it was still close enough that a monthly visit was within reason.  A move to El Paso would mean I would only rarely be able to visit Cliff - it would mean hardship for all of us.  But when you are "on chain", they don't tell you where you are going.  You just get chained up and loaded in a prison transport and wait for however long it takes to get there.  And for those of us waiting to see our collective fate?  There was only the waiting and the obsessive checking of the TDCJ Online Offender Search.

My phone conversation with Cliff was short, so I told my parents and Cliff's family about it immediately afterwards.  As I sat with my mom and dad, I realized I felt none of the panic and nausea of the last time this had happened.  I don't know if time heals wounds, but time does provide you with callouses.  And somewhere in between January 18th, 2012 and January 27th, 2013, a thick emotional hide has grown over my heart - or the part of my heart where Cliff lives.  I was surprised that he'd been moved (but not too surprised), I was worried that he would be moved somewhere incredibly inconvenient but I wasn't traumatized like last time.  When he was moved from Waco to Palestine, it was the finally severing of our geographic life together.  Nothing was severed this time, except my obligation to have to drive to Palestine EVER AGAIN.  There was nothing lost this time.  Nothing taken this time.  Even Cliff's stuff went with him.  The only thing that changes for ME is the direction I will drive to see him.

Which turns our to be Huntsville.

I was pleased to find out that Huntsville is only 20mn farther away than Palestine was.  Let me repeat that: I WAS PLEASED that my husband's new prison facility was in convenient driving distance.  I WAS PLEASED that his new prison facility will have better educational and job opportunities.  I WAS PLEASED that his new prison facility was closer to family so that Gareth's care won't be so hard to arrange on weekends I visit.

DAMN IT! 

Who is PLEASED for any of those things?  How screwed up does my life have to be for me to be PLEASED about ANYTHING that has to do with prison facilities?  How terrible has the trauma been in my life that I am glad for the opportunities my husband will have while he is IN JAIL?  And yet, that's what I am - pleased, relieved, unmoved.  How could I possibly have gotten used to this WRETCHED part of my life?

The answer is, of course, that I've gotten used to it because that is the only way to survive.  I would be a twitching mess if the grief I experienced in November/December of 2011 was the same grief I experienced today.  I've taken these dark places and cutting grief and absorbed them into myself and now they are a part of me in the same way that all the light places and joys are - they are simply a part of my internal landscape.  They are mental furniture that I resent and wish I could replace or be rid of, but they are there, firmly situated in my frame of reference.

Which is why, when I have to drive my toddler to Fort Worth at 10:30pm because of a possible food obstruction in his esophagus, I am annoyed but not panicked.  I've done this before.  Gareth will make it.  This isn't the worst its ever been.

Which is why, when I find out that because of budget shortfalls at my church, the new budget won't cover my salary after we hire a new senior pastor, I experience no anxiety.  I will find a new job and a new place to live.  We will make it.  This isn't the worst its ever been.

I wish I could say it is because of some kind of deep, spiritual sense that I find myself less anxious.  I do trust in God's movement in my life.  But that's not the reason that I can be pleased, or peaceful or blase in the face of turmoil.  The reason is this: I've already experienced worse than this and I have the callouses necessary to survive.  This is my life now.

So what's next?