I was taught years ago to listen for metaphors. Metaphors reveal the true heart, and the heart of this organization was deeply mechanical. I heard nothing about the kind of pastoral work I longed to embrace, to cultivate relationships, water new sprouts, plant hope, and weed out distractions. How could I see and hear the people I was to care for from the cockpit of a bulldozer. This world needs people who are at home out in the garden. As the conversation ended, and the paperwork pushed across the desk with a pen and a smile, I politely declined and walked away.
