I used to write a list of achievable goals for the new year. At first, I was going to revive that series. But first (or maybe instead), I wanted to look back on 2023 and reflect on a few things I’m proud of.
A Year of Constant Adaptation
This year has been one of continued transition in my career. The rector (head pastor) of my church relocated in April, which threw my “curacy” (priest apprenticeship) into a bit of chaos. I ended up essentially running the church (with the help of many laypeople) for two months before an interim priest came in. Of course, during any personnel change, there are interpersonal and organizational adjustments to be made, and you just have to roll with the punches.
And, truly, all of that was good and necessary. I am thriving in ways I couldn’t imagine at the end of last year. I am, in most ways, happy. But it’s also a lot of work to navigate ongoing instability. Since my curacy ends in June, I am also already on the job market again, hoping to pin down a more permanent position in the next few months. I often work 6 days a week, and adding a job search onto that while also attempting to have a life has been at least as intense as grad school.
I also lamented a lot of things, both personal and political. I haven’t been able to find a community choir to sing with, which has been a real blow to my identity and removed a very effective coping mechanism for stress from my toolkit. I’m far away from much of my family and most of my longtime friends. A friend died in the spring, and others were diagnosed with scary illnesses. The world is seemingly trapped in a cycle of indifference and fear which is leading to horrific violence and exploitation.
When things feel particularly bleak or unsolvable, I often think of Jesus’ words: “The poor will always be with you” (Matthew 26:11). Some read this as an indictment on human ethics. But I increasingly lean on it for comfort.
It reminds me that you and I will not “fix” the world. We cannot, by ourselves, through self-flagellation and virtue signaling, remove all obstacles to thriving. But we can be the people who lower those barriers, who look around us and notice that things are not ok. We can be the people who make music and write poetry and pay attention and make the best of it. Not out of ignorance or toxic positivity, but because we know that it’s worth imagining a beautiful future even if it won’t be perfect.
In other words, the statement makes our work right-sized and right-paced. Transforming the world is all our work to carry, and it is the work of lifetimes. I am urged to do it even if I never get to see the results.
All that to say, this year has been one of painstaking self-discovery, skills development, refusal, acceptance, disappointment, and awe. I didn’t want what was on my plate most of the time. But, looking back, it has made me sturdier and also more richly vulnerable.
5 Things I Did This Year That Made Me Proud
1 | I started journaling and seeing a spiritual director.
I had a spiritual director in seminary as a condition of my degree program. But, to be honest, I didn’t get much out of it. I found the directors overly prescriptive, as if starting my day at a certain time with a certain prayer practice would magically change my life.
While I can get behind that kind of discipline, I resisted it because it felt like another thing I was being told to do. With the help of my current director (who is so chill and adaptive in her approach), I took it upon myself to finally start journaling privately again. It has been a balm to write for no one but myself. To say the things that aren’t fully processed yet, to dabble in poetry, to just find myself again. So many years of writing for public consumption had made me feel permanently exposed.
I also got an official diagnosis for anxiety and depression. Somehow the diagnoses took away a lot of the pressure I was putting on myself to pick myself up by my bootstraps. I was allowed to care for myself again. That has been very good, too.
2 | I attended a conference that was entirely in Spanish.
I attended a Hispanic Lay Leaders conference as clergy support over the summer. It was one of those things I never could have imagined would be a part of my life trajectory. I took Spanish in middle and high school and could always manage some bland small talk. But my immersion in Latino Episcopal community has been a new and joyful challenge. (Just fyi, I’m using terms preferred by the community in which I minister.)
The most surprising thing about attending the conference is that I understood most of what was being said! Because it is taking me so long to comfortably speak Spanish conversationally, I hadn’t realized how much better I am at listening to it than I was when I moved to Texas. I’m hoping to do an immersion program next year. I am humbled by the welcome I have received despite cultural and linguistic differences.
3 | I learned to trust my gut and my brain.
There were several organizational issues I had flagged over the last year or so, but my feedback wasn’t getting much traction. Now those issues are coming to light in challenging ways.
For so many months of my early ministry, I couldn’t tell if I was losing my mind. I often doubted my call to the priesthood. And I wasn’t convinced I had the skills or the persistence to carry out the work. Being propelled into change management and expanded leadership made it essential for me to be honest, admit my own misunderstandings, ask for help, and learn to be my own cheerleader. I began to lean on my transferrable skills, trust the positive feedback of others, and use my voice with clarity, always with an eye toward resolution.
It took a lot of tears to get here, but I am proud of how far I’ve come.
4 | I am preaching (and teaching) with greater joy and authenticity.
Preaching is a major part of my job, not always in terms of time, but in terms of the very public nature of it. For the first several months in new ministry, I was trying to figure out how to make everyone happy. But after a chaotic sermon-writing week in January where I got up at 5:30 am and rewrote the whole thing, I realized that if I am called to this work, it’s ok for my preaching to sound like me.
In other words, I am sensitive to the pastoral needs of the community and interpretive demands of scripture, but it’s ok if I talk about bugs or sci-fi stories or passing thoughts. People will “get it” whether or not they experience life the same way. Because authenticity, not similarity, is what brings people into greater relationship. Learning that has changed the whole process. It has allowed me to love what I do.
5 | I had fun.
I didn’t have as much fun as I would like, but I did have fun, especially the last few months. I went horseback riding, sang in a clergy choir, officiated a sung service for the diocese (church region), roomed with a seminary friend at a conference in San Antonio, went to BollyX fitness classes, attended weddings in Virginia and Colorado, started walk-jogging, went to choir concerts, ran a pumpkin patch, read a ton of books, attended girls’ nights, directed a program for pre-schoolers, laughed a lot, and embraced little moments.
I love my coworkers and colleagues, my new and old friends, my family, my cats. My new boots. There’s a lot of joy to be found.
Always, always. Joy is just behind the clouds.
