31. I looked everywhere for enough.

on sabbatical boundaries and the freedom of a blank calendar

I have the great blessing of a three-month sabbatical starting on Monday.

It is a privilege and a grace to be given three months to rest and be present with my family.

This is the first sabbatical of my ministry and the past few months have been a swirl of thoughts and preparations.

The first voice that often speaks up from the committee of voices in my mind is the one that encourages me to maximize and produce. This voice suggested that I use my sabbatical to read the books in my queue (so many!). It suggested I use the time to develop my consistent writing habit once again (after so many false starts!). It suggested that I finally (!!!) live up to the promise of weekly posts on this Substack - that I maximize my writing into a proper side hustle.

Once I put that voice in dialogue with mentors, therapists, and the Holy Spirit in prayer, I realized that this sabbatical is not going to be a season of production. It will not be the time to supercharge any habits or get ahead at anything. Instead, this will be a sabbatical of presence.

One of my first spiritual directors reminded me before a retreat that, "it is a retreat, not an advance.”

I will write in the coming months, to be sure, but I will not publish any writing. This Substack and my Instagram will go silent for three months as I rest from having to do anything apart from role as a husband and father. I will take a sabbatical from all the voices calling me out of myself and the person God has called me to be.

Again, I recognize the immense privilege of this time. I do not think clergy are uniquely deserving of time to rest. In the frenetic pace of the world these days, we all need time on a daily, weekly, and yearly basis for rest and renewal. Most people do not have the luxury of such space.

I also recognize the insidious nature of the American productivity mindset. Almost as soon as I accepted that I would not publish anything this summer, a little voice said, “But just think of all the writing you will bank to post after the sabbatical is over!”

The work of my sabbatical will be rejecting this voice.

The work of my sabbatical (and the principle of Sabbath more generally) is to accept the givenness of life. I do not make the sun rise. My productivity does not make the rain fall.

My activity does not keep the world spinning. My stopping will not register on the Richter scale.

What happens when the calendar is blank? What will propel me through my days when I am not dragged from meeting to meeting, obligation to obligation? What will I do with time enough to do what I want to do instead of what I have to do?

Photo by Jeswin Thomas.

All of these reflections intersect with the notion of enough - a notion we have lost track of in 2025.

How much work is enough? How much food? How much money?

John D. Rockefeller, the world’s first billionaire, answered the question, “How much money is enough?” with “Just a little bit more!”

The Buddhists know that this is the root of all suffering - the insatiable desire at the core of the human heart.

Christians know this as original sin - the hardwired impulse to reach and grasp for more and for mine.

This week’s poem - the last for a while on this platform - is a simple reflection on the question of enough.

If you are a praying type, please pray for me and my family in this time of renewal and rest.

I will see you, dear readers, on the other side. Or perhaps not. We’ll see how the wind blows.

CBG

31. I looked everywhere for enough. 

I looked everywhere for enough. 
It was not in the books or voices
of secondhand sacred experience. 
Enough was not tucked behind achievement, 
hidden in fine print on the back of a paycheck
or a calligraphied diploma sealed with wax. 
It was not in my stuff or my strength. 
It was not in my titles at the top of the ladder. 
Enough was not in the chatter of the cheering crowd, 
nor the views of the opinioned few. 
I looked everywhere for enough 
and to my surprise it was right here. 
Enough lingered in the air waiting until 
I closed my eyes, felt my feet touching earth, 
heart marking this new moment’s birth, 
and received this next given breath.