Constructing a life

I walked this morning with a friend and we had that conversation again about the task of constructing a life.  It never ends.

I am back from vacation and was invited to take on a new responsibility within the life of the church and find myself in a place of discernment.  Is this what I am called to?  Does the thought of doing the tasks of this particular position give me energy or fill me with anxiety?  What will this do to my current life and schedule?  

Retirement is a blessing and - I hate to say it - also a curse.  The both - and of life.  There is so much I don't have to do anymore - but the question is - what to do now?  Which ties to the other question - the ultimate question - who am I NOW?

I frequently talk about the "seasons" of life.  There was a season in my life - of about 20 years - when I worked directly with youth.  At that time I knew that often our weekly programs were about the question of "who am I?" Those were always the meetings that were sure to engage the young people.  What I didn't know at the time was "who am I NOW" is a question pops up throughout our lives.   

I can  always say - I am a beloved child of God.  But that is not enough to fill the 24/7 hours of every life.  I am a woman who loves God and wants to be guided by God as I work at a church, play pickleball, walk with friends, engage with family, etc. etc. etc. I am at times a leader and a spiritual director and at other times lost and very confused. 

One of my favorite prayers is by Dietrich Bonhoeffer and I will include it here.  It may seem presumptuous to compare myself to this Christian Martyr in a cell in Germany - but the quandry of how we may appear to others and how we struggle with self  doubt is universal.  And the final line of the poem -" whoever I am......I am thine" gives me comfort.

 Who am I?  They often tell me
I stepped from my cell's confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a Squire from his country house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders 
freely and friendly and clearly,
as through it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really that which other men tell of?

 
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?

 
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing
My throat, yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.

Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person to-day and to-morrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me like a beaten army
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely question of mine,
Whoever I am, Thou Knowest, O God, I am thine."