I’m in a funk. I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s getting on that time of the month. Maybe I had too much time to think over the holidays. Maybe the various sad situations that surround me are just getting to me. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m in a funk – I’ve got the HPS blues.
I hadn’t been to church for two weeks. First because I had a virus, and second because I was away in Wichita for Thanksgiving. As I sat eating a piece of apple spice cake one of the ladies brought on Tuesday night, someone commented on my absence. I explained I’d had a virus and the woman said, “Well, we appreciate you staying away to keep us from getting sick, but we missed you.” It was a sweet comment, but I felt kind of bad because my motivation for staying away had much more to do with feeling so incredibly tired and being concerned my immune system was under siege. Frankly, I was more concerned about them making me sick than I was about me making them sick.
I was expecting to sing Christmas carols as we had during the same time last year. Instead, I learned that this would be our last Tuesday night service. Pastor Pat is leaving us. I was taken completely by surprise. She’d announced it a week ago, but since I’d been gone, I didn’t know. I was chatting with another lady and overheard Pastor Pat at another table talking about the house she’d bought and how close it was to the church. She’d be able to walk back and forth. “How nice,” I thought. Then, I heard something about Michigan and thought perhaps I’d just misheard part of the conversation. But, as the conversation continued I realized something was up. I looked at our director of Christian education and said, “Is Pastor Pat leaving?” Indeed she was.
Not only did this news take me completely by surprise, but so did my reaction to it. As Pastor Pat made her way over to our table and explained to me where she was going, showing me pictures of her new church and a very cute house she’s bought there I felt that feeling in my gut that you get when you know you’re about to burst into tears.
I could feel the tears coming and I can’t stand to cry in public. I didn’t want to create a scene or make a fuss, so I just kept looking at the pictures so I wouldn’t have to look up at anyone and have them see the tears in my eyes. I dug in my purse for nothing in particular as I bit the inside of my cheek.
The news, as well as the reaction, took me totally by surprise. I love Pastor Pat. We chat via e-mail now and then. We talk on Tuesday nights at dinner. But, we weren’t exactly shopping buddies. She’s not at my house on a Saturday night camped out on my living room floor. For one thing, Pastor Pat is quite a bit older than me.
But I think part of the reason I got so emotional is this has been a tough week for me anyway. Pastor Pat was one of the very few people locally that truly “got it.” She’s one of the only people outside the HPS community that I think really understood this thing that we all live with every day.
When I decided to join this church I made an appointment with her. I felt that if I was going to spend much time at this church, someone there should understand what was going on with me behind the scenes. HPS is a hard topic to bring up in casual conversation. When you do actually try to explain it to people, they might understand the facts, but they rarely understand the “life” of HPS. But Pastor Pat seemed to get it.
I explained the medical implications of HPS. I explained what I’d gone through with my diagnosis. I explained that my brother was also affected and that I was the one that had to tell him. I explained how I got involved with the HPS Network, and what that has meant to me emotionally. On the one hand it’s empowering to feel like you’re making an impact on the cure. It means so much to have the support of other people fighting the same battles. At the same time, the more immersed you become, the more people you know. And, sometimes the people you come to love are sick and they die. I explained the practical things like not to worry if I go tearing out of church in the middle of a sermon. It isn’t anything that was said. It’s more likely I’m having a nose bleed or an ostomy problem. If I don’t seem terribly involved, it isn’t for lack of love for the church. It’s simply that HPS keeps me very busy. And, honestly, there are times when I just don’t feel so great.
I added Pastor Pat to my occasional e-mails to supporters. And I knew she was keeping track. She asks about the drug trial and the fundraising.
For the most part, I haven’t needed terribly much from her. I’ve been doing well and things have been okay, but I knew that if they weren’t that she was available.
That kind of understanding and availability is precious to me.
So often I feel like I operate in two worlds. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been beamed into outer space, shot miles and miles into some other place and radically changed by the experience. Thus when I rejoin the rest of the world I often feel a step out of place. It’s also hard because you can’t talk about your HPS life with just anyone. If I talked about the things that go through my head every day, or the things I encounter every week, no one would be able to stand to be around me because I’d be too depressing. It was really nice to know someone understood that and if I ever really needed to reach out there would be someone to whom I didn’t have to explain everything from the very beginning.
There are people at church who know I have HPS. There are people at church who know I have colitis, bleeding problems and pulmonary fibrosis. There are people who know I’m in a drug trial. All of them are the nicest and most well-meaning people on Earth. But, I don’t think any of them understand all of those things together and can appreciate the entire picture the way Pastor Pat does.
Her last sermon will be on New Year’s Eve. We’ll have subs for a while and then an interim pastor for a while. This picture is too big, too complicated and too emotional to share with a bunch of substitutes.
I am truly happy for Pastor Pat and the new opportunities that await her. But, I’m really going to miss her.
I’m also going to really miss the Tuesday night service. I know many of you are fans of the old hymns etc. And there’s nothing wrong with them. I just really prefer a more contemporary style service so I liked the Tuesday night services better. Also, it’s in the evening. I’m not a morning person. Never have been – and these days that’s even more true. I typically don’t feel well in the morning when I get up. My joints hurt. I often feel a little stomach upset etc. There are a lot of times when I’ve been in church on a Sunday morning, and can’t remember a thing just because I feel so miserable and tired. But evenings are much better for me.
When we get a new pastor perhaps they’ll bring back the Tuesday services. Who knows how long that will be though.
I hadn’t been to church for two weeks. First because I had a virus, and second because I was away in Wichita for Thanksgiving. As I sat eating a piece of apple spice cake one of the ladies brought on Tuesday night, someone commented on my absence. I explained I’d had a virus and the woman said, “Well, we appreciate you staying away to keep us from getting sick, but we missed you.” It was a sweet comment, but I felt kind of bad because my motivation for staying away had much more to do with feeling so incredibly tired and being concerned my immune system was under siege. Frankly, I was more concerned about them making me sick than I was about me making them sick.
I was expecting to sing Christmas carols as we had during the same time last year. Instead, I learned that this would be our last Tuesday night service. Pastor Pat is leaving us. I was taken completely by surprise. She’d announced it a week ago, but since I’d been gone, I didn’t know. I was chatting with another lady and overheard Pastor Pat at another table talking about the house she’d bought and how close it was to the church. She’d be able to walk back and forth. “How nice,” I thought. Then, I heard something about Michigan and thought perhaps I’d just misheard part of the conversation. But, as the conversation continued I realized something was up. I looked at our director of Christian education and said, “Is Pastor Pat leaving?” Indeed she was.
Not only did this news take me completely by surprise, but so did my reaction to it. As Pastor Pat made her way over to our table and explained to me where she was going, showing me pictures of her new church and a very cute house she’s bought there I felt that feeling in my gut that you get when you know you’re about to burst into tears.
I could feel the tears coming and I can’t stand to cry in public. I didn’t want to create a scene or make a fuss, so I just kept looking at the pictures so I wouldn’t have to look up at anyone and have them see the tears in my eyes. I dug in my purse for nothing in particular as I bit the inside of my cheek.
The news, as well as the reaction, took me totally by surprise. I love Pastor Pat. We chat via e-mail now and then. We talk on Tuesday nights at dinner. But, we weren’t exactly shopping buddies. She’s not at my house on a Saturday night camped out on my living room floor. For one thing, Pastor Pat is quite a bit older than me.
But I think part of the reason I got so emotional is this has been a tough week for me anyway. Pastor Pat was one of the very few people locally that truly “got it.” She’s one of the only people outside the HPS community that I think really understood this thing that we all live with every day.
When I decided to join this church I made an appointment with her. I felt that if I was going to spend much time at this church, someone there should understand what was going on with me behind the scenes. HPS is a hard topic to bring up in casual conversation. When you do actually try to explain it to people, they might understand the facts, but they rarely understand the “life” of HPS. But Pastor Pat seemed to get it.
I explained the medical implications of HPS. I explained what I’d gone through with my diagnosis. I explained that my brother was also affected and that I was the one that had to tell him. I explained how I got involved with the HPS Network, and what that has meant to me emotionally. On the one hand it’s empowering to feel like you’re making an impact on the cure. It means so much to have the support of other people fighting the same battles. At the same time, the more immersed you become, the more people you know. And, sometimes the people you come to love are sick and they die. I explained the practical things like not to worry if I go tearing out of church in the middle of a sermon. It isn’t anything that was said. It’s more likely I’m having a nose bleed or an ostomy problem. If I don’t seem terribly involved, it isn’t for lack of love for the church. It’s simply that HPS keeps me very busy. And, honestly, there are times when I just don’t feel so great.
I added Pastor Pat to my occasional e-mails to supporters. And I knew she was keeping track. She asks about the drug trial and the fundraising.
For the most part, I haven’t needed terribly much from her. I’ve been doing well and things have been okay, but I knew that if they weren’t that she was available.
That kind of understanding and availability is precious to me.
So often I feel like I operate in two worlds. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been beamed into outer space, shot miles and miles into some other place and radically changed by the experience. Thus when I rejoin the rest of the world I often feel a step out of place. It’s also hard because you can’t talk about your HPS life with just anyone. If I talked about the things that go through my head every day, or the things I encounter every week, no one would be able to stand to be around me because I’d be too depressing. It was really nice to know someone understood that and if I ever really needed to reach out there would be someone to whom I didn’t have to explain everything from the very beginning.
There are people at church who know I have HPS. There are people at church who know I have colitis, bleeding problems and pulmonary fibrosis. There are people who know I’m in a drug trial. All of them are the nicest and most well-meaning people on Earth. But, I don’t think any of them understand all of those things together and can appreciate the entire picture the way Pastor Pat does.
Her last sermon will be on New Year’s Eve. We’ll have subs for a while and then an interim pastor for a while. This picture is too big, too complicated and too emotional to share with a bunch of substitutes.
I am truly happy for Pastor Pat and the new opportunities that await her. But, I’m really going to miss her.
I’m also going to really miss the Tuesday night service. I know many of you are fans of the old hymns etc. And there’s nothing wrong with them. I just really prefer a more contemporary style service so I liked the Tuesday night services better. Also, it’s in the evening. I’m not a morning person. Never have been – and these days that’s even more true. I typically don’t feel well in the morning when I get up. My joints hurt. I often feel a little stomach upset etc. There are a lot of times when I’ve been in church on a Sunday morning, and can’t remember a thing just because I feel so miserable and tired. But evenings are much better for me.
When we get a new pastor perhaps they’ll bring back the Tuesday services. Who knows how long that will be though.
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