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On The (Metaphorical) Road Again


                    Right around the time of the attacks of 9/11/2001, my boss retired. His boss was defeated in her re-election bid and County Council, in a display of power, eliminated two positions from the county labor force. One was vacant. The other was occupied by me. Five months later, I was hired at Sears and I remember thinking, "Oh no, they hired me. Now what am I going to do?" The people with whom I worked were often wonderful people, but I think they'll understand when I say that I found myself feeling like Joseph. I hadn't done anything wrong, but I was in prison. Leaving there to come here was like being released from prison. There was joy at being free and fear about what the future will hold. Will I make it? Or will I end up back in prison?

                Since I came down here with the idea of becoming a writer, I've found myself working on articles or chapters that are more challenging that I thought they'd be. They're not only challenging to write, but to my thinking and to the thinking of my audience. It's always been my goal to make people think, but this is foreign territory. It's interesting. It's intimidating.

            Another goal coming here was to find a church. Last week I wrote about my adventures in that regard. You know that old saying about finding something in the last place you look. That seems to be the case. I had wanted to find a church where I could effectively sit in the back and contribute without responsibility. The last place on my list of potential church homes was the church that meets at the rec hall of the resort where we're  staying. Over the past week, however, I have found my thinking going in a different direction. As I've walked around the dog friendly part of the resort every morning - often before sunrise - and prayed for my neighbors, I have had the opportunity to look at license plates. I've seen them from as far northeast as Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia and Quebec and as far north and west as Alberta, Michigan, Indiana and Iowa. When the resort is full there are probably 800-1000 people living here. I don't know how many attend the church here, but when I went there this morning I got the sense that I had found what I was looking for in the last place I would have looked.

           The idea of influencing these people; of purposely setting out with the idea of somehow ministering to them is intimidating. I have loved ministries in which I was involved before,  but they almost always seemed to end badly. I have no idea what sort of deliberate, responsible ministry I can possibly have here - it's too early to tell. That just seems to be the direction the road I'm on is taking me.

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