A decision made, a heart exposed

It's Christmas Eve, on a cold, cold morning in middle Louisiana, and I've come to a decision.

I'm heading toward the end of these blogs, I believe. I've read in the past few days many blogs that are much better than my own, much deeper, much better written, much better read. So, I'm signing off on Dec. 31 of this year after four plus years of five-day-a-week writing.

It's been a difficult year, for a thousand reasons. No one in my own conference cares about this blog, to speak of, and it takes more time and thought than it appears, so I think I need to be concentrating on things other than babbling. I've no more to say than the next person, no more insight and less theological background than most. This blog, then, serves no real purpose.

I've enjoyed every bit of it, actually, for this is what I've always been, a writer. But I'm not called to be a writer any longer. I'm called to be a pastor, at least I'm fairly certain still that's the case. So, I'm going to concentrate on that as best I know how. I'm going to pastor my flock, and I'm going to stop offering opinions that often insight nothing but folks talking about me somewhere other than to my face. I never meant this to be this way. It was never my intent, but sometimes we don't get what we intend, now do we?

I'm reminded this morning of a time when I was eight and we went to West Virginia for Christmas. It was bitterly cold as I recall, which is amazing since often I can't remember where I was 30 minutes ago but I can snatch a memory of 52 years ago out of the blue.

But it was also the only white Christmas of my life, really. Snow was falling all day and there was a foot on the ground when night came.

I remember Santa was said to be traveling despite the conditions, and the Fairmont, W.Va., TV station gave a report of where he might be.

I was sent to get something out of a suitcase, and I found the transistor radio in the suit case that I had asked Santa for. Gears clicked in, thoughts secured a hold and suddenly life and Christmas changed. The innocence in which I lived then is simply not the innocence I know now -- or don't, as the case may be.

I love my wife. I love my children. I adore my grand children. I love my churches, and the folks in those churches. I love good coffee, and I adore fast food. I like a good newspaper in the morning, good writing all day long. I love my Saints. I love and rescue pets of all kinds, and if I had my druthers, there would be no homeless folks or homeless animals in the world tonight.

I'm too negative, and not nearly as filled with faith as I should be, but that's just who I've always been (though I detest that expression for it admits defeat all too easily).

But I've come across things in our lives that even a writer can't write about, feelings even a vulnerable writer can't describe, and the pain and the loss and the unknown is just too much. I'm just, flat done.

I'll finish this up on a final note of the next few days, and I'll continue to write a column for a couple of papers around here (which like this I do for free and wonder why), but I'm just flat done.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas. I'll take tomorrow off, come back Thursday and begin the countdown. During the past four years I've been to Israel, seen beloved pets die, gone through moves and career change. But nothing actually comes as close to having a kidney removed than stopping this thing.

But we'll both get used to it, reader. I love you guys. I've tried to make this work. It's been called That's Life for 15 years since this "blog" started as a bulletin insert in the Gretna United Methodist Church bulletin when I was a lay person trying to figure out how I could help and serve.

It's still about life. But life is hard. Paul said it this way in his letter to the church in Rome all those years ago. "We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose."

I could go on and on, but I won't. What I want to do is wish you the best day you can possibly have, the best coming year, the best health, the best work in the church, the best moments with your families, the best meals, the best of the best. That's ultimately what days like these, with snow or without, with family or even without, are all about.

Merry Christmas.