In this moment::
{since losing the cleaning account last month I've worked really hard at living in an attitude of abundance. i've had moments of success and moments of rocking, sea-sick inducing failure.}
{i've breathed, prayed, wondered and wandered. what should I be when I grow up?}
{i've learned that, more than anything, i want to make a difference – in the world, in the life of another human being, in my own heart – again.}
{i've learned that i'm ready to take risks again.}
{i've taken an 8-hour class, gotten a background check, learned CPR and first-aid so that, tomorrow, I can apply to be licensed to help people with developmental disabilities live fuller, more independent, more joyful lives.}
{i fully expect that just the opposite will be true. they will, no doubt, teach me.}
{i'm considering what it might take to go to school and earn my M.Div. i believe that being a hospice chaplain would be the most rewarding, intense, amazing job on the planet. mostly because i believe that death is a sacred journey and no one should have to be unprepared or should have to walk that way alone.}
{in coming to peace with the fear of losing things dear to me without the cleaning account, the most amazing thing happened – i got the cleaning account back.*}
{while i contemplated losing the house, i wondered how i could ever afford grad school. i must believe that abundance will find a way. or there will be a miracle.}
{i am awed by all these things, for they are holy.}
* i don't believe for even one second that I did anything "right" or "good" to get the account back, any more than I believe that I did anything "wrong" or "bad" to lose it in the first place. that's not the kind of theology i subscribe to.
2 comments:
Good news . . . getting the contract back. You should write a six-word story of the experience.
I think taking care of people is a good fit.
And that when we stop and get introspective, that's when the good stuff really happens for us.
Thanks for sharing your continuing journey.
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