I was talking with a former colleague of mine yesterday. He was kind enough to let me bend his hear for a while. So many things in my life have been wearing at me. I don't hate my job, but it really doesn't provide a lot of intellectual stimulation. You can only ask people how the weather is so many times before you start to going bonkers.
I truly miss being able to be "smart." One of the things that helps is one of my coworkers is a thinker so we can have some intriguing conversations. Otherwise, it becomes just another line of lattes and caramel frappuccinos.
I also really enjoyed preaching and leading worship the past two weeks, but I am a bit apprehensive of the rector returning. She is very nice, but she is also very proper. Maybe that is one of my downfalls, but I am not really a "proper" person. I like to think of myself as a comfort model. (Heaven knows I have gained my share of cushion.) And I feel like I have to become something that I am not just to serve in the church. It took me 41 years to come out, I don't want to start hiding all over again.
My colleague cautioned me that stress can take on two forms: It can grind us down to nothing or, if we have faith, it can be like sandpaper in the hands of a craftsman and form us into a work of art. My problem: to the piece of wood, they both feel the same.
I want to believe that God is at work sanding away the rough edges. I want to believe that all of this is for a purpose. I want to believe that eventually Nick and I will come out of this and be thankful for the experience. But right now, that is difficult to see.