So Sue Me

It's Thursday and the weekend is farther away that I'd like it to be.  It's chilly out and summer's back is broken.  I'm plopped down at my mega-desk where I can barely reach the JuJuBees in the corner so I content myself with chewing stale gum.  I'm pulling out my increasingly thin hair as I try to plot a course for our church educationally from here through spring.  The food pantry closed two hours ago and our church offices are quieter than I like them to be.  My brain is already half way to St. Charles where we will dine with our kids, grandkids, and friends tonight.  And a recently ended vacation is trying to suck me backward to the upper peninsula of Michigan where the white fish know my name and the leaves have all committed suicide.

And that is today in a nutshell.

Somehow I don't think Jesus schedule looked like my schedule.  I think He lived every minute with a laser focus boring into the lives and needs of others.  But are you like me?  Do you let the obligations of what appears to be need hold you back from what you absolutely KNOW to be needs?  (And do you see the difference?)  Shouldn't I kick this desk to splinters if it keeps me from getting up and going about the active business of loving one person?  Serving one soul?  Meeting one need? 

I dropped by my caffeination station yesterday.  A woman from our church was there and she greeted me with a "Hello, Pastor."  I returned the greeting and then knocked her over because she was blocking my way to my liquid crack.  (Just kidding about half of that last sentence.  Guess which half.)  After I paid for my drink, the manager of the store, a bearded gentlemen who would look more at home teaching at Princeton than managing a Quick Mart, (thank you, Great Recession,) ran his fingers across his hairy chin, looked at my quizzically, and said, "Did she call you 'Pastor?'"  "Yup.  She did."  We stood there for an awkward amount of time, me waiting for a follow-up question and him mulling over my original answer.  And then he said, "I'm sorry.  I'm just replaying all of our previous conversations in my mind trying to remember what I've said to you."  I've known him for about 6 months and I guess the subject of what I do with my life had never come up.  He had never asked and I had never felt the nudge.  You know.  "The Nudge."  That moment when God tells you to get involved in someone's life.  If I jump before I feel The Nudge I will probably screw things up.  So I've learned to wait.  (God is a lot smarter than I am.  And His timing is better.)  The guy isn't just a number to me.  And that's good because I forget numbers every day.  He's a guy.  A very hairy guy.  I've baptized and buried people from Quick Marts before.  So I take my caffeination and hairy guys seriously.

But here is my point.  That feels so much more "right" than sitting at a desk does.  He's a person.  My desk is a former tree.  I do love trees but I prefer people.  And I feel a constant pull ... a continual tug ... to be with people.  To build relationships.  To win the right to care and maybe be of use to someone.

Sooooo ... I'm leaving my office now.  I'm leaving the pulp behind and I'm going in search of flesh and blood.  This may be a boring blog post but my brother yelled at me about 2 weeks ago that I hadn't blogged in 5 weeks.  (Hi, Jim!)  I guess it's been 7 now.

So sue me.