I am exactly nine days into my renewal leave and I had a dream last night about an Administrative Council meeting.
I was back at church with all of those familiar faces, reconnecting and catching up and it was wonderful… only something was terribly wrong.
I wasn’t supposed to be there.
Last night, in reality, there was an Ad Council meeting at church and I didn’t actually go. We have great capable leaders and they are awesome without me.
But in my dream… I was there.
In my dream, I had stopped by for some reason or another. And I kept talking with people. I kept answering questions. And before I knew it, I looked at the clock and it was 10:15 pm!
I remembering a feeling of intense panic. I was on renewal leave. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was supposed to be home with my spouse and I had completely blown him off. I turned to a colleague who was sitting next to me with terror all over my face. He looked at me, partly with pity and partly with frustration. “What are you even doing here?” he asked.
One of the things that I find incredibly difficult is disconnecting from work. Because I love it. Because I’m good at it. Because it feels good, even when it is stressful, to help other people and make things work the way they should.
So far, I confess, on this renewal leave I have checked my email once.
I was looking quickly for responses to a very last minute proposal I had about changing a meeting date when I returned. I wanted to see what the responses were so I could communicate the date change with my family.
But I also glanced and saw a notification from the hospital about a church member who had been admitted. The feelings of guilt started to creep in. What if they need me? What if no one shows up? What if, heaven forbid, someone dies while I’m gone? I had to pray to God for peace and talk myself down for about an hour. “This is why you left them in the absolutely capable hands of an amazing colleague… Even Jesus took breaks… You are not the be-all and end-all of the care system at that church… Even if you miss a funeral while you are away, that doesn’t mean that you can’t still provide care when you get back...”
But there was also that pesky internal critic: “See, this is why you shouldn’t check your email when you are supposed to be on break. It sets you on a tailspin of wanting to be there and respond and make it all better. And that’s not what this time is about.”
And you know what… that internal critic is right. There do need to be boundaries between my church life and my home life. I need to be able to have some dedicated space carved out for sabbath and family and renewal – not just during these four weeks, but every week. Every day, really.
For years I have had a signature line on my email that reads, “Fridays and Saturdays are my Sabbath days. I look forward to responding when I am back in the office on Monday.”
But in the past year, have I actually stopped checking my email on the weekends? Have I been holding firmly to that boundary?
The week before I left, I sent a pretty important email to my SPRC chair. Before bed, I checked my email, saw he had responded, and shot off a reply.
And immediately I got another back. He said something to the effect of: Are you on call 24/7?
It was a reminder that the expectations I have been putting on myself are not the same as what the congregation actually needs or expects.
Or maybe it should have been heard more like that colleague in my dream, with pity and frustration: “What are you even doing here?”
There have been legitimate emergencies and exceptions in the course of my ministry that have called me away from my Sabbath and home time. The panicked texting of a teenager in the middle of the night who feels unsafe. The early morning trips to the hospital before a surgery to pray. The call on a Saturday afternoon that someone has died. Two entire weeks spent out of state for General Conference.
But an email is not an emergency.
A meeting I am not responsible for is not an excuse for breaking boundaries.
A text or voicemail that can wait until the next day is not a sufficient reason to give up time with friends or family.
And maybe in those spaces and those moments when I am tempted to show up or respond or engage I need to keep that voice in the back of my mind:
“What are you even doing here?“
That voice comes along with other questions like:
- Why have you given this energy when it can wait?
- Why are you sacrificing this time you have set aside for family?
- Is this really about them? Or is it about you and your own need to feel needed?
- What are you avoiding by choosing to spend your time this way?
- Who else can help/support/respond?
I woke up from that dream with my heart in my throat. I’m anxious that this time of renewal and rejuvenation will simply result in a return to old patterns and behaviors.
I mean, I’ve never been five hours late home, like I was in this dream… but I have spent an entire evening only partially present: checking emails, responding to texts, thinking and pondering something that needed to be done the next day.
And when I’m in that space, the truth is, I’m not really home. Not fully, anyways.
So if nothing else, one of the things I want to carry back into the real world with me is the avoidance of that little voice: “What are you even doing here?”
And I think that I can prevent that question from needing to be asked by utilizing some tools that have been really helpful during this time away. Things like changing my notification settings on my phone so that emails don’t show up during evening hours. Or, putting my phone with my wallet instead of carrying it around all the time. Or removing the Facebook app from my phone. Honestly, its randomly coming across a pastoral care concern or a church polity question on facebook that often prompts me reaching out with an email or a text or response when it could legitimately wait until the next day.
I think remembering that little voice will hold me accountable to my boundaries. I think it will remind me that I don’t have to be “on” 24/7. I think it help me think of those who are impacted by where I choose to spend my energy – for good or for bad. There is a whole lot of truth jam-packed in that little question: “What are you even doing here?”
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