As I enter the first words of this entry, I want to note that it is 7:02 a.m. on Friday morning, the 19th of October. In about 3 hours, a crew of strangers will enter our house, seize our possessions and start putting them in boxes. Some to disappear for three to five years and some to disappear for roughly two months or so. Long enough to take a leisurely ocean cruise down the West Coast, through the Canal, and back up the East Coast till it crosses the Atlantic. I’ve been making jokes about what kind of cocktails my stuff will be served or if it will get a cabin with  a view. I’m moving beyond the joking stage now.

I should be working on a sermon right now, not a blog post. I have this island of calm and a preaching deadline of 9:30 a.m. Sunday morning. But the sermon seems to have curled up in the back of my brain like a sleeping cat pointedly ignoring that feather on a string toy.

Last weekend a group of friends came together and participated in a grand and long awaited service of ordination. I am now officially The Rev. Which is awesome. But slightly overshadowed by the pending arrival of the-strangers-who-will-take-our-stuff. At least at the moment.

A life long friend and her daughter came to town for the Ordination Service. She gave me a gift. Several actually but this is the one I want to write about. She said that she had heard that no matter what happens, we should say, “Fantastic!”  If the plane is cancelled, then say, “Fantastic! Now I get to stay in an airport hotel!”  If a cold settles into our bodies, we should say, “Fantastic, now I get to lie down on the couch and take naps.” Which is what happened earlier this week. I lost Monday and Tuesday to this gigantic energy sucking virus. I lost Wednesday to taking Jake to the airport and a grand farewell party for the beloved. Which left yesterday for taking on a to-do list that was behind by three days.

“Fantastic,” I say. “Now I get to find out again, that Grace is still available and that moving  still happens. Even if its not as decently nor in order as I had hoped it might be.”

“Fantastic,” I say, “Now I  get to experience first hand how it is that no one is ever really ready to move. No one. And yet, moving still happens.”

“Fantastic,” I say.”I am now ordained and equipped to go out on adventure and Call that is mystery.”

“Fantastic,” I say. “I get to trust God because there is no alternative.”



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