This is my song

It's become a bit too routine, my tossing and turning and waking up at 3:30am on the night that follows a particular meeting. Why I toss and turn is more about me and my reaction to the dynamic in the meeting, than it is about anything that is actually said or done. Still, my reaction speaks to a reality of being a woman in leadership. It acknowledges a general sense that resides within me, one I don't appreciate and wish would go away or resolve itself, or at the very least, I wish I weren't so aware of the dynamic and the ongoing slights that happen in the meeting, the way a woman is treated, me and others.

No, it's never my intention to wake up fretful, but still I do. This morning I gave in to the insomnia and headache, and got up at 4:30. I fed the dogs, and made coffee. Thunder and lightning ignited the tropical-like air outside and finally released the rain, a gentle soaking to quench the dry and dusty earth of my backyard. I opened the sliding glass door and closed the screen, so I could hear the rain fall. This is wasteful, the air conditioner is running. Yet, this hot dry summer and my fretful night of sleep were soothed by the sound of rain, and now, afterward, the chirp of crickets. I've always loved the song of crickets, they remind me of open windows, summer nights, and the rare moments of peace in my childhood.

My fretful, insomniac state is the result of a longing that goes unfulfilled. I long to live a life transformed, to be the best version of myself that I can be. I long to be an agent of transformation for others as well. Isn't that part of the calling of a parish priest, to be transformational?

Yet, I find that rather then be transformational, I feel confined, limited, minimized, and devalued. Is this not how many women feel? The subtle words and behavior that diminish the work a woman does. It becomes a daily, an hourly, struggle to believe in my worth and keep going.

Perhaps that is one reason why I respect Hillary Clinton so much. God knows she is devalued and diminished and maligned in ways I have never been nor could imagine. She's a woman in leadership and how she is treated exemplifies how all women are treated. I wonder if she has sleepless nights? I wonder how she manages to keep going? Clearly she has a call to be transformational, and the stamina to live into that call. She gives me hope.

On this hot summer morning, the dawn of the Democratic National Convention, I am restless, headachy, and fretful. I am also just a little excited and hopeful. I plan to watch this convention, although I did my best to ignore all the news about the Republican one last week. Usually I try to watch some of both, but this year I wanted nothing to do with the RNC. There is no hope in the GOP, just more angst. I don't need anymore of that.

I'm almost sixty years old, and like this summer I am getting dry and dusty. My opportunities to make a difference are waning. Part of me would love to just retire and live in the background, and perhaps I will one day. For now, I have another decade of work. I have to work, I am still paying off student loans, loans that afforded me the education to do the very job that sometimes leaves me fretful and sleepless. How ironic. Considering I have another ten years to work, it leaves me wondering how I will get along? Will I just hang in there and do what needs to be done, but nothing more? (That's tempting!). Will I find some kind of inspiration? Or, rather, will inspiration find me? Will I finally retire with a sense of satisfaction, well done good and faithful servant?

I have no idea.

All I know is that on this steamy morning I am taking some small pleasure in the sound of the rain and the song of crickets.