This past weekend, I had the honor of participating in the the 139th Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of East Carolina. People gathered from congregations east of I95, from Moyock all the way down to Southport. I won’t go into all the details of our time together. Trust it included rich discussion, group decisions, honoring the power of rain, a middle-of-the-night fire alarm, elections, learning, honoring, remembering and mostly, prayer. I returned home to Lake Waccamaw renewed, refreshed and hopeful.
And then I got word that a man was missing in our lake. After a few hours, we found out, heartbreakingly, the man drowned, trying to save his son. His remains were recovered. His son survived.
I don’t know how to make sense of this.
I don’t know how to make sense of a lot of things.
So, when I heard, I just stopped to breathe, focus on this, and offer every.single.bit.of.light I had in me, to the people involved.
How do you handle those kind of sacred pauses, over which you have no control?