
It is decision time.
The first Sunday in September was the last day of my summer internship in my home church. This concludes my year of practical and academic work for the ELCA and brings me to a point where I must write a candidacy essay and submit my application for final approval to receive a call and be ordained as a Lutheran pastor.
And now I find myself paralyzed.
I remember when making huge, life-changing decisions came more easily. Gail and I have always considered ourselves fairly adventurous and open to change.
Leave home and go to Vermont after college with no job prospects? Pack up the VW — see ya!
Decide to move to Chicago for seminary (with no place to live, no money, and no connections where we’re going)? Why not?
Relocate to Indianapolis, an entirely new place to us, with a young family? Sure.
Get on a plane and take mission trips halfway around the world to India, leaving our kids at home? Count me in.
Take a senior pastor position in a another town in a troubled church and uproot our growing family yet once more? OK.
Leave evangelicalism and everything we’ve known about faith and church and ministry in our adult lives to seek a home in a mainline Lutheran church? Do it.
These are a few of the big transitions we’ve made, and I’m sure many of you have made even more radical, life-altering changes in your lives. We, perhaps like you, were enthusiastic, idealistic, naive, trusting and believing that God was guiding us. And, looking back, I see blessings, provisions, and encouragements along the way. We have wonderful relationships all around the world. We have great memories of special experiences of God helping us and using us to minister to others.
However, I’m older now, and, it is hoped, wise enough to recognize that it has been (and always is) a more complicated story than that.
In my enthusiasm to follow God’s leading, I have often presumed upon the help of others, little realizing how much I was putting on their shoulders.
Though I tried to take my children’s perspectives into account when preparing for big changes, I wasn’t nearly as sensitive and available to them in the midst of those transitions as I should have been. Our family bears some scars.
Friendships changed in ways that others were not ready for. With every “hello” to a new experience in life there is a “goodbye.” Taking a new road means getting off the old road. Embracing a new friend in a new place often means one has had to leave another friend behind feeling bereft.
I guess my greatest fear is that it is so hard to “count the cost” ahead of any major decision. You think you are covering all the bases but you never do.
Watchman Nee once wrote that when you see someone putting his hand to the plow, you will usually see that his other hand is wiping away tears. I didn’t always shed tears before — so eager was I to move forward. Now, the tears come just considering the possibilities.
In the past, in my youthful enthusiasm and naivete, I always looked forward and celebrated new things to come.
Now, having taken many roads, I celebrate the value of what we have now, and find myself more loathe to leave it behind.
Is this merely the hesitation of age? An admission of less energy and vitality? A deeper unwillingness for adventure?
Or is it a proper, hard won caution, knowing that decisions have consequences, many of which I cannot see, and which will affect others in ways I might find troubling?
Of course, I could always follow Yogi Berra’s advice: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”
Well, that’s where I am at the moment.
* * *
Today’s Artwork is by Rob Siverson at Fine Art America









