As the end of my sabbatical comes into view, I have had much opportunity to think about what “the end” of this looks like. It’s sad. Before I started my sabbatical, one of the Spiritual Directors at the Transforming Centre asked me how long it was going to be and I said “3 months.” He literally scoffed at me and told me that was WAY too short. “Six months should be a minimum,” he said emphatically. I had responded with a skeptical, incredulous, open-mouthed stare. That sounded completely ridiculous to me. But sitting here, at the end of the 2nd month, I concur. (I’ll tell him he was right next week when I’m up there.)
I’m still heading home from Sierra Leone, currently spending an inordinate amount of time in the Atlanta airport, after missing my earlier flight because of a 20-minute connection. I ran as fast as an old lady with a bum ankle, 2 heavy bags, and 36 hours of sleep-deprivation could – but I was too late. I’m relatively certain only Usain Bolt (with no carry-on luggage) could have made that inter-concourse dash on time. And it was one of those “the-door-is-just-closing-and-the-plane-is-right-there-but-they-still-won’t-let-you-on” situations. I find those most frustrating!
As I settled into the fact that Atlanta and I were going to be buddies for the evening and night (my flight leaves at 10:30 pm EST, getting in at 10:53 CST), I was thinking about the correlations between layovers and sabbaticals.
As my sabbatical conclusion looms, it has seemed ominous in some ways. I continue to remind myself of the Truth that my sabbatical advisors have repeatedly told me – the sabbatical is not a once-and-done event. It is not an end in itself. It is a reset on the rest of life and work, kickstarting new rhythms of rest and work and intentionally created sacred space.
Nobody goes on a journey just to have layovers. I personally take great pains to time my layovers with ample time to do the necessary things there, but not so much time so that you feel you are in endless liminal space going nowhere. But sometimes we do plan trips with intentionally prolonged layovers, long enough to leave the airport and see some sites, or visit with a friend, or explore a new place and food. Layovers are like a pause. An interlude in the rest of the purposeful journey. And they themselves can be purposeful.
Sabbaticals are like that too. Purposeful pauses on the way to a destination. They are NOT the destination, however. In fact, when your layover unintentionally becomes your destination – something is usually quite wrong! While sabbaticals can provide places of rest, pause, adventure, and regrouping, it would be weird if one was just on one, long, indefinite sabbatical. But if the sabbatical is well-planned and pleasant, you might decide to layover longer in that particular space while traveling through it the next time. (Like the Singapore, or Hong Kong, or Istanbul airports – plan a long-time there – they are just too pretty to run through!) Maybe even buy a lounge pass so you can be truly refreshed in your interlude.
It’s the journey that is important. And we journey continuously. Our Shepherd is always leading us into greener pastures, to find quiet waters, to higher heights, and distant vistas that we can’t even imagine in our finiteness. It is helpful to allow Him to plan our layovers as well. Sabbath pauses that are still part of the journey, but not the end game. Sometimes these pauses cause us to realize there is need for change in direction, or pace, or intention. And that is important to the journey as well.
During this sabbatical, 2 different Spiritual Directors gave me the exact same poem about the spiritual journey. It’s a poem by a poet whose writing I love. When 2 Spiritual DIrectors, who don’t even know each other, give you the same poem, it’s probably worthy of deeper reflection! I share it with you here, in case it would be useful in your own journey with Jesus.
Blessings on your journey with Him,
Kim
“For Those Who Have Far to Travel: An Epiphany Blessing”
by Jan Richardson
If you could see the journey whole
you might never undertake it;
might never dare the first step
that propels you from the place you have known
toward the place you know not.
Call it one of the mercies of the road:
that we see it only by stages
as it opens before us,
as it comes into our keeping
step by single step.
There is nothing for it but to go
and by our going take the vows the pilgrim takes:
to be faithful to the next step;
to rely on more than the map;
to heed the signposts of intuition and dream;
to follow the star that only you will recognize;
to keep an open eye for the wonders that attend the path;
to press on beyond distractions beyond fatigue
beyond what would tempt you from the way.
There are vows that only you will know;
the secret promises for your particular path
and the new ones you will need to make
when the road is revealed
by turns you could not have foreseen.
Keep them, break them, make them again:
each promise becomes part of the path;
each choice creates the road
that will take you to the place where at last you will kneel
to offer the gift most needed—
the gift that only you can give—
before turning to go home by another way.”