Packing up my past

I've read a number of blogs started by people as part of the discernment/training process.  At first I did actually start a separate blog to record these moments for prosperity, partly to indicate a separate part of my life and mostly to have a clean slate on which to write.

But quickly I realised that I needed to chronicle this ordination lark on this here blog.  This blog that has seen me declare a war on global poverty with youthful vigour and fall apart in the darkness of depression.

A while ago when I was having a wobble about whether I was a good fit for a vicar collar, I re read posts from a couple of years ago that I'd not read since hitting 'publish'.

Firstly, sorry everyone, bit intense there for a while...

It's peculiar (and narcissistic) to peep back in time and watch yourself struggle.  But it reassured me that if I can get from there to here, I might just have the resources to go back and forth and wherever else life takes me.  I expected to feel embarrassed but alongside the bemusement I felt a little sense of peace.  The dark didn't overwhelm me, the clouds didn't stay.

I need to continue writing here because whilst it may be a new chapter, it is a continuation of the story.  It hasn't happened apart from the struggles, triumphs and attempts at wisdom that have come before.  It has been borne out of those experiences and I can no more delete the blog posts from the internet than remove times that have shaped and bruised, challenged and humbled me.

Just because I'm geographically moving and changing career doesn't mean I am leaving a thing behind whether I want to or not.  And that's probably just as well.

Underqualified, Unsure and Unworthy

It's been a while, but for good reason.

For the past couple of years I've been journeying through a peculiar process known as 'discernment'.  In a nutshell (a really roomy one) this process begins with an indefinable nagging, like something in the corner of your eye that won't be caught.  This niggle for me started in Colombia, in a Catholic church, listening to a service in Spanish I couldn't understand.  I felt a powerful need to come back to the church from the edges, that despite not fitting in, being utterly frustrated and confused by it all I was part of it.

Obviously I spent a good few months laughing at the thought - I've enjoyed being a 'not one of them' Christian, standing at the doors of the institution able to speak the language but also able to criticise it.  Yet I found myself having a quick check at the criteria for ordination, yes for becoming a vicar, to reassure myself it was preposterous.

Zoom forward and I'd been nagged, asked and told too many times that I should be a vicar that I needed someone qualified to back me up and tell everyone to hush.

The next months were punctuated by meetings with church advisors who know about these things and reading books on the church, theology and being confirmed in the Anglican tradition.  All the way through I expected someone to gently lean forward and say with slightly closed eyes; 'this is a silly idea isn't it, but it kept you out of trouble for a while. Back to the real world for you'.  I expected it from myself more than anyone.

I told a few people what I was considering and no one laughed too outrageously, and even the Bishop gave me her blessing to go forth and discern.

I made it all the way to the final interview which warrants a post of its own to be honest.  In short I spent 3 days with 13 other ordination candidates being observed and trying to represent myself honestly but not too honestly, ahem, whilst coming to terms with the idea that I had to believe I was being called to something but be prepared for the powers that be to disagree.

So yeah, been a busy time with an awful lot of self examination and living with the limbo that comes with potentially going to college, or train part time, or not at all.

And the end of the story?  The Church of England are sending me to train as an actual vicar.

I know, it's still preposterous... but might be fun!?