The World's Quietest Robin Still Sings

The past week has been interesting.  I have watched hail and snow fall like it was a deep winter blizzard, sat outside in short sleeves and soaked up the sun, enjoyed the very early morning sky and its stars, and saw my first robin (Thursday).  I almost missed the robin - as is often the case when it comes to unexpected blessings.  I was walking from the church to my car when I heard the faintest of bird songs - almost too quiet to hear!  I looked up, and there was my first robin of spring, singing in a most tentative way.  Perhaps the earlier flurries made it question the wisdom of a full-throated ode to spring.  Maybe there were no competitors for territory near by.  Maybe the poor thing was too cold to sing!  Or maybe the full song has yet to emerge for this bird.  Maybe it still needs time.

It is said that when a robin comes into your life you can expect new growth to occur in a variety of areas - and it is also said that you have to sing your own song if you want this new growth to occur.  I confess that I, like the robin, am singing my song a bit tentatively right now.  Change, be it in the seasons or in other aspects of life, can leave one feeling quiet and a bit subdued.   I know this is true of humans, but perhaps robins have their own psychic version of adjustment and acceptance.

I have resigned as Senior Pastor at Boise First - a decision that was weighed out with buckets of tears and baskets of hope.  It was not an easy decision to make, yet when time came for a decision, it was the only one that made sense - for everyone.  The church and I are now free to grieve the pain of parting, celebrate the work we have done together, and look forward to what comes next as our ministries part.  The tears continue - I keep tissue in the pocket of my preaching robe, so I am ready for the moment after worship when I join someone in sorrow - leaving people you love (or being left) is painful - it hurts!  Even though I hope this will ultimately be for the best, it still hurts.  And I grieve...

...and I see the robin.  And the buds on the trees.  And the early morning light.  I see the signs of new life opening all around me.  And I hope.

I do not know yet where I will land, nor do I know the journey this church will take during its transition time.  I will stay with them until the end of April;  what happens after that is knowledge God has yet to share!

And that is surprisingly ok.  I note with interest that I am not feeling anxious about the future (although one of the very shrill voices in my head says I should be extremely anxious).  Instead, I feel quite calm about going through the search and call process, and trusting the Spirit to lead me to a church where we will have a good fit, and minister together for many years to come.

I have done several "search and call processes" since I was ordained many years ago, but this one is entirely different.  In the past, I have gone to wherever I sensed the greatest need, and felt a match between the church's need and my training/gifts.  This time, it is a different journey.  I sense that I need to go to a reasonably healthy church, and so instead of going where I sense the greatest need, I am doing the search through my heart, and listening for where my heart tells me to go.  And that brings me back to another quality of  "robin medicine" - robins, with their creativity, energy, and commitment to raising the next generation, are said to live from the heart.

May I learn the lesson of the robin, and allow my heart to lead me to my next home.

Singing my song quietly and tentatively,
Kim

The Mystery of Timing - or - Life's Vocation

As I ponder the salt and light of tomorrow's sermon, I watch the snow/sleet/rain falling outside and realize that if this had been last week's weather, I would never have made it back for Sunday worship.

How much different this week might have been!  Or would it...

But here we are - and I ponder just what it means to bring light and salt into all places of life - even those that feel dark and tasteless.

Light brings clear seeing - helps things to grow - allows us to see color - gives power - can bring healing when focused - and keeps us from tripping and falling in the dark.  Salt can preserve, was used in worship, and can enhance the flavor of food.

To enhance
To see clearly
To help bring forth growth
To see color (diversity)
To be empowered
To bring healing
To guide to safety
To preserve

To work with God to be salt and light in our blessed world - wherever we are - whatever our circumstances...sounds like a life's vocation to me.

Pondering life while listening to Russian Chant and watching the snow fall,
Kim