I just turned sixty-three. It’s odd to type that. I once thought that sixty-three would be a blip on the calendar. Nothing here to see, just move on. But I retired last year, right after my birthday. So this past year has had a surreal feel about it. I kept thinking there is something I should be doing. I worked for decades upon decades. It’s hard to break an old habit, like getting up at the break of dawn to push, push, and push some more. It is all different now.
I never imagined I would retire so early. My original plan was to continue on until I was seventy-two. Then the Episcopal Church would pull the plug because seventy-two is the mandatory retirement age. I wanted to go strong, keep preaching, keep learning, keep teaching, keep leading and keep pushing. Interestingly enough, I now look back and wonder why I felt such urgency.
What was my motivation? I would have denied this a couple of years ago but I now know it to be the truth: I was motivated to excel because of my ego. I wanted to make a difference not to please God or even grow the church. I wanted to be known. I wanted significance. I wanted to be a difference maker. I wanted these things because it is a basic human need to want people to know that a significant life is remembered. There was something deep inside of me desiring to be noticed.
It’s all about me, don’t you know? Well sort of. I was not a narcissist seeking to be noticed even if it meant hurting others. It was a different dysfunction. I used to dream about it, though I would have never admitted it. I wanted to be in one of the most significant Episcopal Church in the country. I wanted that so badly I would cut corners in other areas of my life to make it happen. I used to look at the calendar and make short-term goals on how I could achieve that. I don’t recall praying about it much, except I wanted God to make it happen. “Here I am God, let’s make this happen!” Even if it meant overlooking something that I’ve always claimed were my priorities: relationships.
Joseph taught me more about life than he had a right to do. I was his father. If there was any teaching going on, I was supposed to do it. But teach he did. It was not always in what he said. Sometimes it was in the way he lived. His compassion and love, of both people and nature now speaks to me louder than it did while he was living. “There’s more to life than a well-manicured lawn,” he often said. “Daddy, you need to travel, get out there with Mama and enjoy the world. It’s beautiful,” words I often hear echo deep within my soul.
Once I got a phone call from Joseph telling me he was going to quit his job. “Why?” I asked. “You love your job.” “I know,” he replied. Quickly adding “I’m flying to Florida for a wedding and want to spend a few weeks on the beach.”
Who does that? Not me. I was too concerned about manicured lawns, nice cars, all the new Apple devices, and building a significant church. I am amazed how myopic I can be. I am not sure I have overcome that yet but I am starting to see how wrong I was. Life does not exist in order for my needs to be met, even if those needs seem rather “holy” like building a church. There are beaches to walk on, mountains to see, new areas to explore and people close to me with whom to share.
I did not expect for this to be my journey. There is a part of me that keeps looking over my shoulder to the past or sometimes plotting some church work to do in the future but each day I confront the reality that it is all different now. As I reflect on this in a campground outside of Pensacola Florida I know that, even though I didn’t plan it, tomorrow brings something new with the one person I so desperately want to share it with, Julie. Joseph loved his Mama so much that somehow, through the thin veil that separates us for the time being, I hear him say, “you got it. There’s more to life than pushing. Enjoy it. Have fun. Love my Mama.”
So tomorrow we will go visit the National Navy Aviation Museum. I never thought I would be here but I am so grateful that I am.
Until next time,
Darrel+