Nothing is truly ordinary

Holding My Breath…

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Three months ago, I jumped.

I’d been involved in a church for 11 years as Creative Arts Pastor.  For most of those years, I could never imagine doing anything else.  But I jumped out.

God said, “Go,” and I did.

I won’t lie.  During this season, I’ve wept for what I’ve left behind.  I’ve pondered thousands of what-might-have-beens.  I’ve ached (and celebrated) as I’ve watched people I barely had a chance to know take the reins of ministry I held for so long.

I’ve seen how my experience changed me – in good ways and in bad.  I have victories to celebrate, and scars that still hurt.  I feel joy…peace…anger…sorrow…frustration.  And many times I feel them all at once.

I’ve scanned through hundreds of photos and videos of memories.  I see faces who are still friends and faces of some who parted ways somewhere during the journey.

I miss the teams I served with.  I miss the faces of people who had been a weekly part of my life.  I miss praying with my teams every Sunday before we would attempt to point a crowd towards God through the music.

I miss that early morning sound check, when the sound of guitar fret noise chirps through the amp.  I miss the sarcasm of sound guys who had to face a stage full of musicians who were picky about the sound in their monitors.

I miss the random humor that happens in an office when someone cracks a joke to break the stress.  I miss the blank stares from co-workers who couldn’t decide where to go for lunch on any given workday.

I miss that moment of exhaustion where, no matter how tired you felt, you had served hard and Jesus had been glorified.  The weariness was worth every second.

But I didn’t just jump out.  I jumped into something new.

Things change.  They must change.  Life without change is life without progress.  Ministry that never dares to ask “what if?” is doomed to “why didn’t I?”

With change comes healing and growth.  With change comes wonder and fear.

When you’re willing to obey God, you become a blank slate all over again.  What’s next becomes a story that’s waiting to be written.  You become free to explore and experiment new things.

I’ve rekindled old friendships that are still a part of the unfolding story.  I’ve made new friendships in the process.  I’ve had hours and hours of conversations about life and ministry and the church.  You never know whom God will bring into the picture.  Change is funny like that.

And the vision is unfolding.  What God is calling me to do is becoming less and less invisible.  And as I pursue it, the pace of change will increase.

So I’m holding my breath.  Waiting, but not idling.  Underwater, but not drowning.

So, yes – I miss what is now gone.  But I can’t wait to see where this goes from here on out.

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