Well here I am, 16 days into the life called “retirement.”

Sandy and I have completed the thousand-plus mile journey from Tennessee, and are now nestled away at Camp Singley in Washington, NH. For the first time in the roughly 35 years we have owned this wonderful camp on the shores of Highland Lake we are not counting down the days to when we have to head south to get back to work. There are no more departure deadlines, although the early onset of cold weather here will almost certainly prompt us to leave for warmer climes sometime in late August or early September. Still, there is nothing that demands our return.

Even so, there remains in my consciousness an ever-present sense that there is some important thing I need to be doing, some place I need to be, some person I need to see, some sermon I need to prepare. I know this is not so, but sometimes in the morning my mind spins for a few minutes trying to summon up an agenda I have to keep. When it dawns on me that there is nothing I must get up for I feel a little relieved – and a little depressed.

What will I do with the rest of my life?

That’s a deep question – and a good one! How often do you get to ask a question like that? The last time I remember wrestling with the question of my future purpose was during my sophomore year at Springfield College. It was a crazy time in my life and in the world. The Vietnam war was on and my draft number was 30. That meant it was a sure bet I’d have to go once I was out of school and my 2S deferment ran out. Too many of my generation had already gone to Vietnam, and come home – in boxes. I didn’t want to join them.

Meanwhile, Timothy Leary and others were inviting people of my generation to “turn on, tune in, and drop out.” Drugs were everywhere. Society’s traditional mores were crumbling. Generations were breaking apart. Music was becoming darker, harsher, and lyrics shouted angry protest against the “establishment.”

The neat little world I had grown up in was breaking apart.

And I had no idea what I would do with the rest of my life.

Do you remember the movie “The Graduate?” Benjamin Braddock – played by Dustin Hoffman – is dealing with the same struggle. He’s graduated from college and comes home to a party his parents are putting on for him. Everybody at the party asks, “Benjamin, what are you going to do now?” One of the men answers his own question, telling Benjamin to remember one word – “Plastics.” That’s where the future lies. Plastics.

But Benjamin isn’t listening. He’s just confused – and overwhelmed – by the “rest of my life” question.

I could have played the role of Benjamin Braddock. That was my life back then too. Well, not the part about Anne Bancroft, although after seeing the movie I sure fantasized about Anne Bancroft! But – confused, directionless and overwhelmed by the fact that “the rest of my life” was imminent – I was driven to a level of ennui that can only be described as despair.

Who am I? Why am I here?

One autumn afternoon during my sophomore year all that gathering anxiety swelled up into a soul-shaking storm I could no longer weather. Alone in my dormitory room, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, and crying out to the only one I could think to cry out to.

God.

Without attempting to make it any more or less than what it was, all I can say is that I became aware of a presence – a presence that felt like the wind – like a wave of healing – like – love. I was without words, and without understanding. But it didn’t matter. Whatever the experience was, the reality behind it I knew to be connected to the deepest parts of who and what I was. Others may give it different names, but for me there was no question it was God.

For the first time in a long time I prayed. But it wasn’t the kind of prayer we prayed at church growing up, or by the bedside at night with my mother. It was just, well, conversation. It was deep, deep sharing of feelings and fears and all the residue of life’s experiences that had accumulated like silt in my soul. Time stood still until it was all out in the open. I felt drained. And finally, free.

Later, I dusted off the Bible I had brought with me to college – the one with my name embossed in gold lettering on the front that I had been awarded for Memory Work in 3rd grade Sunday School. I opened the book to a random page, whispering a prayer that God would show me something to direct my life. Then I closed my eyes and took what my mother used to call “a lucky dip.” The tip of my forefinger landed upon Romans 15:16 – “…to be a minister of Jesus Christ to the Gentiles…”

And I knew what I would do with “the rest of my life.”

Now I’m not really a fan of “lucky dip” vocational planning. A lot of serial killers play the “Bible told me to do it” game. But for me, that verse in Romans 15 turned out to be a genuine calling. For forty years now, I have had the privilege of sharing life with four different churches and thousands of precious people. We have preached good news together and seen God’s love at work in the world. It’s been an amazing ride for which I am so grateful.

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But now, forty-plus years later, here I am, 16 days into the life called “retirement.”

Once again I’m facing the question, “What will I do with the rest of my life?”

I honestly don’t know.

But, I believe that however this next chapter unfolds, its author will be the same One who has been writing the story of my life from the beginning.

So let’s turn the page, God…and start writing!