I am searching for a new vocation in life.
I guess that would go hand in hand with admitting that we (as meek human beings) can decide upon what our vocation in life will be and at the same time, completely neglecting God's hand in it, but all the same, I think that is a risk I am willing to take.
In light of the past 24 hours, I think I am willing to honestly and openly admit that I could truly never become someone who lived their life from within a church... it would be way too difficult.
Granted, I understand that no vocation is ever easy and that there are challenges and difficulties along the road and sometimes it would get rather bumpy. However, having to say goodbye to a church family that I grew up with, learned from, and knew God through - I think having to do it once in my lifetime is more than enough.
I had someone tell me that this is a poor decision to make based upon little to no factual evidence, but really, let's think about this...
How can you say good bye to someone who has literally seen you through the darkest moments of life? Can you? I mean, maybe I just have attachement disorders or something, but I will still march down to the other end of the hall and ask "Deany Questions", address sticky notes as MJ, and go to her when I am most elated or shaken from my pillars. But I can, because she is right down the hall.
But honestly, how can you say good bye to someone who was willing to put their entire day aside to do nothing more than comfort you in moments of trial and shock? Who will patiently drop the subject of anointing when you freak out and explain that it is for the dying and that you are not dying and who will taxi to the Cross Cancer Institute after being in a horrid car accident just so that the first time you walked through it, you were not alone.
How can I say farewell to someone who knew all about me, about the pain in my heart and the longing I had to serve, and who even knew my name before I stepped foot in her church; who welcomed me with open arms (although had me a little creped out at the beginning), encouraged me to share my story only by sharing hers first, who pulled out her rosary in the middle of an Anglican Church to prove her point, who offered to journey with me before she even knew all about me?
How could I ever imagine saying adios to an amazingly inspirational woman who literally took me into her arms when I couldn’t get through a service without crying after having lost my grandfather to cancer and then being diagnosed myself; who held my hand spiritually, emotionally, and physically until I had the courage to walk forward on my own and who sat with me when telling the HPO.
Como se dice, hasta leugo to a source of peace and strength: to a motherly woman who truly sat in silence for hours when I couldn’t cope with a second round of chemotherapy and when I finally tried to speak, said, “It’s okay… let them come.” And when we sat in the empty Cathedral, clutching to a stuffed animal like there was no tomorrow, I tried turning away to hide the tears when she put her arm around me, pulled me close and said, “it’s okay to cry you know… I sure do sometimes. I won’t let you fall, do you believe me? Do you trust me? It’s true you know.” And who upheld her word, never letting me fall that entire time, even if my own family did. Who arranged email correspondence with a parishioner from Church so that I could speak Spanish while away from school and who made it her point to fill me in on what was happening around the church and with the youth while I was gone.
Como se dice, hasta tarde to a woman who had most honestly earned the title of Priestly-Motherly type – who made an absolute point of visiting at least once a week with communion, prayers, and oil in tow – regardless of the weather or crappy bus schedules, who was completely willing to wear a mask so that I wouldn’t feel like a complete idiot, washed her hands, left the room to cough, and was totally content just sitting on the end of the bed so I could enjoy the presence of her company. Who would pick up a card and get the entire Tuesday night prayer group to sign it just to let me know that they were thinking of me.
I can’t, but at the same time, I know how stupid it is to say, “let’s keep in touch” or “let’s do tea” because the reality is that it doesn’t happen.
And so, sitting here in a fit of tears, I have realized that there is no way I could be a priest. Even if she is excited, on some level, there are a lot of relationships that probably won’t carry over to the new church because it doesn’t even exist yet. Until Palm Sunday, I couldn’t even stop in and visit her at the new church.
I understand now the heartache and difficultly in leaving a church from another perspective and it doesn’t look any easier. I want sooo badly to talk to her, but until I can actually bring it up without tears welling in my eyes, I think I better wait. Darn it! Now the comment on a friend’s blog makes way more sense. I wish I was more perceptive on these things!!
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