In the personal and corporate life in the Body of Christ, there are winter seasons of dormancy when the Lord begins a redirection process in His plan for growth and abundant life. During that time, like a master gardener, He prunes off the dead twigs and branches that are unfruitful, those areas in our lives that would stifle new growth and hinder the possibility for abundant blooming and a greater harvest of fruit for His kingdom. And in that season of dormancy, the Lord reminded His followers in John 15 that they were to remain, to abide in His Love.

Recently, after I had completed eighteen months serving as interim pastor to a wonderful congregation, I was invited to offer the charge to the congregation at the installation of their new pastor. With the pleasure of seeing the fruit of the long work of the pastoral nominating committee, I packed up my furniture from the manse, along with a full library of books, files, an old fern and miscellaneous photographs. Good hugs, warm wishes and thanks from the congregation accompanied me back into our house in Columbus, Ohio. I must have been humming, "Do - do - do - do - do" to the tune of Frank Sinatra's, "Strangers in the Night". I didn't realize that I didn't have the words right, and I didn't realize that God's time for a season of winter dormancy was upon me. And, I certainly didn't realize I needed pruning.

Out of work, as part of the life of an interim, I sped into the familiar routine of full-time homemaker/cook. I was confronted with the daunting task of reorganizing closets, making room in the kitchen to squeeze everything back into the cupboards which had accompanied me while I was away, and emptying all the book boxes on the floor of the library to start once again to set up a home office. I maintained a brisk schedule of repairs, doctor's appointments, presbytery committee meetings, all with the plan to finish just as God opened a new door of opportunity. My perfect timing.

After all, as an intentional interim I knew the drill of good closures, and I thought I knew how to wait on God. But God was still. Mail came with bills, circulars for car lubes and flyers for spiritual retreats. I paid the bills. I attended to the car. I went to a retreat. Strangely, this time there was a nagging sense of fruitlessness. In all the familiar ways of reading Scripture, praying and meditating on God's word, mining my heart as I struggled to write in my journal, there was only a numbness. It was as though I were tucked into a plexiglass box, able to see, but unable to feel. And all the while, I kept remembering the words, "Abide in My Love."

Abiding had never been a personal part of my spiritual vocabulary. I had always "learned and turned" situations into action. I assumed that abiding was another process of something I needed to learn how to do, and do better. (You know the song÷do - do - do - do - do). I struggled against the understanding that abiding was simply staying, continuing in the place where I found myself, trusting the stable Love of God and waiting expectantly in hope without shrinking into despair. I was an interim in an "in-between time." For me, the true question was, would I be able to abide in God's silence during this winter-time of pruning? Could I be still under His hand when He clipped off things that were unfruitful, things done by rote, things done with little integrity, or done because they were a learned pattern of pastoral behavior? Were there areas of my life that were keeping His Spirit from moving freely? This winter season with God was not about performance. It wasn't about new learning. It wasn't a planned Sabbath rest. It was a time I hadn't provoked. But it was a time of God moving to prune the tendrils in my life that were not directed wholly in His direction. It was about being able to be loved. Being. Not doing.

Many of my thoughts went to the churches I had served, where sermons and lessons and prayers had been focused on God's love, God's grace, God's plan, God's purpose, God's invitations, God's rejoicing over us. I quit striving and contending for God's usual ways with me. Like Elijah, I had been unable to find Him in the usual fire and wind. I quit pouting and wondering what I had done and just rested in the truth of God's "I- will-never-leave-you" presence. It was then I remembered a phrase I had learned years before: "I bless Your Name. I praise You. I trust You." With each part of the triad, I pictured Jesus, and His peace returned, quietly, and with a still small voice, I heard, "You are abiding in Me every time you think of Me, every time you pray, every time you ask Me to join you on a walk, every time You ask Me to help."

In all change, God is very present, ready to renew us in His time. In all change, God's plan of life is to continue growth, if we are willing. After all, the name the Lord gave to Moses is "I Am," which is the perfect state of being. By abiding in His love, He balances our lives and makes it possible to sing "Do - be - do - be - do." Resting with us, and leading us, The Lord is no longer a stranger in the night, but a friend in all of life.

Robin W. Obetz is a second career, intentional interim in the Presbytery of Scioto Valley. She has served as a convener for Presbyterians For Renewal in that Presbytery. She and her husband of nearly 40 years have two sons, Chris, 35, living in New York City, and Doug, 31, in Big Sky, Montana.

Before entering seminary in 1991, she served on the State Council of Ohio Prison Fellowship, responsible for training interdenominational women being called to go "behind the walls" with Bible Studies and seminars. Following a for-college-credit seminar on Jail and Prison Ministry at Wheaton College, she wrote and conducted a survey at one of the major women's correctional institutions in Ohio, seeking input from the inmates concerning what spiritual opportunities they would most like to have offered. Most surprisingly, 98% responded they wanted to learn how to pray, and 70% wanted to learn how to teach their children about Jesus.