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Why do I have such a hard time remembering what I already know? I’m not sure if you ever have this problem. But I am very gifted at learning a spiritual lesson and then getting amnesia. And then I learn it again in a whole new arena with a different set of circumstances. One of these lessons that pops up again and again in my story is that God doesn’t follow my plan. I (be it happily or kicking and screaming) am following God’s.
For instance, I was 6 days past my due date with EJ and was handing my gynecologist a typed-up birth plan which carefully laid out my preferences for a natural, medicine-free birth complete with a doula. She graciously accepted it and informed me that she was “about to run over my birth plan with a Mac truck.” EJ was breech, overdue, underweight, and was coming out via C-section in a few hours. This was so not-my-plan.
I like to draw up (and type out) plans. It’s not all bad; some of it is fun. Like brainstorming, dreaming, stretching my creativity muscle. But admiring and clinging on to my drafted life plans inevitably leads to a forgetfulness. I so readily forget that my God is in charge. And not in a didactic or prescriptive way. In a gentle, loving, cozy way. When I remember that it’s not all up to me and that I don’t have to force square pegs into round holes, I can lean into the present moment with something resembling peace.
God is swirling around ever and always working. Whether I’m despairing at our warring world and the horrors of what we do to each other or whether I’m fretting about the logistics of after-school sports pickups – God has got me. God has got all of us. Whether we are waiting or arrived; late or on time; desperate or joyful; buoyant or deflated. God has got us.
Our family is packing up our house and our memories. As we fold our clothes into cardboard, we are simultaneously grateful, sad, excited, and scared. Stuart’s job is taking us to Sarasota, Florida – the Sunshine state. The beach is beautiful, the city is big (ger than here), and the accents are Southern and Northern, too! We are slated to find our way to I-75 south on Friday, December 15.
I want to say thank you. Thank you for being the church family that welcomed me here as an 11-year-old girl (one year younger than EJ, one year older than Evie). Thank you for raising me up with the firm and certain knowledge that God is always with me and that God loves me. Thank you for supporting us as Stu and I got married and started our life together, for sending me off to seminary with prayers and textbook money, for enveloping our children with Christian love and humor. And then teaching THEM that God is always with them and that God loves them. And then inviting the Buckley kids to show others that love.
And finally, a very personal thank you for teaching me how to be a pastor. You watched the Church ordain me in the SSPC gym online during Covid. You listened to my sermons, guided me through officiating weddings and funerals, entrusted me with your good, bad, and uglies. Words aren’t wide enough to hold all the gratitude I feel.
This is a special church; you love BIG. And that is living the gospel if I’ve ever seen it. It’s funny - I want to use Paul’s words right now: “stand firm.” I want to say remember the ground our sweet church rests upon. Remember the many saints who have walked through the doors and worshiped God in this precious place. Remember that the neighborhood just outside those doors is aching for connection with your love, with God’s love.
So there you have it, St. Simons Pres. Stand firm. Love big. And don’t ever forget (for long) that God is in charge. It’s how Jesus lived. And you are following so very closely your Lord and Savior. Buckleys will miss you all like mad.
Love,
Kate
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