Moving Day

I am feeling, in no small way, like a bride packing up her childhood bedroom. Wondering what stays, what goes and what goes to good will. If I slide into unbridleld sentimentality, forgive me, but bear with me.

Grace Presbyterian Church has been the childhood home of my ministry. Of our ministry. It's the place I wrote all my songs, save one. It's the place I led worship in front of hundreds of people, none of whom knew me from Adam when we arrived in the summer of 2005. I remember being awed by the sanctuary. Walking in and being overwhelmed by the stained glass, the royal red carpet, the beautiful chancel, the communion table- whose message implored "Do this in rememberence of me."

I learned alot here. Like what "Call to Worship," and "Words of institution" means. How to plan a worship service. How to be a part of a team. How to be a mother. How to drive fearlessly on I10.

I learned to love the history and the liturgy of Grace. I remember thinking, "these people must be really holy" as I stood in the shadow of the giant cross, suspended as if in mid air above the platform. What I learned, and this is no small thing, is that all people- regardless of denomination, liturgy or history- are working out their salvation with fear and trembling. Liturgy does not holy make. But I dare to say, Love does. And they've got it in spades.

As I sit here surrounded by moving boxes, stacks of books, layers of effort, hope and intention, I am reaching for the meaning of it all. And what I'm finding is simply the last page of the first chapter. One I hope to revisit with fondness. But one that's finished none the less.

Thank you Grace. For trusting, loving and letting me go. You will be missed.