Rest is the Condition for Restoration

A week on the coast is tonic for the soul. We have returned to a favorite seaside bungalow on a beautiful cove. It's quiet. The bed is comfortable. There is a Trader Joe's just minutes away. As we lift the morning shades, we see sailboats and small families of water fowl. The world is rightly ordered.

We are not disconnected, of course. Amtrack snakes along the coast within sight and sound; I haven't counted, but there might be twenty trains passing by each day. The local airport, just a few miles away, has a good bit of traffic in morning and late afternoon, suggesting the flights are for commuters enroute to more significant ports of departure.

My phone has rung a few times, mostly friends buzzing in. E-mail and text messages attempt to tether me to the world I've abandoned. So far, I've fielded requests for financial assistance, program scheduling, assistance in intervening in a stupid presbytery decision, and a baptism. It's just like being on the job. Except I'm not. Not this week. This week is for watching ducks.

Last night, we met a favorite nonagenarian for dinner and pre-celebrated next April's retirement. We chatted quietly in the corner of an ancient inn. Blue Note music swirled in the air and I enjoyed lobster ravioli in the added company of Lee Morgan, Hank Mobley, Wayne Shorter, and John Coltrane. How fun to chew in syncopation!

We stepped out of the restaurant to perceive the sea air is good for flowers. A garden of hydrangeas is flourishing - and so is this unnamed fountain of beauty. No clue what to call it, so it blooms anonymously. Beauty praises the Creator simply by being called forth. The world is better as a result.

The message? Pay attention. Slow down and open your senses. Marvel at those who imagined high bridges before they were built. Savor the crispy halloumi and the raspberry sorbet. Cherish long friendships. Receive fresh insights. Tap your feet. And look.

The primary task for a good vacation is vacating. Stepping out and slowing down. A gentle providence settles on the evening and lingers into the next day.

Now that the news is out

Last Tuesday, I began to announce my pastoral retirement. We put a letter to the congregation in the mail on the previous evening. Then I announced verbally to a gathering of church leaders. Many may have seen it coming, but were in suspended disbelief. 

Of course. It is my retirement, not theirs. And I've been plotting it, even rehearsing it, for a couple of years.

The church will be fine. There is a long runway of nine months before I hang up my pulpit gown on April 15. The board will establish a transition team in the fall. They will ask me to give them a brain dump of things I know and do. An interim job description will be crafted and a transitional minister will be recruited. There is already a shift in the wind. That's OK.

And I will be fine, too. My work with late career clergy for the denomination's CREDO program has helped me imagine a post-congregational life. I will begin with a six month sabbatical from church work, breaking it only briefly to help out a couple of colleagues. Frankly, I need the head space. My brain is prone to clutter. Spaciousness must be claimed.

Not that the future is an empty canvas. My musical adventures will continue. I will reinvest in my relationships with the people who are God-given gifts. Appropriate friendships will continue and wider friendships will develop. There are recipes to try and a thinner waistline to pursue. Just to name a few.

Meanwhile the news is out. The milkweed has left the pod. I'll be using this blog as a way to narrate where the seeds are landing.  

The futility of chasing the next big thing

One of my annoying qualities is how quickly I move on to the next Big Project. Something catches my fancy, I jump in, complete it, and then I'm onto something else. 

Later  I stumble across a previous project, and think, "How long ago did I finish this? Why didn't I enjoy it?"

Case in point: I love to make music with some great musicians. We recorded a concert in March. What a great night! Now the CD is at the manufacturer and sounds fantastic. The countdown is underway. I can't wait to share it with the world. We've started a small promotional campaign to get out the word.

This morning, I came across our last recording project, released just over a year ago. Still got boxes of those albums, on top of boxes of the previous recordings. Granted, CDs don't sell like they once did. Notable sales opportunities are rare. We don't order as many from the manufacturer as we once did. And yet I keep making more stuff.

Is this the curse of a creative soul? Or an imagination not balanced by retraint?

Or is this a slice of the human condition? This is how the book of Ecclesiastes sees us. An overachiever surveys his life, scanning his acquisitions and achievements. He was so busy moving from peak to peak that he doesn't even enjoy where he is or what he is doing. "Better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of desire," mused the Sage. "This also is vanity and a chasing after wind." (Ecclesiastes 6:9)

The antidote is to pause. To savor. To inhabit. To sink in. And to enjoy. 

Nothing needs to fills the empty space. It's enough to be full.

When a saint dies

When a saint dies

the music stops
the voice silences
the light goes out

for a while.

Such is the shock
of loss 

and absence.

When light shines again

we learn it was 

always reflected

It never originated

in the beloved

but in the Beloved.

The saint shines on,

only knowing

the Light.

And the darkness

shall never overcome it.

For Pauline,

7/10/2026

It's time to pick this up again

This blog has been dormant for a while. I'm sensing it is time to refresh it, especially as I continue to reflect on my life and work in light of God's presence. Stay tuned. 

The Tipping Point

Some beach time allows me the opportunity to catch up on that stack of books that pile up unread. Just finished Malcolm Gladwell's classic, The Tipping Point, and I liked it very much.

Why did I wait so long to read this? The explanation comes from the book itself.

The book was recommended to me nine years ago by the son of one of our church members. We were chatting in his mother's hospital room. He suggested the title and I wrote it down. But when I saw it sitting in a stack at a local bookstore, I didn't buy it. Not right away.

A few years ago, I picked up Gladwell's book Outliers during a late night cruise through Amazon.com. Gladwell had become known for the claim that we become good at something if we do it for 10,000 hours. He traced this through well-told stories of high-achievement people. I liked that book, saw The Tipping Point on Amazon for a couple of bucks, and added that to the shopping cart for my next purchase. It arrived and sat on the shelf of unread books.

Gladwell asks how change happens. Who or what is moved to make a difference? What are the circumstances that prepare for an epidemic? How does an idea or product become "sticky" enough to build momentum?

Hmm. A lot to think about.

Perhaps I sense the need to make some changes in my life. Or it's time to "catch up" with a generation that moves on without me. Or I can perceive my own undeveloped abilities as a "Connector", "Maven," or "Salesman." Or it is simply time to revise my environment and make it more conducive to joy.

So I chew on these things as I wipe the Jersey sand out of the page bindings, close the book in satisfaction, and return to wipe Aloe lotion on my suntanned legs.

Katie Carter, sports journalist

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