Haze covers the sky. Not completely, however. A couple of jays came down early this morning yelling and screaming at each other, pecking at the seed on the balcony with woodpecker force. I told them to keep it down. One flew away the other gargled at me. I woke up early this morning with thankful thoughts and good theological wrangling over seemingly impassable issues. I watched as the cedars outside began to take on that wonderful dark green glow and the ground began to show shadows and nuances of browns. The sun peeked out, bright and wonderful after a day of fog and rain. Now it hides again behind the haze.

I have a problem. Well, I have a few problems, maybe more depending on who you ask. My problem, as I’ve come to see it, is at the core of my own pastoral calling. I’m not a salesman. I hate sales. I hate calling people, convincing people, cajoling people, following people, tricking people, or doing any of the other parts of sales. Which is a likely reason I’m not working in a church right now despite my passion, gifts, degrees and talents.

But, I’m an investor. I pour myself into people. I see people who are worth investing in and I will exhaust myself at times trying to do what I can in order to see them rise above the muck and mire. I have a yearning to show heaven to people, and because I tend to see in people their potential I can speak in a way which helps them see.

This is not a hobby. This is all consuming. This is something which defines and shapes my entire being. This is a problem.

Because people worth investing in, the ones who are in my life, don’t pay well. In fact, they don’t pay at all. But, I cannot invest in a faceless corporation nor seem to break away from wanting to see those I know, who God has brought into my life, rise up in their own calling.

But, I don’t get paid for doing this, and find myself increasingly taking on more and more with that same level of pay. My heart is driven to do, my soul is weakened because despite all I do, I can go to a party and be filled with guilt that I’m not getting paid to my potential.

Nor can I let go of caring about this. So I’m stuck. I’m stuck taking on more and more without any compensation, finding my heart fighting my ambition. Ambition for what? Both heaven and earth. And these don’t mix very well.

But, I can’t release earth because that means releasing that part of me which calls me heavenward, that yearning to invest in those around me. Should I cut that off, I cut off my spiritual self. Yet, I am bogged down today in investing in others because never, ever do I find any sort of compensation or guidance in my own life. I can work fifty hours or more a week and still have to explain to the accountant and human resource manager and executive my worth. I am lazy even if I am busy because I am not investing in that or those who could best pay.

But, I seemingly cannot do otherwise. And it is all wearisome this morning… which is an odd thing to say given the fact I woke up with a great deal of hope and thanksgiving and the sun shining on the forest outside.

Lord teach me how to pray. Lord I don’t believe. Help my unbelief.

Good Irish weather this morning. Cool and overcast, a slight breeze, and all the green in the forest beginning to celebrate Spring. My shamrock windsock has been dancing around all night in a continual celebration of St. Patrick’s day.

I found out that this isn’t just a day for Saint Patrick. This is a day for Patricks in general. At least in Poland. Poland, you see, has a lovely tradition called nameday. Birthdays tend to be low key affairs while namedays are the big parties. Some names, I found out, get two or even three choices on which day to celebrate. Patrick (or Patryk) gets one, this day, this saint’s day. I think it grand.

This is a weird day for me. I’m sitting here in relative peace realizing I should be praying non stop for those I know. The few people I feel God has stirred in my heart all seem to be wrestling with something beyond them. I want to stop all I’m doing and pray, and keep praying, and continue to pray. Only I’m not like most ‘prayer people’. I don’t have a ‘gift’ I just have the solid and total realization that prayer is a mighty work. So I pray, and learn to pray, and seek steadiness in prayer.

For this, beyond anything else today, is part of my calling. I would do anything I could for these people to put things right but all I can do is pray and keep praying, while occasionally saying something helpful and worthwhile if the words come.

God is good and God is working. It’s hard to listen and watch to see people in their struggles when all I can do is pray. But that’s the rub of it all. It’s not just prayer. It is potent and powerful beyond our understanding. This potent force is easy to dismiss and easy to ignore. We worry and fret and try to arrange within our own power all the while missing this spiritual contending.

But, this is nothing new. Those who are now saints were not born this way. They grew and they prayed. Patrick once wrote:

Often during each day, I prayed and the love and fear of God ever grew stronger within me…for the Lord…regarded my lowliness and had mercy on my youth and ignorance, keeping watch over me before I came to know Him or could differentiate between good and evil. God strengthened and comforted me as a father His son…and my faith increased and my spirit grew strong, so much so that in a single day I would pray a hundred times and almost as often by night, whether I found myself in the wood or on the mountain.

Prayer, more than anything else, is the lesson of Saint Patrick’s day. Curious, that.. but absolutely true.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

It was just a sliver, but it was there. It has been a while. It did not stay long but it came. I welcomed it with a smile.

The sun has reappeared in my room. It has returned from its long journey south and has found its way back. It has not yet returned to the North but it will in a matter of a week or so.

Spring is not yet here but the signs of Spring have come. The sun has returned for the warming months. After a long and wet winter it is a welcomed morning friend. Over the days and weeks and months it will come in more and stay longer, taking a while to find comfort. Then it will begin to slip away, far away, until it is out of sight from this perspective, beginning the cycle all over again.

This morning I am feeling the exhaustion of being involved in something far beyond my capabilities, yet there because it is not me but the Spirit in me who has called me out. My mortal self can be a friend, share a moment of grief, and of hope. The Spirit part of me can say something wise, something helpful, and be a push towards right and good. But, that latter side is beyond me even if it is me, leaving me exhausted of soul.

So, I see myself this morning and take stock of that not letting my exhaustion and creeping depression lie to me overstrong. I ask when will it be my time to find real fruit. I wonder when the time will come when I am not just poured out. I wonder if there will be a person, or season, or something which pours into my soul and fills me when I am emptied. But, as I’ve learned there’s danger in this desire as much as hope, so I trust that God knows his business.

A glass of cool water in this parched land would be quite welcomed indeed. But, there is only obedience and pursuing the calling of Christ in my whole being. And no one ever said this is an easy path. It’s a glorious path, not an easy path. For all our intuition must be thrown out at times to do what is right and good and holy, and help us to see that what we are supposed to be is not in us but above us. This is humility, and real humility is the hardest lesson of all to learn.

Blessed be the poor in spirit.

The day is perfect. The birds are singing with delight. Ravens fly over with sticks and brush and other items in their beaks beginning to form their great bowl of a nest in some tall coniferous tree, most likely a cedar. Squirrels gambol about, the chipmunks sit on the woodpile swishing their tails taking in the sun. A cool breeze blows, massaging the trees and filling the mind.

SPRING IS HERE!! SPRING IS HERE!!

May Spring be here. We are in need of Spring, we all are in need of Spring.