As a kid in the little church where I grew up, the “worship service” was the interminable hour of the week that, if suitably endured without complaint or fidget, would be followed by the biggest meal of the week, often with dessert, and a lazy Sunday afternoon free of schoolwork or chores. But that hour!
What a loss! I wish I knew then what I know now. Read more to discover the wonder of worship. ~ Scott Bengtson
I experienced it in a series of quiet moments. Walking in the front door in the morning and realizing this would not be “my place” much longer, watching the team execute with competence and compassion but realizing that it wouldn’t continue, and doing routine tasks with an unusual enjoyment but also a sense of finality. Michelle and I had made the decision together. The work was good and valuable and productive, but we both knew that the time had come for something new. It was what I had done for the last six or seven years, my professional identity. And it was ending.
Living with a psychologist I knew the symptoms: grief, loss, a temptation to negotiate an alternate ending. This was the end of a major and fulfilling part of life. A small death.