I heard an interview with my favorite author the other day, Colson Whitehead (I’m a hipster about him, btw. Been reading him for 20 years now. Get back to me when you’ve read The Intuitionist and Apex Hides the Hurt.). He said that in the last 18 months, he’s lost the ability to read for pleasure. I was so sad that this mind I adore, who has shown us all so many incredible things, couldn’t hold space for anything other than getting through the work day. It also made me feel seen and not alone. I’ve suffered the same fate.
In a week or so, it will have been a year since I stood in front of a new congregation and accepted the invitation to be their pastor. This last year of moving on top of pandemic has stretched and challenged me like I’d have never before believed. It’s been good, but there were so many things I wasn’t prepared for. But we never are. Mostly, I’ve grieved the loss of any kind of expansive personal pursuit. I’m a boundary pusher by nature, and I’ve just not had the energy to gear up for a push.
More than a few things in my life have become “normal” recently. Probably not normal, but at least “the way they were.” I’m shooting more photos, I can read for a reason other than writing a sermon, and I’ve been running again. I sprained my knee earlier in the summer, but a couple weeks ago I finally got out on the road and it felt good and normal.
There’s a phrase in the Bible I love: “He came to himself.” It’s when someone has been a bit nutty and lost and they remembered who and where they were. I feel like I’ve come to myself again. Lots of people haven’t reached this point yet, but I’m hearing about more and more people who have. I’m praying it starts to come in waves soon.