I’ll be retiring for the third time this Friday… I guess.  It’s sort of like someone who’s married thrice:  after so many times, other people assume you don’t know how to take it seriously. The first time I retired I got about 50 congratulatory cards.  Then the second time, people told me to have a nice life, but nobody bothered sending me any money or cards.  This time everyone just says, “See ya around.”

The first time I retired, my wife had a long list of things for me to do after the magic date arrived.  After the second retirement, she stopped waiting and just made me do things when she thought of them.  

The magic date of "my retirement" seems to be an illusion.  We were talking the other day about something coming up in July.  I mentioned that I’d be retired by then, and Jie's response had the same yawning reaction as if I’d just told her about brushing my teeth:  “Oh… good for you.”  

I’m afraid to read the story of “The Boy Who Called Wolf” to my grandchildren, for fear they’ll say, “Isn’t that like how you keep telling us that you’re going to retire?”  

Grandpa Haworth was a preacher and protested that he would never retire.  When he was 64 he had a heart attack and dropped dead.  True to his word, he never retired.  

Grandpa Smith worked for Standard Oil and when he was 61 the company upgraded their equipment and gave him of early retirement.  But neither he nor my stay-at-home grandma were all that thrilled about so much “together” time. He spent his healthy retirement years going on “fishing” trips.  

Grandma Smith was a full time homemaker.  She never officially retired, but just faded after grandpa died and she herself slowly became more physically incapacitated.  

Grandma Haworth was unceremoniously retired in her mid-twenties, since female schoolteachers were fired if they got married.  For forty years her work was being a minister’s wife.  And when my grandpa died, her work was to hold opinions about every pastor of every church she attended.  (Lord have mercy on those poor pastors.)

Maybe my family heritage is why I have trouble staying retired.

But probably not.

I can’t really distinguish the difference between “my life as a pastor” and “my life.”  Here’s what my life looked like before I retired:  I visited all 50 states, numerous foreign countries, read books, interacted with interesting people, led groups on pilgrimages to inspiring places, cooked, entertained friends, enjoyed grandchildren, planted gardens, went on a Caribbean cruise, played tennis a couple times a week, joined a writers’ group, played on the church softball team, gave a talk every week on an important life- topic to a roomful of people, passed the benefit of my experiences on to younger colleagues, socialized with my neighbors, kept up with the news, wrote funny letters and essays, tended flowers, kept reasonably in touch with distant friends and relatives… and I got paid while doing it all.  

People ask what I’m going to do in my retirement.  Why would I want to change "what" I do? I'd like to just keep living my life… doing all of the above.  I like my life.  I just won't get paid for it anymore. I don't know if I'll have any more time or not. I spent most of my working life playing around with everything and enjoying myself... so I'm not sure where the extra time is coming from.

As for money, just cutting back on restaurant meals (I'll still offer to pay for any meals under $10) and not filling up my gas tank twice a week should pretty well keep me in the black. 

There will be almost no funerals, weddings, hospital visits, meetings, or sermons in my retirement. Those are not that hard for me, but I’m fatigued at producing them “on demand.”  

As for my Sunday mornings, I found a couple churches in Urbana where I like the liturgy and preaching. And I like Jie, so I’ll split my Sunday morning time among three or four places.  Not being tied down to one church seems important to me right now.

Of course, I’m eager to do more writing, with four projects already pretty far along and one (my novel) just in the early stages.  And I’m eager to do some consulting with churches that are struggling and looking to change their “story.”

For many people, the agony of retirement is that you work, you retire, then you die.  I’m okay with that sequence.  After all, many people were never afforded the decency of life happening in that order.  I’m grateful that I have been granted that sequence.

What bothers me most about retirement is irrelevance.  Craziness is accelerating in the church, in our country, and in our world.  How can my voice be silent or my pen be stilled if I still have passion?  

How can I not scramble to share an insight… in a game I’ve designed, in a book waiting to be written, in conversations yet to be held… if an issue begs my involvement? How can I not read books, watch documentaries, pick people’s brains, and tend to my collection of Great Courses videos when my curiosity still tickles?  How can I stay out of my flower and vegetable beds when the growth there still makes my own soul bloom?  How can I keep from roaming the country and world when external pilgrimages still thrill me with a corresponding inward journey?  How can I not invite others along on those pilgrimages?  How can I stay away from my daughters, my grandchildren, my mom, my brothers and sister, my friends… when there are so many meals yet to share and so many stories and memories yet to tell?  

When I retired the first time, I felt I was going around a significant bend in my life.  When I retired the second time, I was a little exhausted and needed a respite for a while.  

The third time?  I feel sad that I will no longer have the frequent fellowship of my wonderful friends in Geneseo. But that’s it.  I really don’t feel anything else.  It’s a given… I’ll just go right on being me.