The move left a huge hole in The Little Church. Their existence has been threatened due to their dependence on the income from the school, now gone. Tireless efforts on the part of the lay leadership has, thus far, failed to yield a new tenant, although conversations with one prospect are ongoing and there have been some inroads in other directions.
The move also left a huge hole in my life. No one from The Little Church is in the building regularly. I miss the traipsing up and down the hall as the kids go to speech or occupational therapy sessions. I miss the odd noises that some of the nonverbal students make. I miss the ongoing affirmations and enthusiasms of the teachers. I miss hearing about day-to-day life events of the staff. The Little Church is way too quiet for my taste.
The rector stops by for -- at most -- a total of three hours each week when I am there. Most weeks it is fewer. The congregation is hanging on by a thread with no money for preventive medicine, they are constantly applying band-aids and tourniquets to all-too-frequent property issues.
I have been very, very lonely, and a few weeks ago -- as a couple of squirrels moved in and began appearing without warning -- I began to feel uncomfortable. The church is locked and there is a doorbell, but I must open the door to speak to the person who has rung.
I looked at a position in another church, but it felt like a toxic place and they wanted more hours than I wanted. I