In a minute

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here I am. Send me!" “I’m here and I’ll be with you in a minute!” (Isaiah 6:8)

Ok, so I paraphrase what Isaiah would have said if he’d also been a mum of four. Amidst the collection of phrases that I’m known to utter with embarrassing frequency; you know, all those things you say that make you sound like your mother (I called my daughter “young lady” the other day, God help me), the one I say most frequently is “in a minute.”
“Muuuuuum!”
“In a minute!”
“Mum, will you help me with this?”
“Yep, in a minute.”
“Mum, I need you to sign this for me.”
“Ok, in a minute.”

It’s always in a minute. In my defence, it’s not all my fault. We’re a family of six. If you don’t have a big family I can’t begin to explain to you the amount of time I spend cooking, washing, cleaning etc, let alone the emotional labour that it’s necessary to carry for four young people, as well as myself. Me and the husband are a good team, but family life is still endless hard work for us both. There’s always something that needs doing and there’s always a child who needs my attention for whatever reason. It’s cool. It’s fine, it really is. It’s what we signed up for and we wouldn’t change it. It’s mostly beautiful chaos and we’re so lucky that we get to live the life we have.

Imagine then, if you will, how very hard it’s been to incorporate ministry training into this mad busy world of ours. I wrote a little about what our journey so far has been like for The Confessions of a Trainee Vicar series on Hannah Barr’s blog, A Blaze of Light. The verse I (partially) quote from Isaiah 6 here, is one which invariably appears in ordination services during the summer months, and it’s been on my mind a lot lately. Isaiah’s confident reply to his vision of God is an audacious response to an uncertain calling and it’s one that potential priests are boldly expected to proclaim.

To be recommended for ministerial training a candidate must show evidence of potential in nine different areas, the most important one being vocation. My selection conference paperwork writes that: ‘Jayne has a realistic and grounded notion of her vocation.’
I am under no illusions of what the cost is of saying ‘send me.’

I know what it means to give my life to this calling; to allow myself to submit to formation in a church that I’m still learning about and I don’t always agree with, to exercise a faith that sometimes feels pointless, in a world of cynicism, defeatism and indifference. I know the cost to myself and my family of squeezing our rounded selves into the square hole of ordination training; a fit which chafes like a too tight pair of shoes and often feels unfit for purpose. And if the call of God is ‘whom shall I send?’ my response right now must be, ‘send me…but just give me a minute.”

You see, there are other calls upon my life, calls that are just as important and just as vital. When God made me a mama, she didn’t - I’m certain – expect me to stop doing that in order to follow a different calling. Instead, I’ve had to find a way to follow both callings, in a manner that’s life-giving and spiritually nourishing for us all. It’s been a massive challenge.

My first year of training has been a steep learning curve for us; it’s ignited in me a passion for theological learning that will be life-long. I’ve formed bonds with wonderful people and made brilliant friends. I’ve grown as a pastoral practitioner, as a preacher, as a person. I’ve had my heart broken, utterly, by things that have been done to me and to my family. I’ve been torn and stretched and I’ve triumphed and I’ve wept, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it really doesn’t have to be this way. I’m not dropping the ball, I’m choosing to put it down for a while.

When I’ve discussed the cost to parents, particularly mothers, of ministerial training, I’ve invariably had women tweet me to tell me how they did it whilst, ooh I don’t know, pregnant as well as looking after triplets and working full time, for example, “and I survived! I got through it! So can you!”(I exaggerate for comic effect, of course but you get the gist.)

Well done you, I say. But increasingly I’m starting to think that just because you can do something, it doesn’t mean you should. Sometimes, the cost is just too much. Sometimes, for some people, the healthiest thing is to say “Actually, do you know what? I can’t do this anymore. My family are suffering because I’m pursuing this calling and right now their need is greater.”
It’s ok to say that.
It’s ok to pause and to take stock.
It’s ok to wait and to say ‘In a minute,’ because sometimes your hands are so full that you’re unable to pick anything else up.

We like to say that everyone makes the choices that are best for them, but the truth is often that we make choices based upon lack of choice. We all suck it up because that’s the way things are and we even try and convince ourselves and each other that it’s all fine and we’re ok and our kids are ok, when really the truth, the grim reality, is that they’re often not.
Turns out, I can’t actually have it all. I can’t be all things to all people: juggle deadlines, do all the reading, ace the essays, write the sermon, run those errands, comfort that child, attend that meeting, iron those clothes, make those lunches, scrub that bathroom, reply to those emails, return that phone-call, say those prayers, read that bible, and ask God every minute that I show up and am on it at all times. Friends, it can’t be done.

And so I’m doing something I rarely do. Instead of making myself ill by running myself into the ground and surviving on a cocktail of adrenaline, perfectionism and guilt, I’m saying Lord, I surrender. For now, this is how it must be. By all means yes, send me, but there’s things I need to take care of first, and so I’ll be with you in a minute.