Descending with Care

While traveling this week, Graham and I did a relatively steep hike to see some ruins. As we climbed (and I regretted leaving my drinking water behind), I reminded myself that it would be okay—we could see the peak where the ruins lay; it wasn’t a great distance, despite the elevation; and the return trip would be downhill, so it would be easier, less rigorous.

We made it to the peak. The views were spectacular. Totally worth the effort. I was proud of us.

Mere steps into the descent, I remembered something I learned during UUCC’s 2022 Assisi Pilgrimage: Downhill “may sound easier, but was merely a different kind of difficult, as steep as it was.”

As we descended from our hilltop ruins today, I was breathing more easily and my heart rate was slower, but my footing—especially in my suboptimal shoes—was less steady, and I had to be very careful not to fall and injure myself. Descent was slower and required more concentration. Not necessarily easier. But differently difficult.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, on that careful descent I also found myself thinking of you, UUCC. I’ll return to work among you next week, but only for about ten days before our final worship service and my last day serving among you.

These next two weeks are our final descent, after so many years of ministry together—including some spectacular peaks that involved decidedly challenging inclines that left us tired and short of breath.

It has been totally worth the effort. I am proud of us.

In many ways, these final days seem simpler. Already I have fewer direct UUCC responsibilities as we disentangle me from the congregation’s operations. The breathing will get easier as the emotional intensity of leave-taking comes to a close. And you and I both are anticipating the proverbial bottle of water at this end of this particular hike—the promised refreshment of new adventures and new sources of inspiration and nourishment.

And these final days will not be easy—at least, not for me. Not only does the descent require different kinds of attention from the hiker, it is also a decidedly unfamiliar path. Rather than returning down the same trail I ascended, I’m traveling down a different side of the mountain altogether. I do not know the way, and I need to stay attentive to every step, lest I fall and injure myself … or miss one last beautiful vista.

This entire experience is new to me. I have never said goodbye to a community in which I have been as invested—as in love—as I have been with you. I don’t know how to do this, so I am learning as I go, much as we’ve done together all these years. And I trust that we will navigate each day, each step, ahead of us with loving care.

I love you, UUCC.

Love,
Paige