It feels like I ran a marathon today. The grief is numbing. The anger has faded to an ache through all my muscles. Through my bones. Through my soul.
I think almost every minister in the Seattle area is gone. Today most were out of cell phone range, some even out of the country--I talked to lots of office staff, lots of us trying to figure out exactly what to do. I'm a DRE. I can't even invite people to our building because we don't have one. We had no vigil.
I feel so helpless.
Maybe it's taken me so deep because I work for my church. But something has become very clear for me. I don't just work for my church. I don't care that I'm on vacation. I am the DRE. This is a part of who I am. I can't take a break from it. I can step back, relax and let other people run things, but I can't take this sash off when we're in crisis. Nope.
So we'll join our neighbor churches in their vigils tomorrow. And on Sunday I'll have a great "story" about tragedy which will speak to us all. And I'll pull the youth together, and we'll offer a ritual and share our stories. And tomorrow my little note will go out to the congregation--no approval given, just me and the administrative assistant, because it feels like we're the only ones left right now.
Helpless.
Of course we're not really. We are standing on the side of love. But I kind of feel like I want to lie my tired bones down and rest for a bit.
Numb. And exhausted.
2 comments:
Hi, Kari, it's me. I know what you're talking about and feeling. I'm exhausted this morning from having no respite from this crisis or the mini-crises that pop up in congregations all the time. We know, you and I, that we will get through it, that we will keep putting one foot in front of the other, and that this is our true work---to care, to love, to grieve, to celebrate.
I'm thinking about you this morning.
Thanks so much Kit. You, too.
And off topic...but loved your rockin' music at the open mic--so cool that it was recorded.
That's what we all need, a good ol' jam session, or a hymn sing-a-long.
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