Letters

Happy St. Nicks Day (okay it's tomorrow but happy anyway)


I am trying to write a letter. It's to the session of my church, to see if they will support me in my quest to become a minister. It is part of the Discernment process. This is not an easy letter to write. The journey to this decision has been long and well complicated. I would guess that this is how it is for some, though I am sure there are others who feel this was an easy decision to make. I see that, in some respects. Once made, the decision to do this was clear and easy to sit with. The coming to that point however, not so much. So how do I explain why I want to be a minister to these people, without it becoming a short novel?

I have been connected to the church most of my life. My Dad is a minister and when he remarried, he married a minster. My Mum is very active in her church and choir as well. So it could be said that I come by it honestly. It's not that easy though. I spent my 20's away from the church. Busy with my own life and school and trying to figure stuff out. Silly really, since that is probably one of the best reasons to be there.

When I moved to Toronto in November 1998 I felt very alone. I didn't know anyone really. I'd left my love back in Sackville NB, finishing his degree. All my friends were on the East Coast and I was in a large busy place that was shocking to my small town / country girl experience. I cried a lot that year. The guilt of something terrible I had done weighed very heavily on me and I really did not know what I was doing with my life. My BA in Drama wasn't going to be much help and my sense of isolation was often over whelming. By Christmas I had confessed my biggest sin (at least in my opinion) to my love, with great fear of increasing my isolation by his leaving me. He didn't. I have never really gotten over that. I don't feel guilty anymore, but whenever I get my back up with him I remember his forgiveness in that difficult time and I calm myself down.

After that Christmas I began to make connections with people. (It has only just occurred to me that those two things may be connected.) I also began to look for a church. I'd been to one near R*'s parent home at Christmas time, but I didn't feel a connection and it was far away. I was also coming to understand that it was time for me to figure out what I was meant to do with my life. This where my two paths appeared before me.

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

At that time I was just 24. My love was 20, and I was very worried that one of the choices before me was too much for he and I to handle. I did not choose the the road less traveled. Massage Therapy, not Ministry was the path I chose. I walked the path that looked easier, felt less challenging. Looking back I can see that the road blocks and challenges I faced during my Massage Therapy training may have been indicators that I was not on the path I was meant to take. That didn't occur to me at the time, and I have not regretted my time as an RMT. In fact I love my job and am blessed by fantastic clients and great friends whose lives would not have intersected with mine otherwise. My life and experience is richer because of the decision I made in 1999.

I have never been content with my job however. The love I have for it is, well, lacking something. Seven years ago I began again to search for a place to exercise my spiritual muscles. Looking for a place that would fill my needs, (because I always know what I need, right?) and a Minister that could connect with me. I had known for sometime that I needed to stop comparing them to my Dad, but it was hard to let go of that ideal, and even harder realize that he might not be ideal for me (although I still find him to be fantastic). I found a place that seemed fresh and forward thinking with a wonderful choir. The congregation was large and welcoming . . . ish. What I discovered was that although they were fitting all my text book criteria, there was an emotional component missing for me.

I married my love in April 2002, and in 2004 with our first baby on it's way, we made a decision to move into my in-laws basement to try and save money and pay down debts. Our daughter was born in April 2005 and when my Mother came to spend some time with us she attended a small church nearby, and encouraged me to go. It was not fresh and new and didn't, upon first pass, seem to be forward thinking. However, what become clear even within my first few visits was that they wanted me. They were warm and welcoming and eager to have me stay. I did. I still do.

My soul often soars here. My initial impression has given way to a deeper connection with this eager active church. What has happened since I joined this special place is that it has become increasingly difficult for me to ignore the other path. I have always been aware of it, but now it is in my face, not just hanging out at the back of my mind. I have talked to a few people a little bit about how I think changes may be coming for me, but really very little. My mind has been churning and churning. I began to become very emotional every time I attend Church. Mine especially but any really. My life is very busy and full. Our son arrived in April 2008 and we bought a home this past March. My private practice is growing and my love is away from home far too often for my heart's comfort and perhaps my sanity. I find peace hard to find and feeling peaceful rare and fleeting. With the exception of when I am in the Church. There, even in some of my most overwhelmed, raw moments, I feel peace, support and love. There are times, especially since my mother-in-law passed away this past October, that the support and friendship I receive on Sunday is all I get for the week. And often it is enough to sustain me. Friends are busy, family far away, husband out of town. Church, as it has always been, is there for me, building me up.

I have come to realize very recently that I am fortunate enough to now be looking at that path less traveled yet again. I can no longer ignore the need I have to be a bigger part of the church. I have spent time working with the youth to see if that quieted the voice, but it has proven to only make it louder and the call stronger. I can only attribute that to me coming closer to where I should be.

My experience with the call to ministry has been much like hiking toward a waterfall. I have known longer than even I am aware, that the call was there. As I began to move in the direction of God's purpose for me I began to hear the trickle of the water, faint and far away. With each step I have made along the path the sound of the water has become clearer. There have been times when something has distracted me and I have left the path. Then the sound of the waterfall has still been present, and those off path experiences always brought me back to the path with a stronger desire to be there. The water is now loud in my ears. The water fall is just up ahead around a bend. I can almost see it. It is time.

Love Beki


I am not sure if this explains anything. PLEASE comment.