Mountaintop retreat reminders. You matter, too.

“Some of the conversations that started in your "Bucket List" workshop continued later that evening—as a group of us clergywomen sat at the bar.”

I was in ministry for more than 20 years.

Today, I am not.

The reasons are various and not the topic of this post.

Once upon a time, my jobs required my attendance at church 50 weeks per year. Recently, my connection to anything that passes for “church participation” has been loose at best.

Since I left healthcare leadership in 2023, I’ve been speaking professionally across the nation—not preaching every Sunday at church.

Most of my audiences are healthcare groups, not faith communities. Physicians, nurses, leaders, social workers--even billers and coders, human resources, and nursing professors.

Last year, an attendee at my workshop for the University of Memphis college of nursing referred me to a friend. She thought I should speak to their group, too.

Her friend wasn’t a healthcare leader. She was—you guessed it—a church leader for a multi-state Christian denomination.

I met with her several times as we developed a plan that included me serving their pastors over a five month period.

The plan included:

·         Six online sessions

·         100 copies of my book on burnout

·         Access to my courses on leadership and personal vitality

·         Two in-person workshops at their retreat atop Mt. Magazine in Arkansas

The pastors were engaged during the online sessions, and last week Kristen and I drove 1,700 round trip miles to climb the steep and crooked path to Arkansas’s highest point.

My first workshop—entitled “Why is ministry so hard?”—garnered some heartfelt and difficult conversations.

·         The disappointments they had experienced in ministry

·         The way politics has hurt them recently

·         The effect of traumas and difficult times they have witnessed

It was a dark, meaningful conversation, but filled with laughter, too.

[This is, hands down, my favorite breed of conversation.]

However, I worried that it was too heavy--that it might impact attendance at the second workshop—“From Burnout to Bucket List.”

My concern was unfounded. The room was packed—every seat taken.

During that session, I pitched a wild idea.

I proposed that these pastors have worth and value in the EXACT same measure as the people they serve.

In other words—your congregants matter, but so do you.

The message—as I predicted—wasn’t received with unanimous acclaim. After all, pastors spend decades with selflessness and service as their focus.

“I struggle with this idea. Sure, I want to travel to Italy, but wouldn’t that money be better used to help the poor?”

“I read what you wrote on bucket lists, and I tried to start. But I can’t think of anything I want. After so many years as a mom and pastor, I don’t know HOW to want anything for myself. Am I broken?”

Through tears, I pressed them.

Pressured them to believe they are worthwhile—worth investment.

“If you sat down with a parishioner and they shared a dream with you, would you discourage them? Or cheer them on?”

Why do we believe those we serve deserve more than us?

Slowly. Gradually. They started adding items to their bucket lists—journals provided by the planners of the getaway set high in the Ozark Mountains.

Later, I got an email from their leader. She said, “Some of the conversations that started in your "Bucket List" workshop continued later that evening as a group of us clergywomen sat at the bar.”

Returning to my roots for this partnership—loving and investing in ministry leaders—buoyed my heart and reminded me of their selfless plight.

Would you like to partner like this to support your leaders? Contact me today.