In the last two months I’ve had three interviews. I’ve travelled up and down the country, lugging bags and suits onto a variety of trains. I’ve got into cars with people I do not know. I’ve stayed in strangers’ houses, eaten strangers’ food, shaken strangers’ hands and said with a knowing smile and a nervous laugh; “I hope we meet again.” I’ve explored churches and parishes and cities. I’ve spoken to any number of church leaders, be they ordained, or skilled in making cakes. I’ve thanked churchwardens and youth groups. I’ve met open charismatics, closet charismatics, male vicars and female vicars. I’ve made videos and nailed presentations. I’ve had hard questions and easy questions. I’ve answered questions about sexuality, sexual relationships, and gender issues. I’ve been able to smile and laugh and make mistakes and worry about them endlessly at night. I’ve said goodbye to interview panels and administrators. I’ve spent time in pubs and cafes, I’ve caught buses and I’ve waited for trains.
And I’ve had three ‘phone calls saying that I didn’t get the job.
And somewhere, in amongst all that, is a grand plan of God’s own design, that will end me up in the right place.
As long as that right place is at home, scrounging off my mother.