Dust

We all know that what is learned in seminary can fill volumes of books.  We also know that what is not taught in seminary can fill many more tomes.  One of the things they drill into our heads in just about every class is that "ministry does not happen in a vacuum".  There is no clean slate.  No one gets to start at the beginning.  Even if it's a new church or a church plant, things have been happening weeks, months, and hopefully even years before you get on the scene.  Even the most practical of classes sort of forgets that there is ministry happening before we arrive.  And so this week I took what I learned at Wesley, I took the things I learned at Aldersgate, packed a few belongings and I headed for Trinity.

Trinity has a rich history.  It was founded in 1774.  You can read all about it on their website.  But I digress.  Trinity has a history for me too.  My first clergy learning partner grew up in this church.  There have been a few folks I have recognized because I used to fill their prescriptions.  But don't worry, I don't violate HIPAA and I will never tell who. :)  But even closer to "home", the former intern at my home church had this office.  Prior to arriving on Tuesday I had not seen what the office would look like.  I just knew a few folks that had it before me.  I was expecting a "hospital sterile" office.  But that is not what I got.  I got an office full of stuff.  There are old newsletters from the 70s.  There are cookbooks.  There are tshirts.  There are a lot of scissors.  There is glitter glue.  There are a lot of Bibles (probably a good thing).  There is an unopened Bobby McFerrin cd (which will be opened soon).  There is an Easter bunny costume for God knows what reason.  And there is a lot of dust.  

But I admit I am simultaneously disgusted and delighted by the dust and the random assortment of various things in here.  Including a dirty fork.  It is/ was a very tangible reminder that someone sat in here before me.  This job is not happening in a vacuum.  There is no clean slate.  And in time I will bring my own dirt and dust.  And a lot of coffee.  And an extremely large primate.  But for now I will savor these fleeting quiet moments in my office reflecting on those that have come before me and thanking God for their wisdom.  

But...

I have a mom.  But I am not sure for how much longer.
I have a mom.  But her memory is failing rapidly.
I have a mom.  But I wonder if her failing memory is her punishment.
I have a mom.  But my childhood was not great.
I have a mom.  But I still feel a sting when my friends go get pedicures with their moms.
I have a mom.  But that same sting happens when moms show up and cheer their kids on.
I have a mom.  But I still feel a sting when moms go dress shopping with their daughters.
I have a mom.  But she beat me and left me on my knees in the driveway begging her not to leave.
I have a mom.  But I attempted suicide after she left.
I have a mom.  But my brother took me prom dress shopping.
I have a mom.  But I can't pretend it has been easy.
I have a mom.  But therapy, writing, and moving has helped.
I have a mom.  But I can't help but think her ability to forget those memories is my punishment.
I have a mom.  But I can't forget the fear, the trauma, the bruises, the screaming, the anxiety, the uncertainty she inflicted.
But she can.  And she did.