My mind flits from one thought to another and I form rows of sentences in my head as I bend over the sink and rinse suds. With each glass I stack on the towel, my mind recalls one more moment and I wrap words around each moment, making a note to share it here. Children run through my legs and I spill coffee grinds and all of it evaporates, the moment and my words.
It’s an hour before our prayer walk and 2 hours before the last gathering in our home. I bake brownies and brew pots of coffee and I wonder what we will look like outside of this home. A year of walking blind has taught me to hold tight to Jesus and keep walking forward.
So I keep walking.
The kids run to the window and call out, “It’s people we don’t know. Come see!”
I wipe my hands and walk to the window and I grin. I know these women. I carry a burden for these ladies and for the body of believers they serve…and I know the Lord is up to something that I know nothing about. My heart skips a beat at that thought.
We hug and laugh and catch up on the front steps. “We’re here for the prayer walk,” they say. I grin bigger. The Lord is always one step ahead of me and I marvel at the mystery of His ways.
The door swings open for 20 minutes straight and the children outnumber the adults and I stand in awe of the One who is doing all of this. He is orchestrating each moment and I walk blind alongside the man who spends his evenings writing sermons and sending email and praying. Oh, the hours spent praying, “Lord, you have to build your church.”
The house is buzzing and my mind takes snapshots of each moment. Will I miss this? Will I miss the crumbs and crying children? Will I keep my hands open as we move into a larger space?
Will I keep letting Jesus lead me with my eyes clinched shut or will I try to take the reins as we grow?
A life story is shared downstairs while I wrangle 2 crying babies and a room full of other children who fold origami paper into star-shaped boxes. I share the load with another sweet lady who serves until she drops and I feel my pants warm as a little boy wets through his diaper. I laugh to myself at the sheer craziness of it all.
I wave my white flag at 7:30 and the pastor wraps it up. We drink more coffee and I feel a sweetness in this home. Folks hang around a little longer, drink a little more coffee, and I know I’ll miss this.
And I notice the cork board in my office and I read these words;
“Every step I take forward in my life is a loss of something and I live the waiting: How will God’s grace be given to me today? How and of what will I be emptied today?” Ann Voskamp
We prepare to move into a larger space and I know loss is coming.
And I wonder what my response will be.