Emilio was frustrated beyond belief. He was limited, however, in his vocabulary options for expressing that frustration.
Open. Honest. Transparent.
That’s what everyone wants. And everyone on twitter was dumping and chattering and seemed to have incredible amounts of time. But Emilio was stuck.
Many of the conversations he had as a pastor–part counselor, part confidant, part confessor, part dad–were conversations that didn’t belong in public.
- “meeting with deacon Jones about his embezzlement problem. idiot.”
- “Mary just has to leave her abusive husband. Calling 911.”
- “time to paste the smile on again for the elders.”
One, it just wasn’t nice.
Two, some of the people following him on twitter knew deacon Jones.
Three, even if he used veiled references (“deacon X), people would know.
He’d never forget the post he wrote about a counseling appointment. He used no names, but his secretary read his blog and knew his schedule. His calendar was shared–with no names–on Google calendar. His office was on the main hallway of the church. A couple of people put the pieces together and said, “I’m glad L___ finally acknowledged her problem and is talking with you. We’ve been talking for a long time about how she needed help.”
L___ must have heard. She never came back for the next appointment.
Emilio knew that other people must have similar challenges. You can’t talk about the core of what you do, about helping people heal. If you can’t talk about that, it sounds like you don’t do anything.
He pulled out his phone.
“Somehow, this coffee isn’t working today. Must. Make. More.”
He shrugged as he started clearing his desk for the next appointment.
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