Not one thing.
As much as I loved pastoring, I do not miss it.
That might need a tiny bit of explaining.
I’ve not pastored since 2004, when I became the area-wide “director of missions” for the SBC churches in metro New Orleans, a Southern Baptist position similar to the Methodist District Superintendent or some minor bishop (but, as we tell our Catholic friends, “bishop minus the authority and funny hat”). After 5 years, I retired to a ministry of itinerant preaching, writing, cartooning/sketching, and honey-doing.
I do not miss pastoring, even though I put in 42 years serving six churches and by all reports, did a fair job of it.
I do not miss the stress.
I do not miss the constant demands placed on a pastor and the sleepless nights that result.
I do not miss the relentless return of the Sabbath with its requirement for several new sermons and fresh presentations at every level.
I do not miss deacons meetings and monthly church business sessions.
I don’t miss hospital visitation, even though I still do that occasionally.
I don’t miss weddings or funerals, even though I still get asked once in a while.
I don’t miss the administrative details, the long staff meetings, the occasional interstaff bickering and competition, or the endless impossible-to-meet expectations placed on me by a few high octane members (but mostly by myself).
But I did love pastoring. As a new seminary grad in the summer of 1967, I had to get straight with the Lord whether I was to pastor churches or teach history in college (this was the original plan) and be a bi-vo pastor of small churches. While on my knees in a hotel room in San Antonio, my wife asleep nearby, I heard from the Lord in no uncertain terms: I was to pastor churches.