Vicki had found me at my computer typing up words to a few songs which I was going to then photocopy on overhead transparencies for church services on Sunday.
“We’ve only got a few weeks left and then it’s finished. Why are you wasting time printing up new songs?”
I guess there was a part of me that didn’t want to believe it was over.
After some rather robust confrontational episodes, two of our elders had resigned and several families had left our small, non-denominational church. I had tendered my resignation and suggested that, since there were so few people remaining, we divest the church’s resources (a small bank account) and find ourselves a new church to call home. This was seen by all to be sensible move, and so it was.
Yet, with the end in sight, I don’t think it registered with me and so I flung myself harder than ever into the last few weeks of work—perhaps to distract myself from the reality that this era in my life was, in fact, coming to an end.
That was 14 years ago.
Occasionally, I find myself revisiting that scene when I am experiencing similar “active spurts” in my life, wondering if—perhaps—my increase in activity may mean that something is coming to an end, and I am either in denial of that reality or I am attempting to pack as much in before I move on.
I’d like to think I’ve grown past that way of dealing with change. However, I think (often), when faced with the inevitable march of progress, I like to believe that my rearranging of the deck chairs is what’s so desperately needed, not fully aware of the ship so swiftly nearing its own watery demise.
So I ask myself, “What progress am I denying? “What change am I resisting?” and “How can I best surrender to the inevitable, letting go and inviting God to journey with me through this transition?”