Jan 31 / Feb 1

I can distinctly remember Feb. 1, 2023. I had convinced myself the call couldn’t come tonight. There hadn’t been enough time for reflection and discernment. Really, I was telling myself there hadn’t been enough time for them to call and offer the position to the other candidate. After all, that had happened 8 times before. When the text came through, “Kelly, this is Dori from Newport Presbyterian Church. Do you have a moment for a call?” I froze. I came upstairs to interrupt Katie’s weekly call with her best friend completely stunned. “They want to call me tonight,” I told Katie. “You should probably respond so they know they can call you tonight, yeah?” Katie kindly offered (as she is the hopeful and helpful one more often in our marriage). Moments later, I sat there, holding Katie’s hand, crying, as a speaker phone chorus shared they would like me to be their pastor. One year later and it still brings tears to my eyes. I can’t believe they elected me for this job. They chose me for this messy, beautiful, creative, sacred job. One year later, they still allow me to do this job.

And while I think some of that shock and humility is important, dare I say necessary, to do a job like this well, I sit here one year later trying to reconcile why more often I still feel like the Kelly of January 31, 2023 – waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting the worst, doubting I’m any good. I still come up with backup plans for in case this doesn’t work out or in case they don’t want me anymore. I still have to choose to trust that my writing, my sermons, my prayers, my presence is good enough because my brain is screaming that it’s not. And these thoughts aren’t just at work, though it’s an easy metaphor on an anniversary like today. My body and brain feel trained to live in a fight or flight response because of course my relationships, my housing situation, my bank account, my (insert countless worries here) won’t be this stable for long. I imagine I’m not the only one. And, news flash, this painfully serious self doubt isn’t doing any of us any good.

So this is my public pledge (a month late into the start of the new year because life is busy) for 2024:

I want to nurture goodness this year.
I want to nurture joy and play and delight.
I want to nurture health. And not just the “I want lose weight so I can stand seeing pictures of myself” kind of health. Real health – in body, mind, and spirit. With therapy and walks and vegetables.
I want to nurture community because goodness knows we can’t do this by ourselves.
I want to nurture balance – in work and life, in excitement and patience, in almost but not yet.
I want to nurture laughter.
I want to nurture light.
I want to nurture love.
I want to nurture.

Because the things that grow, the things that prevail, the things that make us who we are – are the things that we nurture.

So I could come home on Sunday afternoon and beat myself up for giving possible the worst and most incoherent sermon I’ve written in year. I could rebuke myself for once again not saving the energy or making the time to go on a walk. I could push myself to do chores even though I’ve been violently ill for two weeks because I tell myself I’m not contributing enough. (Not that I did these things and had to reframe it later or anything…) But, that’s not very nurturing to myself. Or to the people around me.

Instead, I can write a blog, just for me, for the first time in almost a year. I can read that book I keep bringing with me everywhere but not making time to read. I can take that nap, watch that extra episode of The Office, or whatever else I need. Because that’s the kind of person / pastor / wife / neighbor / mom I want to be. And there’s no time like now to reflect on the goodness and truth that has been here all along *see the picture including with this post* and nurture more of that for the sake of our future selves.