I come back from vacation and sit at my desk and stare around wondering where the beach went. At best I shuffle some papers, sort through the mountain of mail, wait for the beep from the email machine to tell me it is full up and hope more than half of them are some sort of spam.
Yesterday I had a schedule with me and a staff meeting - those things helped. I had lunch with a friend - that helped too. I have a sermon to preach on Sunday and a bulletin to polish up by this afternoon - those are non-negotiables. I have staff that I work with who have pressing things to tell me and words/thoughts/ideas to say back to them.
And for most of that the background music in my head is playing some sort of chant about maybe now I should stop playing dress up games in the Head of Staff's office. He's going to come back any moment and wonder why I am messing with his computer, sitting in his chair, fumbling with his files and answering his phone.
And yet it is not he, it is me.
And when I reunite with my son for dinner and head back for a premarital counseling appointment, the shoes and the clothes that had felt so over-sized - as if I had raided the dress-up box - start to fit again.
This is me.
I can do this.
I am back.