Gentle Reader,
I struggle with what to write today. A part of this is down to being exhausted. Our neighbors decide to celebrate random days in September with fireworks and thumping techno music. I am contemplating driving around the corner, parking on the street in front of their house, and playing opera or a Sousa march as loudly as my car stereo will allow. This is not a particularly holy thought to think. I remain a work in progress.
But mostly I struggle with what to write because my mind and heart is all jumbled up. A mix of joy and…not exactly sorrow or grief, but something in that area of the emotion wheel. This coming Sunday marks a year since we left behind one congregation and joined another. It was the right move. I don’t doubt that, and I don’t regret it. And yet, the heart-pang is there.
It was a leap of faith to go. A real step off of the ledge. I had no expectations. No idea of what might happen. No details. It was simply time. I had to trust that God knew. That God would catch us in the falling.
And here we are today. Still alive. Privileged to know and love a whole new group of people who are doing their best, just as we are, to follow in the footsteps of Christ.
The Church really is so much bigger than what we think.
This wasn’t the first time we left a congregation. The first time was long ago. We’d been married for about two years. The leadership began to show their very complementarian colors. And those aren’t our colors. They aren’t heretics or my enemies. I just think they’re wrong. And they think I’m wrong. But we’ll all be in Eternity together. It was a sharply painful process. The scars are still there. But I can look back with no malice. No intense emotion at all, really. Just gratitude for what I learned and a hope that those who remain are well.
I suspect that I will arrive in this peaceful place regarding this more recent leaving sooner rather than later. That doesn’t make me a robot or a heartless monster. I’ve just been sitting with this truth lately: Only God remains. People come and go. Situations change. What was good can turn bad, and what once fit well will suddenly pinch. Moving forward, moving onward – that’s part of life. It hurts, even when the going rather than the staying is the right call. Nobody is that wild about change, despite all the novelty-seekers and boredom-avoiders who protest otherwise. We all want a stable base, something safe, to return to, even if we take many far-flung adventures.
God alone is that base.
Knowing that provides perspective. You can feel some sadness over what you leave behind, and you should (though I gently encourage you to not stay stuck in grief; there are, however, no timelines and everyone processes differently). But you can also keep going. Keep moving. You didn’t fall apart permanently. You weren’t forever defeated. Though you doubted it at first, goodness and grace lay just an inch beyond the cliff. It may have taken awhile, but light overcame any darkness. God’s hands enveloped you. God did not cease being loving or faithful.
You are okay. And some days, okay is more than enough.
Now I struggle with knowing how to wrap this up. I think The Beatles say it better than I can.
GRACE AND PEACE ALONG THE WAY,
MARIE
Image Courtesy of Billy Pasco