I’m not good at goodbyes.
Sometimes God has to light a fire under my butt to get me to move on.
The moment of truth hit me hard as I prayed and reflected at Catalyst ( a leadership conference) this week.
I kept picturing a donkey with my face on it. Over and over I heard references to Balaam’s Ass.
Could God be talking to me? Was I the ass?
I knew, if I was brutally honest, I was operating like a stubborn mule about leaving our church to follow my husband to his new assignment.
For the last month, I have justified staying at the church we started in Mission Viejo instead of transitioning gracefully to my husband’s current position as singles and young couple’s pastor on the Irvine campus.
“It’s because of the kids.” I tell people (and lie to myself).
But my last stand was starting to feel yucky. Once the church in Mission Viejo announced Tim’s departure (four weeks ago) I should have packed my bags, followed my man and waved goodbye.
Instead, I stuck my heels in the sand.
And it’s confused people. For the last few weeks, parishioners at MV have approached me quizzically, “I thought you left?” they ask.
And I answer sheepishly, “Well, uhhhh….(stutter more and stammer), you know, my husband did, but I’m staying with the kids who are sooooo connected.”
Blank stare.
I’m like the poster child for Sarah NOT following Abraham.
But this has nothing to do with Tim, who is my HERO, it’s about ME letting go of something I love.
Even though it couldn’t be clearer it’s time to move on.
This MV campus, the one we discovered after driving around every Saturday for six months in a car with two kids is doing just fine without us.
It’s vibrant and sustainable and our part is over.
But walking away from the church we have poured our lives and the deepest recesses of our hearts into isn’t easy.
For two years my entire family lived and breathed this church. From early morning until late at night our home became the church walls. I labored 14 hours with Kolby at the church. My kids did their homework and explored every nook and cranny of the cavernous building. The church building was their playground, home base and their life.
Five nights a week and six days, the five of us (along with the Alexander’s and the Ramsey’s) built a community of believers and volunteers. We were the spiritual version of “SEAL Team 6” fighting to build the walls of Jerusalem in Ladera Ranch.
About one day a week, usually interrupted by a leaky church roof or some other crisis, we collapsed comatose on the sofa exhausted and ate pizza again–the diet of a church planter.
I worked three jobs during that time –thirty hours a week as an account manager for an IT company, twenty hours a week freelancing as a writer and another 20 hours at the church as the women’s pastor and assistant to my hubs.
And as exhausting as that sounds, it was AWESOME.
We had a clearly defined mission and purpose that made every task worthwhile and a joy.
I cleaned almost thirty toilets each week the first few months until we had budget for facilities.
And I loved it –every stinky, challenging, conflict-ridden second.
Eventually the church stabilized, lead teachers were brought in and we were allowed to pull back and resume normal life.
But it’s never really normal after an experience like that.
And maybe that’s what I miss the most and ultimately what I yearn for.
Adventure. Purpose. Meaning.
A journey so grand it’s IRRESTIBLE.
I didn’t go back to MV this weekend; I attended our new (old) church in Irvine and opened my heart and arms up for the next season. I might have cried a little too and mourned the past as I simultaneously embraced the future.
And Like Isaiah I cried out, “Here I am God, use me (again).”
Because the crazy wild life of following God is worth every heartache and tear and even though I left a little part of my heart in MV, I can’t wait for the next mission impossible.
Have you ever struggled to let go of something you loved as God moves you into the next season?
