So there I was, excited and not sure how it happened. Wondering how I could focus enough in the snippets of time I have here and there to write a sermon. Wondering how I, who hates to drive with a passion, was going to make the one-hour-each-way commute three times a week. But I was excited.
Our conversation took place on a Wednesday, and on that same day I also had a great conversation with the Chair of the Pastor-Parish Relations Committee. Between 9:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. the deal had been done and I was thrilled. Not lazy. Not lethargic. Not dread-filled. Thrilled. I decided not to start that Sunday but instead went the next Wednesday. I spent the afternoon with the PPR chair and enjoyed dinner with the congregation, who turned out en force for potluck dinner and Bible Study. By the time I got home I was worn out. And happy. What made me even happier was that Joshua and Clare couldn't have cared less that I wasn't around. Phew.
And as I maintained my energy and enthusiasm I realized the difference between a job and a calling. Everything else I've done--or considered doing--since we moved to Jackson (other than taking care of my children, of course) has been a job. This is a calling. This gives me energy. It inspires me like nothing else has. It allows me to use some gifts that I haven't visited in awhile.
I still don't know what this means for my future, when I'll go back, whether I'll go back full-time or part-time, what kind of appointment I'd like to have. I do know this: No other experience in my life has cemented for my understanding of "call" more than this has. It is part of my soul now. I will not forget.