Change in the Wind, Part One

It is nearly three months, now, since the school for autistic children left its home in The Little Church to move to bigger quarters. I hear from the director from time to time; all is going well, the new space is huge and laid out beautifully, the kids all made an easy adjustment, and when would I come to visit?

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 drove my husband crazy consulted with my husband, who said if I wanted to be retired person (but I would still continue the hospital chaplaincy work), it was fine with him. I wasn't so sure. We decided that I would try to stick it out until spring, when I would have worked at the church for two years. Or, perhaps I would find another opportunity.