Today is the first day of my sabbatical, and naturally, I am celebrating by… waiting for the doctor to call. Not on a beach. Not reading a book. Not doing anything remotely sabbatical-ish. Just sitting here, aggressively sipping tea and trying to swallow like it’s an Olympic sport.

Nothing major—just strep throat that has decided to cling to me like a bad committee meeting that should have ended 20 minutes ago. Swallowing feels like I’ve angered a small colony of cacti living in my throat. Very festive. I’m fairly convinced I just need a stronger dose of antibiotics—something heroic, really. Not your everyday, polite antibiotics. I’m talking about the kind that bursts through the door like, “We’re here, we’ve got this, step aside,” and knocks this thing out of the park by lunchtime.

Meanwhile, I keep checking my phone like a teenager waiting for a text. Did the doctor call? No. Did I miss it? Also no. Am I imagining the phone vibrating? Absolutely. This is not exactly how I pictured the start of rest and renewal. I had dreams—big dreams—of peace, quiet, maybe even feeling like a slightly more spiritual and well-rested human being. Instead, I sound like a frog and survive on popsicles. If this is day one, I can only assume the rest of my sabbatical will be equally… memorable.

Yesterday was my official send-off at church, and apparently I decided the best way to celebrate was to do everything while battling strep throat. (As of that moment, I was on day 4 of antibiotics and cleared for work.) I preached at two services with my throat not able to swallow, said approximately one million goodbyes (“See you June 9!” I kept insisting, as if I might forget my own return date), hugged everyone twice—once intentionally, once because I forgot I already had—and then, just for fun, taught a First Communion class.

That’s enough pastoral acts for one Sunday.

By the end, my voice was hanging on by a thread, my throat was filing formal complaints, and I was fairly certain the communion bread was judging me. But honestly, the best part? I started writing down all the fun—and unintentionally hilarious—things people said to me throughout the Sunday. All of it is completely endearing. Turns out, when you tell people you’re going on sabbatical, they become part encourager, part comedian, and part amateur life coach. And really, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Story #1:
“Pastor Heather, happy sabbatical! Do you leave tomorrow to start traveling? Where will you go? What will you do? Three months is a long time.”

This question came at me with the energy of a full travel documentary crew. I appreciated the enthusiasm. I really did.
I smiled and said, “Yes to travel… a little. But on Monday, I will be sleeping, napping, and resting.”

And here I am, fully living that dream—resting horizontally, drinking tea, and waiting for the doctor to call like it’s my full-time job.

Story #2:
“Pastor Heather, happy sabbatical! Did you know you have hair standing up on the top of your head?”

Ah yes. Nothing says blessing and sending like a gentle alert about your hair situation.
I said, “Yes! It is called a messy bun. It’s meant to look messy!”

Whether or not it looked intentionally messy… remains between me, the mirror, and the Lord.

Story #3:
“Pastor Heather, happy sabbatical! My baby will be born while you are gone!”

I said, “Keep me posted! I may miss the big day, but I cannot wait to meet your little one, hear the story, and celebrate with you when I return.”

It felt perfectly reassuring. I am so excited about this baby.

Story #4:
“Pastor Heather, happy sabbatical! Before you go, I should tell you about my bladder problem.”

There are moments in ministry when you realize people trust you deeply. This was one of those moments… just not one I had time for. I said, “I can’t right now, I have to get ready for a First Communion class—but good luck!”

Pastoral care on the fly.

Story #5 (my favorite):
“Pastor Heather, happy sabbatical! Don’t forget to take time to smell the flowers, and we want to take you to the Minnesota Arboretum to see the tulips this spring.”

I said, “Yes!”—probably a little too quickly, a little too enthusiastically.
Because what they don’t know… is that tulips—especially pink ones—are my absolute favorite.

Honestly, if this sabbatical includes naps, healing, and tulips, I’d say we’re already off to a very promising start. Thank you to Bethlehem for this leave, thank you to the Children, Youth, and Family team for covering the details, and thank you God for gracious love, rest, and healing.