In case you’re wondering, I’ve made an agreement with myself that, as far as these pasta are concerned, done is better than perfect. For example, I just now resisted the very strong urge to correct my auto-correct when it write pasta instead of post.
Wrote pasta instead of post. Sheesh.
(Don’t worry–this is all part of my master plan–I’m going to write my way out of what ails me and nobody’s gonna bring me down.)
So, anyway, where was I? Ah, yes: the Sinai.
Back in post -15- I made the outrageous claim that not having my contract renewed was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. I totally believe that without a ounce of irony. I believe it because that devastating experience taught me many, many invaluable lessons.
I learned how to walk by faith and not by sight, how to trust God for daily bread, how to pray like my life depended on it, how to listen, how to speak, how to have an exodus. I learned that God is always good, that pain is never permanent, that sometimes the darkness that envelopes us is the shadow of His wings and not the shadow of death.
Much of what I hope to write here at the Inkwell is stuff I learned in the Sinai. But, today I’ll skip to when our sojourn ended and we crossed the Jordan into the Promised Land.
(FYI, that pressure to be done and not perfect is starting to kick in, so this may be anti-climactic.)
Basically, we had left Egypt and its fleshpots (my old school) and been living on manna from IBM (thank you, Scott Whitfield) and quail from Kolbe school, the most wonderful K-8 school in the history of humanity (thank you Mary Jo and Paul Scamperle), when, in the midst of minding my own business, I got a phone call from Father Bolding.
“How would you like to be the Dean of Academics at Saint Mary’s High School?”
“Um, yes? “
To be continued. . .