Here’s what I learned this weekend…
Closing a church makes for odd relationships.
Yesterday afternoon, leaving the last worship service with our congregation, felt like the aftermath of a train wreck.
Our fellow CPSL members were the survivors. Even though we got to walk away, entire ordeal had caused so much emotion and hurt and relief.
No one wanted to look back.
All any of us could do was look back.
We were all shook up. Cut and bruised. Our family–as well as the other survivors–sensed we’d been through something epic together. But, the ride together was over. The clean-up was finished. What to do now?
How do you leave each other after something like this? Did this shared ride, this shared demolition, bond us with these families forever?
It’s hard to know.
As we left, brushing ourselves off and shaking our heads, the world looked different. The wreck had changed me; it had changed M. I imagine this entire fiasco had changed the other families too.
But the rest of the world seemed oblivious to our drama . For a little while, that was refreshing. M and I were anxious to completely forget the accident. We were ready to start healing.
But not for long. Closing your church is a hard thing to leave behind.
Now I wonder…
Should the dissimulation of one thing be the start of another?
