Taking a master gardener class with a forty-hour volunteer requirement in the midst of the pandemic.
Spending a week on a retreat where no one is allowed to speak.
Going to a hair salon school to have my hair highlighted and my nails painted by recent high school students.
My younger sister is always pushing me to do things outside my comfort zone. These random activities often involve helping out other people. She’s a risk taker with a penchant for service.
Last fall, she got wind of some people who were participating in a Catholic spiritual direction intern program. “Would you like to help out? Give them someone to practice on?” she wheedled.
I wasn’t even sure what a spiritual director was, but I agreed. After all, I’m a former teacher. I know that when you’re learning a new set of skills, you need to practice.
And so it just so happened that one of the spiritual director interns belonged to the denomination I grew up in. And she was working in a city that was fairly close. It sounded like more than just a good match! Maybe it was a God-wink, as a friend calls these heavenly “coincidences.”
A few months later on a Friday after school in the spring, I drove the 47 miles of winding highway southeast, so we could get acquainted. Our time talking flew. Not only did we share a similar faith upbringing, but we also had the same Myers-Briggs Personality Type. Plus, we were almost the same age. The match seemed promising.
After the second meeting, though, I began to wonder if we were too much alike to have a meaningful conversation. I’d been in writing groups where everyone shared the same basic personality type. Sometimes it was like talking to myself in a mirror when I listened to their critiques. Not helpful. I needed different viewpoints to think in a new way. Would this spiritual direction experience be like another writing group? I’d hate to let anyone down. But it was a winding, hour-long drive each month … and on Saturday mornings.
Despite my misgivings, the give-everything-your-best mentality ingrained in me from childhood nudged me to continue. During the week before my monthly visit, I journaled topics to discuss. During the drive, I prayed I’d have something worthy to talk about.
After a few meetings, I discovered that we had our differences, and they were enough to be interesting and thought-provoking. She was single and more politically liberal than I. She worked in education, but in an administrative role and at a college. And the best part: she had a much different relationship with God.
Of course, she did! She was a spiritual director (in training)!
In the fall, one of the topics I’d written about was how to spend my time as a newly retired classroom teacher. “Is that spiritual enough?” I asked her, as I settled into a wingback chair and opened my journal to take notes.
“Considering your life’s purpose is a very spiritual topic,” she assured me.
Duh, me!
So I rattled off the ways I was spending my time: volunteering for Master Gardeners, practicing piano for my first recital, writing a novel, providing professional development for teachers. I was busy! But the trouble was I was being asked to do more. As it was, I had little time left to feel retired, to do the things I wanted to do.
“Then why would you do these things?”
I wasn’t expecting her bluntness. “Uhhh …. because they need to be done? And I can do them pretty easily.”
“But are they what God wants you to do?” she persisted.
My eyes flitted around the room. I had no idea. Other than throwing down Gideon’s fleece, I didn’t have any idea how to know what God wanted me to do. I rarely heard God’s voice during my prayers or meditations—probably a reflection on my prayer life: too rushed, too rote.
She sat patiently. “You don’t have to answer. Maybe it’s something to think about.”
But I was thinking aloud, filling the silence. “I guess, when an opportunity comes my way, I feel like I should take it. Like, it was put there for a reason. And someday, I’ll understand why.”
She nodded, but I noticed that one eyebrow was raised.
I rushed to justify myself. “And it usually does lead to more opportunities.”
My mind spun. That didn’t seem to be a valid reason to do anything. Maybe I had more opportunities just because I said yes to the first one. And what were those “opportunities” anyway? More work I didn’t want? Things were getting hazy.!
“Hmmm… Let’s look at it another way,” she suggested.
In self preservation, I sidestepped her gentle challenge. I slid back into my comfortable teacher mode and considered her counseling techniques. She hadn’t judged me. That was a highly appropriate response to the situation. Instead she gently redirected me. Why, she already was an accomplished spiritual director!
But my silence didn’t daunt her. “How do you know that these things are YOURS TO DO?”
Yanked back into the moment, I involuntarily lowered my chin and squinted my eyes. “‘Mine to do,’” I muttered. “What does that mean?”
“Well, what has God put your name on?”
I sat stumped.
Finally, I quietly ventured, “You mean, what has someone else’s name on it?” The haze was slowly clearing.
She nodded again. This time with level eyebrows.
“That’s an interesting thought,” I said, processing the implications. “You mean because by just doing anything that comes along, I might be stealing someone else’s opportunity?”
She smiled.
“It’s the ‘just because you can, doesn’t mean you should’ adage,” I said to myself. How often had I looked at that poster hanging on my classroom wall?
“But then how do I know which to do and which not to do?”
“What does God delight in you doing?” She paused, probably at my puzzled look. “What do you delight in doing?”
Delight? That was a new high-water mark. I’d just finished 25 years worth of creating ways to engage high schoolers, preparing lessons with new technologies, and giving feedback to writers to sharpen their thinking and communication skills. I could grade papers anywhere and on any surface or device!
But after COVID, the delight in teaching was harder to find—except for helping other teachers. I still felt joy when I supported them by listening and sharing insights and strategies.
What else brought me delight?
There was my herb garden. Harvesting fresh herbs for cooking and making tea gave me joy. But that made me think of Master Gardeners.
Finally, I answered. “Well…there’s my gardening. But I have to drive an hour each way to get in my volunteer hours to be fully certified,” I grimaced. “It’s a pain to find a project that lasts more than an hour. That’s a lot of car time for not much payoff.”
Her head tipped. “Does it bring you delight?”
“No,” I blurted out. “Being in the organization doesn’t. But I do enjoy spending time with my sister. I’m doing it because of her.”
It was as if she’d released the flood gates. “Then there’s piano,” I went on. “I thought it would be fun to learn to play since the piano has been setting there for years-since all the kids moved out. But I’m sweating this recital. It’s just me and several kids, and I’ve only had a handful of lessons,” I moaned.
Again, the eyebrow.
I went on, “During the rehearsal with all the parents there, everything just flew out of my head. Everything! I couldn’t even remember where to put my hands on the keyboard!”
“Then why are you doing it?”
My face lit up. “Well, I love to sit and peck out some familiar songs, especially the old hymns. I found a book that’s really easy.” Then I felt my shoulders slump. “But the idea of the recital rattles me. I just wanted to learn to play some songs for myself. And I’ve accomplished that.”
“Then why do the recital?
Did I hear her right?
“Well, because I should. It’s part of the program, I guess,” I mumbled. “And I did appreciate how some of my students felt about presenting in front of the class.”
“Does it bring you delight? Why not just take lessons?”
Uhhh … was that even an option? I’d never even considered not participating in the recital. I guess I figured I should.
“Well,” I blustered, “I … I should be an example for the little kids. You know, show them how hard work pays off.” My voice faltered as I continued. “And I don’t want to let down the teacher who’s a former colleague.”
“What’s the reality of this situation?” she asked.
I thought for a moment. “I don’t know any of these kids. They take lessons after school, and I take lessons during the day. And I guess since I’m paying for the lessons, I could just say what I want.”
“Does God care about the recital?”
I frowned. How would I know that?
“Don’t you think He delights in just hearing you play those hymns?”
That put a new spin on the situation!
She went on, “I heard you mention a lot of ‘shoulds.’ What’s your inner critic’s name?”
My ‘inner critic?’ I squirmed as my mind ping ponged. Did I have an inner critic? Had I been judging myself about the recital? If that were true, what else was I judging myself about? And was that judgment so ingrained that I didn’t even recognize its voice?
And then I knew.
“Oh! It’s ‘Barbara Jean!’ complete with the accusatory tone,” I laughed.
She smiled. “Do you want to explore that?”
I nodded.
“You could do some writing. When you have one of these situations—these opportunities—write what your inner critic, what Barbara Jean, would say. Those are the ‘shoulds.’ Then next to them write what the reality of the situation is. Finally, end with what God would say,” she suggested.
“Oh, make a three-column chart to analyze it!” I exclaimed. I could do that! Once a teacher…
And so I have.
Now, several few months later, I haven’t completely released all of the ‘shoulds’ in my life. But I’m getting better at discerning what’s mine to do and why. I’ve learned to pass on a few opportunities in my cluttered life of retirement to allow someone else to experience their rewards and challenges. And I’m narrowing down my calendar lists to think about what brings me … and God joy. The chart is helping, and so has building my relationship with my spiritual director. We’re continuing our appointments now that she’s a certified professional.
What started as an opportunity to help someone has turned out to help me. That’s definitely a God wink and a delight.
Even so, I’m still on the fence about the next recital. The pride of accomplishment might bring me some joy, but the spring piece, a hymn with 7 different chords, is still kicking my backside!
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