Category: Transformation

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” December 29, 2023

I woke up thinking about my mother this morning During our daily phone call during her retirement, she would usually tell me what she had done that day. ”I cleared out the drawer underneath my desk,” or “I emptied out the closet in dad’s old office.”  She said it with a satisfied sense of accomplishment, often adding “I have to do at least one thing a day, then I can rest.” I never really understood why she couldn’t rest to begin with, after all she was retired.

I’m starting to get it. One of the challenging things I have found in this stage of life is that after so many years of a packed calendar, I now have a lot of empty spaces. As someone who has always longed for more solitude and silence in her life, you would think that this is a good thing. At first, it was glorious (minus the detour for heart surgery), but after a while, I realized something. Although I was still basking in the silence of the mornings, meditating, reading, and writing, by noon I began to feel restless, and even, dare I say it, bored!

Yes, I know, there are many things I can be doing, good work to volunteer for, justice to advocate for, peace to demonstrate for, democracy to protect. And yes, I know I am not done with all of that, but I do not want to simply redo an earlier phase of life without knowing what this one is for. I could easily once again get caught up in a whirlwind before I ever find my ground. Neither do I want to float through half of my days wondering what I’m still here for. This is not restful, it is disorienting. 

So, back to Ann, my mother. I think mom firgured out a key to a successful transition to retirement. After days filled with service in her occupation as director of volunteers in a large nursing home/assisted living facility, she may have felt unmoored as I do in open time. There is something, however, that can stem that feeling whatever you are, or are not, currently engaged in. Livng with intention. Each day she seemed to set an intention for her day, whether it be to clear out a drawer or a closet, visit a friend, anything that raised her motivation and feeling of accomplishment when done. 

This is different than just “keeping busy.” Setting an intention raises one’s focus and engages the will. Why is this important? My recent experiences of restlessness and boredom feel like having lost not only the energy, but the will, to do or be anything. I may have a number of admirable goals, but somehow have lost the ability to reach toward them. I am living much of my day without a sense of intention, without making a firm decision, to change my circumstances or anyone else’s.

Mom, I understand now why you couldn’t rest until you got something done, until you accomplished your intended goal. It fed your desire to be of use, to be of service, without which you would always be restless and a little bored. You knew you still had it in you to accomplish what you set out to do. And you always did do wonderful things with your life, inspiring your friends and family. 

So now, it is my turn. In this retirement phase, I need to return to living with intention. I can start small – such as handling one of the piles of folders in my hermitage, filing or recycling as need be, not expecting to get everything done at once. I may feel accomplished enough to take on another tomorrow. But only if I start my day with intention. I wish I had my mother to call and talk about it. But it will feel good to exercise the will in small ways, because I feel bigger challenges coming. I want to be able to say “yes” with all my heart. 

  

 

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 23, 2023

It is one of those perfect Maine summer days, low 70’s, crisp air, brilliant blue sky, and two competitive hummingbirds chattering next to me at the feeder. Make that three. A little male just chased the two females into the tree. I thought that season was over!

This is the first day since last year that I am writing in my screen tent on the deck. I don’t really know what took me so long. Although our prairie has been cut down to grass with hay on the side, I am surrounded by pink, purple, and white phlox, hundreds of black-eyed susans, bright orange nasturtium, and can hear our solar-powered fountain gently splashing in the bird bath. Certainly a more pastoral scene than my corner of the couch offered.

Now that I think about it, since retirement I may have been avoiding the spaces I equated with doing my work. I have written many a sermon/message in this tent. The most joyful part of my work hands-down. I also did a lot of liturgy planning and hymn writing at my desk in front of the wide living room window. It always gave me inspiration, like the osprey spreading its wings and the dragon fly lifted on the breeze. The trees in every season spoke to a different phase of the year and the heart. The empty branches rising in prayer and spring leaf buds hinting at rebirth. The dawn sky of Advent wearing the blue of hope and promise. But lately, I have been using the desk only for e-mail or word processing on the computer, never upon which to write. Any creative activity since January was done in one corner of the sofa. I did most of my grieving and my healing there under an afghan made for me by a dear friend. It was my refuge.

So what brings me outside today? What has changed? Perhaps I am moving from denial of what I have lost in the last seven months to acceptance. Joel and I participated in the installation of a colleague as pastor of another church on Sunday. It was strange putting on our clergy robes and stoles once again. But it was a reminder that even though we have let go the position of pastor at First Church, we are still ordained as pastor/teacher in the wider United Church of Christ. We are still called to serve the church and the world. It will simply have to take another form and be in a new place. Isn’t this the pattern of growth? To let go of one particular thing to open our arms to wider experience?

At the beginning of the installation service, the pianist played “Here I Am, Lord.” This was sung at my ordination service in Ohio. I was immediately transported back to that day in Septamber of 2000. It seemed that only yesterday I was taking the vows of ordination and feeling the weight of the hands upon my head as the Spirit was called to fill me and guide me on my way. A part of me was thinking I wish I could do it all over again. On the other hand, a deeper part knows that I am not the same woman anymore, except that I am still burning with a desire to know, love, and serve God in whatever form she manifests herself to me.

Finally, just before I set myself up to write in my tent, I was flipping through TV channels after the news. Sunddenly, there was Josh Fitterling, the new designated interim pastor at The First Church, leading worship on the local access channel. My first impulse was to flip on by, not wanting to deal with my feelings. But then, I just stopped and watched. I noted that he was preaching from the lectern, as I used to do, and not the raised pulpit. And yes, he belonged there. It was his turn to find himself at the heart of that good community. It was his turn to speak. To lead prayer. To love and be loved by the people. It is my turn to sit here on my deck in the summer breeze, listening to the racket of the ravens above me, the zooming by of the hummingbirds, and the whisper deep down in my soul – “Be still. Get ready to open your arms and your heart ever wider.” And I answer, “Yes.”