So this is what retirement looks like. The day began pretty much as usual, waking with the sun. In the winter, it takes the alarm to wake me; in the summer, when the sun shines in my window at 5:30, I'm awake. It's quite convenient, since with my hearing loss, the alarm usually wakes Linda before me. She doesn't like getting up at 5:30. I can't say as it's my favorite pastime, but it is what it is.
Today I had a funeral. As I was waiting for the appointed time, pastor Joe came walking into the funeral home with the news that a dear friend and parishoner was in the hospital with an apparent heart attack or stroke. So after the committal service, I grabbed all the stuff I needed for the men's retreat tonight, dumped it all in the sidecar, and headed to the legion hall in Fluvanna for the funeral reception, where I had wonderful opportunities to talk with various members of the family. We had had tenuous connections years before when the sons of the deceased man had gone to school with a couple of my children, whom they remembered well. I didn't ask why. Some things are best left alone.
Funerals aren't fun times, but I am always humbled by the privilege I am given to step into people's lives at critical times in their lives; birth, baptism, marriage, divorce, death. That people invite me into these intimately sacred places never ceases to amaze me. So we talked. About life, and faith, and the bonds of loyalty that hold us together when life is falling apart. Hopefully, I'll have the opportunity to keep connected with them, to keep introducing them to Jesus.
After talking with the family, I headed to the hospital to check on my friend there. She was doing better, but will need to be there a little longer, as her situation is pretty serious. Her husband's health is also bad, so there's a lot on her plate. We talked, and I prayed for her. The words of my prayers always seem to me of so little use. I'm no doctor, and cannot prescribe medicine or perform surgery-the kinds of activities that actually make a difference. At least that's how it seems. Those weak and stumbly prayers are often the very tools God uses to initiate change that is often deeper and more significant than whatever the doctor orders.
Finally, I headed to the retreat, and was greeted by friends old and new. We ate together then gathered for worship, followed by communion around the campfire. Nothing particularly life-shaking. Or, maybe it was. In a conversation later with a few men from Park church, Pastor Joe told us about a young woman who prayed to receive Christ a few weeks ago. Every time he sees her, she tells him of something that the Lord has changed in her thinking or attitudes. We never know when or how the Word will take root in someone's soul. So we just keep sowing the seed, knowing that it's not the sowing that brings life; it's the seed. Ordinary days are the usual instruments in God's hands for the extraordinary things he wants to do.
I am grateful tonight for an ordinary day in this retiree's life, a reassurance that retirement isn't the end; it's simply an opportunity for a new beginning. I'm not sure yet just what direction it will take me, but I am listening close and praying hard because I don't want to miss it. I don't think God is going to let that happen.
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