Well, yes, there is one word: PEACE.
After almost three years, one CPE residency, a year with a pastoral counselor, two years of blogging, and countless crying bouts and prayers, I think I may have reached the point of true healing from not just SJ, but all the turmoil of the last few years.
I helped Mac (my pastor) out at the healing service tonight. It was wonderful, really. I did wear the robe, incidentally. Mac also gave me the impression that he might let me do it solo sometime, which would be cool.
Speaking of Mac, he had better be glad that I have five units of CPE and a well-developed ability to compartmentalize my emotions, be a non-anxious presence, etc. Because if I didn't? I would have been a crying heap on the sanctuary floor, and no use to him at all.
He preached on the 8th chapter of Mark, on the passage where it takes Jesus two tries to heal the blind man. The first try sort of works, but not really. It’s the second try that does the trick. And I don’t remember much about the sermon, just that I got this warm, fuzzy, I’m-gonna-cry feeling and it felt like Mac was preaching JUST FOR ME. Except there were 30 other people in the room, too.
And then…there was Communion. I don’t think I’ve served Communion since my last Sunday at SJ. I’m not talking about being the celebrant: I mean even handling the elements. And the sanctuary at OG is so much like SJ’s. And the congregation reminds of SJ…in the best possible way. Sort of like how things COULD have been.
So, the service ended, Mac thanked me, I thanked him for letting me help, I took off my robe, and went home. He was still talking to some people, and I a) wanted to get home and b) figured that he would want to get home.
But now…I can’t sleep. It’s a good thing. I feel peaceful, so much so that I’m still in tears. I don’t know the last time I felt this good. Maybe I just want to treasure it for a while?
Maybe I should change the name of this blog to “Wounded and Healed”?