Expect Some Turbulence

Lessons from Sabbatical, part 2

Note: I have no idea why this didn’t go out on Friday morning as scheduled, but better late than never. Here it is!

Last week I wrote about re-entry following sabbatical, and how the idea of ease is giving me good guidance to discern what to take on, how much to do, etc. As someone with a tendency to overschedule and overdo, it’s been life-giving to sail when possible and row only when necessary… to ride the current that neither begins nor ends with me, but beckons me into a sense of flow. Many of you responded with your own experiences of ease… for example, in yoga practice, in which we’re invited to stretch, but not beyond our body’s unique capacity. One of you reminded me of that great adage, that the last 10% of a task can often take as much time and effort as the first 90%, and 90% is usually good enough. That’s ease!

This week I’m sharing the other guiding idea coming out of sabbatical, which may seem to contradict the first, but ends up complementing it in some important ways. That idea is turbulence. 

Writer John Philip Newell remembers George MacLeod, founder of the Iona Community in Scotland, and how he liked to ask, “Where is the turbulence?” MacLeod believed that we were called to go into the turbulent places, as hard as that is, because that’s where something new is trying to emerge. 

I encountered these words this summer while at a retreat center in Maryland that’s situated near a large pond. The pond features several underwater pumps that keep the water constantly burbling. Pumps can oxygenate and filter the water, keeping it fresh and reducing the potential for mosquitoes. It made for a beautiful sensory experience.

The pond in question

We–all right, I–often run from turbulence: the tough conversations, the unsettling truths, the difficult work–and it’s understandable, because many of us have had turbulence foisted upon us over the last several years. Whether it’s the pandemic, or the United States’s reckoning of our racial history following George Floyd, or political polarization, or the mental health crisis in our youth, many of us are desperate for solid ground, not more roiling waves. And if you’re part of a minoritized population or living in poverty, turbulence is an ever-present reminder of the deep brokenness in our world, with real-life daily implications.

I’m writing this on Wednesday as Hurricane Ian makes landfall, just days after Fiona plunged Puerto Rico into darkness–dire reminders that extreme weather is soon to be an ever-present reality in many parts of the world thanks to climate change. As loved ones brace for the storm while the world looks on with worry, we are painfully aware that turbulence is a part of life, thanks to both the happenstances of the world and our own short-sighted failures, and not something to crave. 

And also… even with all this turmoil, as I continue to coach leaders and study emerging grassroots movements, it’s possible that if we stay collectively curious and remain non-anxious (OK, less-anxious) and see what we might be birthed from this turbulence, a better world can emerge. Part of the work, though, is to invest in the right kind of turbulence, or as my therapist put it recently, turbulence in the service of growth rather than in service to regression. 

There’s plenty of the latter out there: ideological silos, demonization and dehumanization of the “other,” social media kerfuffles, institutions that would rather fight over trivia and cling to traditionalism than admit that the world has changed out from under them. It’s so seductive to give those things your time and attention, but they’re the spiritual equivalent of empty calories: lip-smacking good in the moment, but not sustaining. As I return from sabbatical, I’m determined not to give every tempest my precious time and attention. 

How does last week’s discussion of ease fit with turbulence? When I’m not overfunctioning, when I find ease in my life wherever I can, I’m better able to discern the turbulence in the service of growth and not get sucked into the regression. It’s not easy, but it’s worthwhile.

What kind of life-giving turbulence are you seeing these days? 

And… if you still find yourself craving some ease, that’s OK too.

I’m glad we’re in it together. Steady on.

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What I’m Up To

It’s a heavy travel season. As you receive this in your inboxes, I’ll be running the Ragnar Bourbon Chase relay with 10 of my best friends. Ragnar is my happy place each year. Then I head to Ghost Ranch, New Mexico next week for the second installment of the Association of Mid-Council Leaders and Association of Stated Clerks of the Presbyterian Church (USA). This week was installment one, and despite the bureaucratic-sounding name, I met some marvelously creative souls who are attuned to the places of life-giving turbulence in the church. Grateful. 

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Link Love

If you’re able, please donate to support hurricane relief and response–through Presbyterian Disaster Assistance or another organization of your choice.