When we're done, we go home

The previous career, that whole journalism thing, provided a rather interesting spiral of life (not necessarily circle, but a spiral. Because of my life's journey, in which I found a God who loved me so desperately much while I was at an advanced age, there are people who once worked for me who later became people for whom I worked. In other words, I kept demoting myself over the years so that I might do more and more ministry. I literally passed some folks going up and coming back down in my career.

A couple nights ago, I received a call from one of those persons, a delightful guy whom I've known for well more than 20 years. He was looking for career, and as he called it, moral advice. Over a few minutes of a phone call, he described a job offer from a newspaper in Louisiana that included full-time pay and full-time benefits and a full-time move versus what he's doing now, correspondent or springer pay for stories done from the house he and his family share in Slidell. He told me how much he loves writing at home, getting what is the inexplicable rush that comes from doing a job well, from seeking and finding inspiration from people sharing their stories with someone who at some point found out they loved telling those stories as a way of making a living.

I listened, an acquired gift not sought, and finally told him that it seems to me he had been offering himself the answer all along. I told him that happiness can not be bought and sold and though insurance benefits seems to be the key to life these days, they really aren't. A breath of silence on his end was followed by, "I guess I really have known what I want to do all along."

Though I am not adept at making plans, particularly plans that I will adhere to over a great deal of time, I'm particularly interested in discussing the idea of plans. From early on, I had a plan, a plan for a career, a plan for life as it were. I sort of still do, though the plan has really, really, really changed.

Now I know who the planner is, whereas I once was sure that I was that person.

God says to the prophet Isaiah in one of my favorite verses, "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." Does that mean God has planned each day of our lives and we're simply tasked with accomplishing that plan, and if we do not handle it daily, we've failed? Do we get a cosmic to-do list at the beginning of each day and are given the task of checking off boxes (talk about a "magic-marker" indeed).

I understand the school of thought that believes that. I disagree, though. I believe rather handily that God has plans for us, with the ultimate plan being we receive the grace (and thus salvation) He has designed for us. I don't think the Devil is necessarily in the details. Actually, I think that's where life is lived, out there in the details.

I believe God's plans include our living to the fullest, living sacrificially, living well. Does that mean that if we attempt to achieve the plan (and will) of God we will be rich, in good health and things will always go swimmingly? That, I'm afraid, I don't believe and I don't believe scripture teaches. Heck, Jeremiah himself -- who had those remarkable discussions with the master planner of master planners -- struggled with career choice and career outcome.

So, what's the idea of all this plans business?

About four years ago, right at 1,000 blogs earlier (this is the 998th), as my life changed measurably from one arena to another, we began pondering a trip -- Mary and I. We began to look into traveling to Israel as more than a mid-life moment. Seemed like a notion whose time had come. Seemed like the impossible would be achievable.

As August, 2009's flaming heat turned to the more manageable September and October and November led us into the holiday season, we planned for moving from our house into a parsonage for the first time, and it seemed every day brought new, unique challenges. It was a slow-burn life's arson.

I retired -- (from a career in journalism, writing, editing, designing for 34 years) at the end of September, with the official date being Nov. 24,  then I waited for the slow walk out through paper work and vacation day burn offs and such.

I retired -- (from what I once thought was the only life and only "plan" I would ever know) then when person after person asked what I was going to do after I retired, I kept telling them I was going to climb the hills around the Holy City, something I knew nothing about.

I retired -- (from what I knew, to what I would know, the daily routine, from interviewing subjects, from the thrill of feature writing, from "job" and from "career") then got busy, busy, busy.

I had not given a great deal of thoughts to planning before the Times-Picayune suddenly decided it would give those of us who were desirous of life-change a year's salary, a year's benefits, a year's slide into retirement, and I was the first person at the New Orleans newspaper to say "yes" to what would become the dish called difference served cold, like revenge and justice.

That was four years ago, and the trip to Israel was as memorable and wonderful as anything we've ever done. The trip into full-time ministry has been alternatively exciting and/or stressful, then boring and/routine.

There have been days and even weeks where I'm completely out there on my own and days and weeks where I'm wondering just how much of God's will and plans I really do know. I had gone into this thinking people simply wanted someone who was so devoted to them as their pastor he or she would do just about anything for them. I assumed if I was that person they would be renewed and inspired and they had just been hanging around waiting for the new, next Great Awakening that was coming roaring down the ol' spiritual tracks.

Well, no.

I found that in many churches people are accomplishing exactly what they want to, no more, no less. I was surprised to discover that some really, really don't want more ministry than what they have, don't want to serve more than they're serving, and they've been getting along famously without this new (old) full-time minister and no amount of teaching, continuing education, new programs, etc, will make a difference to them. I found that I wasn't the answer they'd been waiting for, in other words. I found that the hardest part of this new "career" was getting volunteers to do what they've been asked to do and that is the job, in many ways. In the old "career," I could boss persons into movement. In the new one, I could not. I had to lead. I had no real idea how to achieve that, either.

Now, we are following the same path as then. We're, Mary and I, actually saving to repeat the trip to Israel, and again we're making sacrifices and such as we explore avenues of earning money. I'm not sure at all we will be able to put away enough money to pay for this. I simply pray about it, pretty much every day, and try to do my best.

Slowly, we're discussing, Mary and I, the notion of retiring -- this time from the ministry at some point in the future. We're praying about paying bills off, changing the way we do things, thinking about what happens if we do this, that and the other. We're talking about burial insurance and things that I certainly never paid attention to before. As time passes, we're exploring more and more what seeking God's plan for the final parts of our lives means.

While doing all this, I came across (as I always do) some pertinent scripture. The story here in Luke's Gospel is of a man in the ministry, Zachariah, who has been called to perform priestly duties. He does, then receives a word from a heavenly visitor:

" But the angel said, “I am Gabriel, the sentinel of God, sent especially to bring you this glad news. But because you won’t believe me, you’ll be unable to say a word until the day of your son’s birth. Every word I’ve spoken to you will come true on time—God’s time.” Meanwhile, the congregation waiting for Zachariah was getting restless, wondering what was keeping him so long in the sanctuary. When he came out and couldn’t speak, they knew he had seen a vision. He continued speechless and had to use sign language with the people.

"When the course of his priestly assignment was completed, he went back home."

I think that ultimately describes life. It's chunks of doing our jobs, then finishing, then going back home. Do I want folks to ultimately say about all these things I've tried to accomplish they were done with great spirit and intent? Sure. Do I want a sense of accomplishment strung together like Christmas lights around the roof as a beacon to what has been and what will be? Absolutely.

But I think probably it's more like this in the end: When Zachariah was done, he went home. He packed it up, and went home. He couldn't talk about it all, but he put some things together and went home. He finished his calling, he went. Home.

Maybe in the end, at the end, during the end, life's plans come down to that moment when we simply do all we believe God has called us to do -- which invariably means teaching, preaching, praying, loving, passing along, and offering the Gospel as best the talents and gifts of God allow us to -- and when we're done, we go home. No more. No less. No beauty of perfection heaven and no firey brokeness hell. Just home, and not home. With God. Without.

Knowing home is where not the heart, but where God is, is a secret well kept and met.

When we're done, we go.

HOME.