Near the ten-year anniversary of my ordination, I was floundering. I felt isolated, weary, on the edge of that overused but apropos termburn-out. There were signs: heart palpitations, fatigue, a cranky and critical spirit.

During the day, my energy level sagged, and the simplest tasks, such as returning phone calls and cranking out another adult education brochure, became chores. I awoke at three o'clock in the morning with a mile-long list of gnawing worries. I read the want ads and studied college brochures, trying to discover if there were anything else I could do to make a living.

With the help of a therapist, I came to see I was so busy taking care of everybody else, I wasn't taking good care of myself. I began to make changes: to take more time off and develop interests outside the church. Then a new call came. I, a native Californian, packed up my life and journeyed some thousand miles away from my family and growing sense of community. I began the challenging process ...

Subscriber access only You have reached the end of this Article Preview
To continue reading, join now for free and get complete access.

If you like this, you'll also like: