Interruptions

One of the delightful aspects of ministry at Bloomsbury is the interruptions - true of any public building, and of working with people. But it has a particular edge here, I think.

Well, I wrote that first sentence, ready to follow up with a learned and powerful disquisition on the meanings and glory of interruptions when the phone went, and I was invited to go and speak with somebody who wanted a minister. I spent some time with somebody who was in deep distress, and on my way back, got involved in a conversation with somebody who needed to ask questions about something to do with life here, and then with somebody else who wanted to challenge our right to be in this building.
And then I came back to the writing. I had intended to write about the ways in which the Kingdom comes to us in unexpected ways, through unplanned moments. And I was feeling smug about the way I had dealt with the various interruptions.
And now as I sit down to write, I am wondering if the only reason - or perhaps the main reason - why I dealt so well with it all was because I was thinking about how I would write, how I would demonstrate so well what an effective and responsive minister I am?
Not to turn this into a self-conscious expose of conscience, it has raised an interesting line of reflection; is it "easier" to minister well - or indeed, to be servants of God in any capacity - when we are already tuned into it? Was my effectiveness - or at least my capacity to react with some creativity and patience - raised because I was already thinking about it. And if that is the case, how do I keep tuned in, and what routines and rhythms would support such an awareness.
Any answers on a postcard please! Or alternatively, you could use the comments box....