Expectation and Gratitude: A Sabbatical Journey

By Rev. Rebekkah Abel Lamar

When I told people I was going to be on sabbatical, they asked what I was going to accomplish.

“Nothing,” I would tell them.

They struggled with a follow up question, and I struggled with a more satisfying answer. I felt like I should have a goal, some way to know if I’d done sabbatical right, but I never found one I could articulate. My only goal for sabbatical, it turns out, was to take one.

I’m not sure what I expected from sabbatical. Maybe a revelation, something to prove that I had made productive use of my time away? Maybe to find new habits that would keep me from getting overwhelmed or exhausted when I returned, some magic formula to perfect work-life balance? Or maybe just to feel different in some way, like some new and improved version of myself?

One of the places I was most excited to visit during sabbatical was the Lake District of England. It is a land of beautiful lakes and stunning “fells” (hills/mountains) lined with stone fences and dotted with sheep. In the months of busyness preparing myself and the church for my three months away, I imagined myself in that beautiful landscape, far from the weight of ministry and everyday life. Our week in the Lake District started exactly that way, with unhurried time to ramble and a chance to hike and take in some amazing views. But just as I reached the summit of a particularly difficult hike, the real world came for me. On that mountain, so far from home, away from responsibilities, I received the news that a dear friend was dying. I would have been in the car to see him, but I was half the world away. The wind whipped at the tears that ran down my face as I stood and took in one of the most gorgeous views I’ve ever seen while holding some of the worst news. Somehow the world did not get the memo that I was taking a break from it. There at the water’s edge, overlooking a lake and the mountains beyond it, the joy and the sorrow of life crashed together in my spirit.

In the final weeks of my sabbatical, I spent several days in Ocean Springs, MS, and several hours in the Walter Anderson Museum. The museum is one of my favorite places on the Gulf Coast—a gem of creative expression, appreciation of nature, and community connection. While there I found a Walter Anderson quotation that was new to me:

“I believe in the joy of the morning, and the small, kind, simple things that are a reminder of how rich life is.”

As I sat on the beach and watched the orange sun sink behind the water, I decided that Anderson’s words offered the best description of my sabbatical that I had found. I never got away from real life. I took a rest from some responsibilities, but life, with the hard and the hopeful, kept marching along. My sabbatical consisted of time spent by the water’s edge—lakes, streams, oceans, and ponds—with the people closest to me, and the water’s edge marks a transition, a coming together of two different things and the liminal space in between. But at those edges with the space sabbatical offered, I found joy and gratitude for the small, kind and simple things.

I decided before my sabbatical began that I would be preaching on the fruit of the Spirit when I returned. Part of my preparation was to create artwork for each week of the series. I found joy in being creative that I struggle to find when life is more hectic. That Lake District mountaintop and the Gulf Coast beach both found their way into those images and connected me to scripture in a new and intentional way.

Almost a month back into daily ministry, I am still wondering what my sabbatical goal was. I did not have a revelation, and I certainly did not discover the secret to work-life balance. But I did learn to look a little more closely for God in the ordinary and the extraordinary. I remembered that there is no perfect time that is without challenges and hardships, and that God can be found in the edges and the uncertainty and the highs and the lows.