Seeing Blue

I did it.  I added color to my prayers this morning. It was the weirdest reading ever. I mean, I don't really know what to do with passages where the lesson is embedded in whether or not to fight. I suppose I could relate to that if it weren't that the word army appeared. Somehow, when I see that word, my mind checks out. That's exactly what happened when I read I Samuel 17:1-23 this morning.

I read it again because certainly I must be able to find something to relate to in this passage. After all, I was the one that asked the snarky question to the author at my friend's stage reading last night. This particular author wrote a book that's loosely based on the Book of Esther. The inspiration came when she had tried to introduce faith to her son. They were going to attend a Purim party, so this author did her homework. I wanted to know how this retelling had helped her claim her faith. Her answer? I don't have any. I don't want be that chick that's so insistent upon not being able to find something holy in strange words. So, I read this strange narrative with David again. That's when I tripped over this phrase: "And David heard him" (I Samuel 17:23).

God's a freakin' riot. I get it. I'm listening. So, I drew an ear. I drew wavy lines. I drew another ear and another. Just the ear. That's what I needed to focus on. Don't be bothered that there's no body attached. I'm not. I kept drawing. I drew curved lines arching from the lobes. My pen stopped. What am I listening for? Not a clue. I drew more wavy lines. They got more intense. I decided these lines were the God speak that I needed to hear. I wrote words that I needed to remember from God. Ya know, the average stuff like love, justice and peace. And then, I turned my attention back to those arcs. I thought of those church members that didn't really hear my Easter sermon. I thought of the "helpful" email I had just received from a church member that weekend. I thought of myself and I colored those lines blue. So, today when I see the color blue, I thinking about my stubborn insistence that I don't need to listen. I'm thinking about how I rely on my own knowledge and how I put information out there in little spurts without really listening to what I'm saying to myself. Today, I'm seeing blue.

Coloring in the Lines

Over a year ago, I started to really consider what my own spiritual practice would look like. Did I have a clue? No. No, I did not. Thankfully, something changed. Amazingly, this happened while I was on the Women's Retreat with the church. This is one of those weekend work commitments that I actually detest as it halts every feminist inclination as I have. These blessed women that I love and minister to just want to talk about being Martha when they feel like they should be Mary. It kills me. I don't think of the world as that narrow so the fact that I have to choose between Martha or Mary is only the beginning.

Anyhow, somewhere in the midst of this retreat, we were asked to make a collage in response to something. I don't remember what it was. I only recall that I didn't want to make a collage. I wanted to draw. So, I took a big felt tip pen and started to draw. Lo and behold, a spiritual practice was born. Praise be to God.

It emerged from that point. Of course, it required supplies so that now I own several prayer pens. I purchased a copy of Between Sundays: Daily Bible Readings Based on the Revised Common Lectionary because I like love the Bible. It was part of what needed to happen for me. I needed to find a way to relate to the text that made sense for me. So, now, I read, I sit and I draw. It's working so well that I want to share. This particular image was going to be my Christmas card as I thought that something was literally coming together in my life. I thought I was pregnant with possibility. No. I was not with child. Christ Jesus, have mercy. Let's hope that doesn't happen. But, then, the break up happened and I felt like I had miscarried. I don't actually know what that's like but it's the closest thing that I can imagine to how I felt. Um. Still feel.

Well, maybe not. I'm gazing at this image this morning and thinking it might be speaking to me again. Again. Not. Pregnant. But, I feel ready for something new particularly after picking up a copy of Praying in Color: Drawing a New Path to God (Active Prayer Series).  Now, I feel ready for color.  I love color. I love the idea that is posited in this book that every time I see purple during my day, I'll be reminded of that particular prayer that I colored purple that morning. I love this idea so much but I'm nervous. I can't bring myself to do it. Not yet. I still feel a little bit like Harold (obviously from the fame of The Adventures of Harold and the Purple Crayon). I still want to be able to draw that world that is inspired by the Scripture I'm reading, so maybe my prayer pen should just change but that seems so boring. It seems to limit my prayers and now that I'm finally getting a spiritual practice, I don't wanna limit myself. But, I think I might be ready to color in the lines. Like anything, it just takes courage. I've got that, right? Right.

A Spiritual Practice

A few weeks ago, I had a midday glass of wine with a colleague. (Um. Why not?) She's concerned about my sanity while SP is on sabbatical. At that point, I was really at wits end about all the freaking dead people. Seriously. I see them everywhere. I'm burying another one tomorrow. Not that I know him. He's just being randomly buried in Maine. Today I didn't get a call about dead people. Instead, I have a church member in hospice. Musicman joked that this is a step up and soon they'll just be calling to say that they're sick or even later that the sun is shining. I digress.

This colleague asked a tough question. She asked me about my spiritual practice. Uh. I don't have one. My prayer life is not as active as it could be. I don't sit still well. My communication with God hasn't been all that powerful -- which is odd since I'm making some big decisions. This decision affects my call and my vocational understanding but I didn't pray. I went with my gut. I feel good but there is this gnawing question: what is your spiritual practice?

This weekend, I picked up BBT's new book. I expected to hate it because her last book infuriated me. Bad boundaries lady. No wonder you crashed and burned. Me? I'm all about the boundaries so I erect them with my relationships inside and outside of church -- including my relationship with the Divine. Now, I'm trying to figure out how to move around that boundary and realizing that maybe (just maybe) I don't have to do anything to have a spiritual practice. I can just do what I already do. I can marvel at the world. I can cherish how God is working in my life. I can say thank you. And when I need it, ask for help. I'm so grateful that there are other faithful witnesses to God's grace that can open my eyes to what's already obvious.

Good Friday Prayer Edited

My God, My God, why have you forsaken us?
My God, My God, why did it have to happen this way?
My God, My God, why does it have to hurt this much?
Tonight, O God, we wonder as we try to keep awake.
Tonight, we are deeply grieved, even to death.

Tonight, we grieve. Tonight, we mourn.
Tonight we remember all of those lives that ended too soon.
Tonight we recall those that died without glory and honor.
Tonight we shed light upon all the names heavy on our hearts.
Tonight we grant them rest eternal as we mourn Christ upon the cross.

Our God, Our God, we wish this hour would pass.
We wish that the questions will end. We wish that the crowds will stop shouting.
Our God, Our God, let the alabaster jar break, but don’t let our hope shatter.
Our God, Our God, let the betrayer insult, but don’t let our grief overwhelm.
Our God, Our God, let others scatter without understanding, but don’t leave us.

Tonight, Our God, stay awake with us.
Tonight, Our God, keep vigil with our troubled hearts.
Tonight, Our God, wait with us for day to break again.
Wait with us, O God, in the darkness of this night.
Amen.

A Good Friday Prayer

I hate this day -- but I've been asked to write the Pastoral Prayer so here's my very first attempt. It may end up in a crumbled heap in the recycling bin.

O God, what a waste.
An alabaster jar might break, but must you?
Must you also break open in this way on this day that we dare to call good?
“Let her alone,” you asked.
You didn’t want the woman with the jar to be troubled,
But we are. We’re troubled by this day where we remember your death.
She did all she could, but did we?
Could we have changed this outcome?
Could we have betrayed less?
Could we have understood better?
Could we have dared to dream another ending to this story?
Or must the story end this way – with this kind of death upon a cross?

Tonight, O God, we wonder as we try to keep awake.
We are deeply grieved, even to death.
O God, we wish this hour would pass so that hope might come again.
We hope that the questions will end.
We hope that the crowds will stop shouting.
We hope that the darkness will be broken by light.
My God, My God, why have you forsaken us?
Why did it have to happen this way?
Why does it have to hurt this much?
O God, what a waste.

Let the alabaster jar break, but don’t let our hope shatter.
Let the betrayer insult, but don’t let our grief overwhelm.
Let others scatter without understanding, but don’t leave us alone.
Tonight, O God, we are troubled by this death that seems like a waste.
Another young life lost.
Another life with possibility ends.
Another beginning ends.
O God, what a waste.
Tonight, we grieve.
Tonight, we mourn.
Tonight, we wait for day to break again.
Wait with us, O God, in the darkness of this night.
Amen.

All That I Have Heard

Friends, that is what my Advent reading this morning called me to think about. I'm supposed to think about my friends -- but it didn't just say to think about my friends. My devotional guide encouraged me to think about my friends through the Scripture:

I have called you friends,
because I have shared with you
all that I have heard from God.
John 15:15

It's a nice translation, isn't it? All that I have heard from God. Sigh. Have I heard anything? Aren't I supposed to be waiting for that to happen? Or is it really true that I have on the inner circle and have an instant connection? If so, I think the connnection sucks. Then again, there is all of you -- my friends. Today, I'm thinking about my friends. I'm thinking about each of you and how I share what I have heard from God -- if I'm so brave to share these thoughts. It's hard to talk about God, for some reason. Even though it's my vocational call, I shy away from talking about God with my friends. It creeps in and I can't avoid it sometimes, but it's not where I go in conversation naturally. Like every church member I serve, I'm afraid that someone will be offended. And really, we wouldn't want that. No.

And yet, I blog. I'm not a blogger that highlights every detail of my life because, well frankly, that's a bit too much. However, I can tell you what I'm hoping to hear from God. I'm waiting for God to allow me to trust myself in small ways. I want to trust that I have enough inner strength to believe that I've got what it takes, like when a boy asks me to meet his family and I try to talk him out of it. Really? What the hell are you doing? This is why I need friends to interrupt the inner voice. I need friends to remind me of what they hear from God and support me in the wonderful bonds of relationship. That's what I need.

The End of Summer

Tomorrow is Homecoming Sunday. After being away for the summer, we welcome everyone back to church with a big fair and celebration of our life together. In my church life, this marks the beginning of fall. I thought that we might be able to sneak in a few more days of summer here and there. I tried yesterday to go to the beach and pretend that there would be sunbathing and swimming. Alas, we were huddled under towels against the rocks trying to stay warm. And so, it's official: Fall is here.

And though I do indeed love the change of seasons, there is something about this shift. I'm not sure what the emotion is. It's not sadness. It's not joy. It's somewhere in between, I think. Perhaps I'm not sure what the fall brings (and I'm a planner). I have changed my job description at church to have a new focus on the faith formation of the entire community, rather than only the youth and adults. I'm leaving behind a summer with a fantastic Scottish experience and the intention to read several more books than I did. And, then, there is this boy who presents something new, uncertain and wonderful.

Indeed, it is the beginning of something new which means that I have to let go of what was. Isn't that the mystery of faith? We are filled with endings and beginnings that are uncertain and fluid. It is the wisdom of Ecclesiastes that I love so much but have no idea how to process. To everything there is a season. I wonder what this one will hold.

Powerful Presence

I been prayin' more.

I find this is not a perfect art. But, I've been trying to practice more often -- I'm actually trying to practice a lot more often. Running. Hiking. Writing. Painting. Praying. These are the things that I'm trying to do more often. All in all, this results in a good week -- except for the teeny weeny fact that I got a little bitter recently. The lonely thing got a little overwhelming. I got to the point where I felt like the only one of my friends that wasn't in love (which, I can rationally admit is not so). I was not rational though. I was irrationally bitter -- which, might I add, made me a cup of joy to be near.

So, anyhow, I been prayin' more. It started when my spiritual director (I think I failed to post that I found one and it was good and I'm jazzed) asked me what God looked like now -- rather than what God looked like before. This may sound insane, but I hadn't thought about what God means to me now as an ordained person in the throws of ministry. Uh. Yeah. This is what I've been prayin' about. I started with that one word from Ezekiel in a little centering prayer. I repeated it over and over again. Prophesy. Prophesy. In my mind, it was framed as a revelation. I was looking for God to speak. (After all, I am one of those UCCers that believes God is still speaking). Now, I'm allowing myself to be present to this revelation. To see it. To touch it. To taste it. To drink it in. I still don't have a prophesy, but I do have more of a presence. Or rather, I'm more aware of that presence that I don't know how to name.

This got me thinking today because I met a boy. I'm going to try not to the gushy part where I soar ahead in time to the time when we are married with children in rock bands. Yeah, see that's a problem. Anyhow, I met this boy on the dreaded internet and he might be just perfect for me. We had lunch together today after church. And then, just as I'm daydreaming about him, he sends me a text message to tell me that he had a "blast" today and wants to see me again. AMEN! That was actually my reply. Did I mention he's a PK?

There is something about being in the same place as that thing that you want to be near -- no matter if it's a new love interest, your baby sister filling out college applications, your good friend on the nearby treadmill or the presence of God. There is something about being close that changes that relationship. It makes me more intimate and all the more wonderful. This is what I'm looking forward to this week -- being closer to God, my sister, my good friends and this new romance.

A Prayer of Confession

On Wednesday night, I gathered with other church members for a midweek reflection during the season of Lent. We read the story of Nicodemus in John 3 and shared in this awesome poem by Hafiz. Both the Gospel Lesson and the poem spoke to me in the strange mystery when leading worship actually nourishes. I listened as I invited others to reflect upon the text. I asked when there are so many opportunities to feel like a broken man stuck behind a farting camel, how can we be reborn?

This conversation turned into a denominational throw down -- as individuals offered their reflections on what Lent has been in their past. They admitted how it had hurt and how this season had offered new hope. Being ecumenical at heart, I was uncomfortable. Though we are a denomination of pilgrims from other traditions, it is always discomforting to me when our new members and visitors can only focus on the negative of their faith formation.

As I listened for the words of the Gospel and the poetry of Hafiz touch my heart, I felt an overwhelming need to confess. And because I'm not sure what to do with this prayer, I'm going to share it with you. After all, my faith journey is about community.

Gracious God
who counts the numbers of hairs upon my head
who knows the intimate thoughts of my heart
forgive me for when I do not trust your stirring
for those times when I don't recognize rebirth
for those times that I fail to allow you to work through my hands
for those times when I ignore your calling to come home.
You have wandered with me.
You have held my hand.
You have always been there just outside of my touch.
I don't need Water or Spirit to know that you are there.
I don't need to focus on the farting camel or my own brokenness.
I only need to see you in the face of others.
I need to forgive myself as you have already forgiven me.
No matter how stubborn
No matter how indignant
No matter how clueless
You are always holding my hand.
Gracious God
forgive me for those things that I fail to see.
Hold my hand and walk with me through this strange Lenten journey
as you remind me what it means to walk in your path.
In Christ Jesus, I pray. Amen.

V-Day

One of my favorite people just sent me an e-card from NOW which instructs me to love my body and take a quiz. I'm prone to distraction -- so I did.

Question 8 was:

A new trend of plastic surgery called ________ is when external folds of skin surrounding the vulva are snipped to better resemble images of "ideal" women.
A. fallopioplasty
B. vaginomentation
C. labiaplasty
D. uteraloptic
E. None of the above, this surgery doesn't exist.

Correct! Your Answer: labiaplasty. Correct Answer: labiaplasty
Labiaplasty is a procedure designed to reduce a woman's labia. Some doctors perform 40 to 50 labiaplasties a month on women as young as 20 years old, even though they can cost upward of $4,000 and take several months to heal. The American Society of Plastic Surgeons (ASPS) began collecting information on vaginal rejuvenation in 200. Growth in this area alone increased almost 30% from 2006.

This is replusive and upsetting. Once again, I feel called to Pray for Our Pussies. Sisters in Christ, let us pray. Let us pray that more women will know that they are beautiful. Let us model this with our curves and long hair. Let women hear the good news of Eve Ensler. And God, grant us peace in all of our pussies.

Wednesday Lamentations

This is one of those weeks that seems impossible to fathom. So, I'm going to do the only thing I can right now and write. I don't know how to pray. I can't sit still. I just need to write. So, here are my prayers in no logical order.

One of our church members is in the hosptial. Got there last Sunday after hacking up a lung in the pew. His cancer is out of remission and now the man is dying. We're in Patriot land though -- so he wants to hold on until the Super Bowl. God forgive me for thinking that's innane.

Mom's annniversary is this Saturday. I'm surprisingly OK -- though everytime I think about this church member I want to cry. He's one of those people that you love even though he's a pain in the ass at every church gathering. Maybe that's why I love him. I baptized his grandson last year right before confirmation. It was my first baptism. It's created a connection. Go figure. But, that doesn't change the fact that I've spent an inordinary amount of time in the hospital this week. This is not my favorite place and not the time of year I really want to be there. I know it's part of my calling and I'm glad that I can be there. But, it's really hard and I'm not enjoying it.

And then, just when I think I can allow myself to go to that 7 year old place, BAM! A member shows up in my office yesterday to tell me that he's on suspension from work because of an allegation of sexual misconduction. Let me say that again. Allegation. Not confirmed. Shit. Did I mention that he's one of our Youth Advisers? So, I spent this morning rereading all of our Safe Church Policy documents and documenting all of my contact with this member since yesterday. His big question was why this would happen to him. I found this fascinating as I gave up on this idea of God a long, long time ago. This guy lost his wife last year -- almost to the day -- and still thinks that everything happens for a reason. Bless you child, but I can't think of a God that would will this upon you. This isn't a test. This isn't something to learn from. This just sucks.

It's time for Bible Study. Let's hope that I can hold it together.

Donate a Mammogram

This has arrived in my inbox twice today so I feel the need to share it.

The Breast Cancer site is having trouble getting enough people to click on their site daily to meet their quota of donating at least one free mammogram a day to an underprivileged woman. It takes less than a minute to go to their site and click on "donating a mammogram" for free (pink window in the middle).

This doesn't cost you a thing. Their corporate sponsors/advertisers use the number of daily visits to donate mammogram in exchange for advertising. I'm the daughter of a victim of this disease. There are too many that share a similar story. So, please click on the Breast Cancer Site and donate today.

The Power to Heal

After a really difficult phone call yesterday, I wished that someone had given me this gift of the Spirit. I wish that somewhere between seminary and ordination, someone had at least taught me how to heal. Ya know, like those miracles that Jesus performed. "Your faith has made you well." Go. Walk. Love. Be healed. I so wish that I had this gift.

It breaks my heart to hear this church member cry because his son has somehow gotten lost in his teenage years. I want to be able to tell him that it will be fine -- but I know that it won't. Nothing will be that easy. But, I want to to tell him that his faith will heal him. And all shall be well. It's the same feeling that I get when I hear my friend talk about mourning the death of his father. I want to tell him, "Your faith has made you well." I want to offer these words to the Episcopal Church USA. Even in these struggles, all will be well. Even if things must change, "your faith has made you well."

So, I'm praying tonight for peace and love. I'm hoping for healing -- and wondering if I have any part in that process. I'm feeling defeated and wanting to do more. I'm a fixer. I can't help it. But, I want to kiss it and make it better. Why can't it be that simple?

Joys & Concerns

Gracious God, who somehow manages to sustain me through a three day retreat by a beautiful lake with six confirmands, thank you for the blessing of discovering again and again that your faith is active and alive in young people who continue to ask brilliant questions while pushing me to the brink of sanity. For this joy:

O Lord, Hear My Prayer.

Remind your church and your blessed creation of this youth so that I don't have to sit down with another pastor to talk about why young people are not continuing the minsitry of the previous generations. I know you have more patience for this. But, I find it darn near impossible to explain to anyone why my generation is not interested in church or the ministry beyond our church. These are things that I can't explain. And quite frankly God, I don't want to explain this. I can't figure it out and I don't want to have to apologize for my generation. For this frustration:

O Lord, Hear My Prayer.

Empower me with new energy for another week looking forward to another working weekend. Grant me energy, hope and love as I bound through this week to gather with your servants at the Maine Conference Annual Meeting at another beautiful place in this state. For this strength:

O Lord, Hear My Prayer.

Help me to figure out what I just witnessed on PBS tonight. Help us all to remember how important it is to tell stories across our generations so that we might remember the transgressions of the past. Remind us that only in telling these stories will we learn from our mistakes and only be hearing these stories will we learn more about the world that we have created. For this concern:

O Lord, Hear My Prayer.

Anticipate with me the fun that awaits me this week as I look forward to a new opportunity for connections. No matter how many times I struggle with loneliness, celebrate the giddiness of new friends with me, O God. Relish in the comfort of watching documentaries with friends and sipping wine. Embrace me with these small moments of grace through the love of friends. For this peace:

O Lord, Hear My Prayer.

There are probably many other prayers on my heart and mind. I could pray for the world and peace. I could pray for hope and possibility. But, for now, hear these prayers, O Lord. Hold them close to your bosom. Breathe upon them and enliven me with your love so that I might love the world as much as you have loved me. For these and so many more things, in the name of Christ Jesus, I pray. Amen.

Dancing With God

Look! It turns out that I still have some artistic merit. I received my copy of The Response, a United Methodist Women's Magazine. As you know, I'm not a Methodist woman. But, I did serve a Methodist church briefly in seminary so I have friends among the Methodist women. And somehow, they think I'm an artist (a title that I'm not sure I can accept).

This week, I tried painting again. I tried to actually use the studio/guest room in my home. It was only a few weeks ago that I was in Cape Cod in a painting class. Long before that class, I had been asked to do this artwork for one of the stories in this issue of the Response. It's about evangelism, I think. I read it a long time ago and created some artwork related to the heart and impulse of the article. And I must say, it's strange to see your artwork in print. It's really weird when you struggled to put paint to canvas just this week. Somewhere this part of me is still there. And in all outward appearances, it's an active part of me. Funny though. Sometimes our lives don't mesh that well. Try as we might. There are separate parts. Sometimes prayers flow. Sometimes it's impossible it is to pray. So it is with paint, it seems.

Amen.

Isn't it great to hang up the phone and feel peace? I feel like it rarely happens in ministry (except when you get a new volunteer). I just hung up the phone with an old friend from seminary and I feel so relaxed.

A few months ago, I asked this friend if she would like to be Prayer Partners. She was curious and we agreed that it would be something we would try -- though we have no idea how to do it. But, today, we did it.

And it was wonderful. Isn't that amazing?

Amen.

The Prayer on My Heart

I mentioned this prayer on Tuesday night. Actually, I think I spoke about it rather articulately into a miked iPod. (Sorry about that.) But, as it is the prayer that keeps echoing in my heart this week, I thought I would repost it from the bowels of my archive.

Sisters in Christ, let us pray: A Prayer for our Pussies.

Getting Campy

I never went to camp as a child. I went to art camp in high school -- but I don't think that counts for the canoeing, swimming and field games experience of living in cabins in the woods that many of my peers hold dear. We stayed in dorms on a college campus, came home covered in paint and hung out on a hill eating salsa and jamming to Roger & Chris (they both played guitar). I'm fond of those memories. But, they are not what most remember when they think of camp.

But, all of this will change today because today I'm going to camp. I'm going to Pilgrim Lodge, our United Church of Christ camping ministry in Maine. I will be a counselor for 7, 8 and 9th graders (pray for me). I have no idea what to expect. I'm a little nervous and slightly anxious (and still trying to recover from the full blown cold I got at Synod). I hope it's as wonderful as I always imagined as a child. Moreover, I hope that the camp is even more magical for the kids.

Oh, and if you are interested in seeing me in action -- the camp website posts pictures of the camp all week long. Click on the "Further Along the Way" link on the main page. See if you can figure out who I am.

Words to Remember

It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one – no matter where he lives or what he does – can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on.

Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr’s cause has ever been stilled by his assassin’s bullet.

No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of the people.

Whenever any American’s life is taken by another American unnecessarily – whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence – whenever we tear at the fabric of life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.

These are the remarks of Senator Robert F. Kennedy to the Cleveland City Club in Cleveland on Ohio, April 5, 1968. You can read the whole speech -- and I hope you do -- here.

I heard them in the movie Bobby that I watched this hot June afternoon after leaving church to try to nurse myself to health. And yet again, I feel restless for what change I am not making in the heat of these days. And so, I lift up my simple prayer for peace -- that history might not repeat itself in utter tragedy as I fear it already has.

Soggy

It's been raining for several days now. Maybe it's only been two days. But, it rained on my days off. And it continues to rain. The forecast predicts more rain this week. Rain all week, actually. And I feel soggy. That's it. Just soggy. I don't want to admit that the weather affects me this much. But, it appears that it does.

I went home last weekend to see old friends. I told them how happy I was here in this new place that I have been trying so hard to make become home for the past seven months. It was officially seven months on Friday. I got on the plane to leave this new home by the sea feeling like it actually was become home. And when I came home, I wasn't quite as certain. Like I said, I feel soggy.

I want so desparately to feel settled. After all, that's what I am -- a settled pastor. I'm supposed to be settled, aren't I? But, I don't feel totally home yet. I really wish I did. But, I don't know how to transform that prayer into reality. I don't know how to make that soggy, hollow feeling be anything other than a lamenting prayer.