Risky Business

My friend hates to go to the dentist. He takes exception when his wife—lovingly—calls him a weenie. He’s not afraid of going to the dentist, mind you. He hates it. These in his mind are two distinctly different things.

I believe my friend. Because I’m not fond of going to the dentist, either, and it’s not because I’m afraid of the pain. After all, Novocain was invented in 1904 and Novocain is my friend.

No, it’s not the possibility that going to the dentist is going to hurt. It’s the reality that going to the dentist is going to mean me lying flat in a chair with someone else’s hands in my mouth. 

Can’t move. Can’t talk. I feel helpless at the dentist and I hate it. She simply hits the button to recline the chair, and I start to sweat.

In case you were wondering, I don’t much like to fly, either. Do you see a pattern here?

I confess. I might have some control issues. But then, don’t we all? Or at least most of us? Enforced bedrest is great for about 24 hours and then all you want is to go to the bathroom by yourself without asking. I’ve heard it said more than once that the worst part of getting old—and no one thinks getting old is a snap—is the day when you hang up your car keys for the last time. And anyone who has sprained her ankle and had to depend upon her children to push the wheelchair? Yeah, I’m told you learn to use those crutches pretty quick.

And then illness strikes. Or you lose your job. Or your hopes and dreams for a great relationship fall apart. The future looks bleak. You don’t know which way is up. And the advice of your friends?

Let go and let God.

Is there an instruction manual for that?

Trusting that God is in the midst of our anxiety about now and then and yet to come requires intentional practice, lots of it, maybe a lifetime or so. It means going out on purpose and looking for uneasy, uncomfortable spaces to inhabit so that we get to know up close and personal those places and the feelings they engender. It means shaking up our routines and embracing the unexpected that will happen when we do that. It means opening the doors and the windows of our lives together that the high wind of the Holy Spirit might blow through us, trusting that the breath of God, scary and unpredictable as it can be, is in fact love in our midst.

For me—and the beloved gathered here in the community I treasure—trusting that God is in all of this means saying yes to  the uncertainty that comes with a pastoral sabbatical and welcoming this time as a blessed, life-giving, faith-building, disciple-growing, challenging adventure. 

And, the bonus? Well, for one thing, it will be great fun.

Now—if I just didn’t have to get on a plane……