Need a little good news? Feeling like the world’s just getting worse by the day? I was too, so I did a little research—academic and personal—and thought I’d share what I uncovered.
And there’s lots more! Really. There are many things going extraordinarily well in our nation and in our world. It’s just that bad news sells better. That’s one reason why news outlets tell stories that play on our fears: so we’ll stay focused on their channel or website and buy the stuff they are advertising.
Of course, there are other reasons why we think about the negative more than the positive. But the reality is that there are great things happening all around us. The problem is that too often we just fail to see them. I’m trying to do better at that. Here are a few things I noticed just today.
• The city picked up my trash. BUT they also picked up my recyclables. This was not a thing when I was a child. I did not even know what the word meant.
• My computer is in my lap. MY LAP! A machine that allows me (among other things) to shop, bank, connect, and write, is both portable and affordable. Listen, back in the 1980s I typed my college essays. On a TYPEWRITER. (It was electric, not the Royal Upright I used in high school, but still.)
• Today I learned that a member of my church is experiencing complications from surgery; but everything that is wrong can be fixed. Today’s medical care is tantamount to the magic of yesteryear. It’s amazing.
• And today, I met a woman whose baby was born 14 weeks before his due date. And he is fine. Completely fine.
Good news. It’s encouraging, don’t you think?
So what about you? Anything hope-filled in your day?
"For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control. "
2 Timothy 1:7 (ESV)
Back in January 2008, I had just started divinity school at Gardner-Webb University; one of my classes was Introduction to Preaching with Dr. Danny West. Among the assignments was writing an "Autobiographical Analysis of an Influential Pastor." We were tasked with describing the pastor's impact on our lives, including how their preaching style affected our spiritual formation. For me, this one was easy: it had been writing itself my whole life.
I stumbled across it recently and realized I'd not shared it with my aileengoeson readers. Thought you might enjoy it.
“Daddy, you must be so proud.” The two of us lingered over our toasted bagels and yogurt in the Hampton Inn breakfast area; Mother had gone to finish getting ready for church. Daddy looked up from his Bible and sermon notes; he hadn’t heard me.
“What was that baby girl?”
“Proud! You must be. I mean this church is having Harold Mitchell Day. Heavens, that reunion last night with twenty-five grown-up once-upon-a-time youth group members was enough to make your heart explode. How many of them did you baptize anyway? Daddy, this is huge.” I was surely proud. All the times I’d seen my daddy deal with dumb deacons and constipated committees. . . I was basking in this glow, even if I was in its shadow.
Few Baptists can say they have had the same pastor from cradle roll through baptism, to youth group all the way to their wedding day. That’s me: one preacher—for twenty-two years. And here’s the thing: when Daddy’s preaching, I get so caught up in the message, I often forget he’s my daddy.
I get caught up right away too. Daddy often hooks his audience with a story, an illustration that pulls us in from the start. He’ll build on that story or use similar stories throughout his sermon so that at each juncture of the message, I am connected to it by real-life examples.
In fact, when I was little, Daddy’s stories were my favorite part of his sermons. I waited for them, hating for one to end, knowing it would be a few minutes before the next one. As I’ve grown older, and as my love of scripture has deepened, I’ve come to value a different component of Daddy’s preaching. Daddy’s sermons bring God’s Word to life for me.
I remember (it’s been at least 25 years ago) one sermon Daddy preached from Psalm 8 called “A Little Less than Divine.” In that sermon, he expounded on this psalm of creation. He pointed out that above all creation, humans were so precious to God, that he placed us just a little lower than the heavenly beings. He went on to talk about the pros and the cons of this distinction. In other words, he underscored our self-worth by showing us that God made us nearly equal to the angels. Then, he reminded us that we were in fact less than divine and didn’t need to get, as it were, too big for our heavenly britches. The whole sermon wove in and out of the text, using illustrations and personal reflection to connect listeners to the message.
That’s the way Daddy always preaches. The scripture carries the message. Daddy just delivers it.
Daddy is not a quiet preacher. He reminds me, sometimes, of those old Southern preachers you see in old movies but no longer in real life: preachers like Sally Field’s in The Places in the Heart or like the Waltons had. Daddy is passionate when he preaches. His tone of voice rises and falls. He gestures. He cries. And because Daddy never shies away from feeling the intensity of God’s message, I am freed to plunge into the depth of its meaning as well.
But while Daddy never speaks in monotone, he never speaks in what we children called a “preacher voice” either. He just talks like Daddy. Or Harold. Or Papa, or friend, or brother, or uncle. He is sincere. He is real. He is himself. When Daddy preaches, I never feel as if he is talking down to me or casting judgment on me. I feel as if I am being led to a holy message by a sinner like me. Consequently, I willingly go with him to the throne of grace, unfettered by misplaced self-defense.
Daddy fiddled with what was left of his Hampton Inn breakfast. “Yeah, it’s all been mighty nice. But I got a sermon to preach here in a little bit and there might be somebody there this morning who hasn’t heard the Gospel. That’s what’s on my mind right now.” He turned back to his Bible and went back to work.
Chicken Salad Chick
When I saw their sign in an Asheville, NC shopping center, I was doubtful. I mean, I like chicken salad as much as the next Southerner; but I figured this place would be toast quicker than you could say, “I’ll have a sweet iced tea to go!” A restaurant called “Chicken Salad Chick?” Yet another niche business that found its way to our touristy town in hopes of getting a toe hold.
Then one day I was in the area and feeling a bit peckish, as it were. I gave it a try.
Y’all. Dadgum. This place is fantastic! Listen, the chicken salad is exceptional—positively scrumptious. But there’s more.
So seriously, do yourself a favor and visit your closest Chicken Salad Chick. They’re not just in Asheville! But if you must travel to get to one, you should totally choose this one. Then after your lunch, you could go over to Duncan and York, an amazingly awesome gift shop just down from Chicken Salad Chick.
Duncan and York
This little winner of a market drew me in, pulling my attention through its door and around the store. They have all kinds of local merchandise, from stickers and stationery to jams and jellies. (Fun fact, sending local treats to college students = great idea!) Unique gifts (the baby section—too cute!), clever greeting cards that are humorous without being tacky (hallelujah!), and more. I loved it. Then, I found out this: IT’S OWNED BY TWO LOCAL WOMEN. I was like, “Okay, so I know you are the cashier and not the one in authority here, but you should totally advertise that!” A locally owned market filled with products from local artisans and merchants? Sweet.
Now, if you want cheap, just go right on over to the Dollar Tree. Duncan and York is not a bargain shop. However, when you purchase from them, you are investing in Western North Carolina. So, it’s sort of a BOGO: BUY a fun, interesting, locally made gift from these Asheville-based entrepreneurs, and GET the satisfaction of a double investment in our community. (Duncan and York’s location is in downtown Asheville.)
10th Muse Coffee
Okay one more. Recently, I happened into a way cool coffee shop called 10th Muse Coffee. It’s just outside of Biltmore Village on the corner of London and Biltmore. Great coffee, tea, and chai, a gazillion (I counted) specialty drinks, and a variety of food choices. Still, the thing I love about 10th Muse is the feel of the place. It is housed with another retail shop and an artist’s studio in a repurposed packing plant. The décor is eclectic and sort of retro-chic. It reminds me of the seventies—only cooler. Board games are there, inviting patrons to stay and play awhile. The tables—painted with chalk paint—are accented by little tin pails holding jumbo sticks of pastel chalk. Also, and this is huge for me, the music is spot-on—great selection and not too loud.
When the youth group goes to Fort Caswell for the spring retreat, one of the many traditions involves a team building exercise known as The Wall. The Wall is about 10-12 feet high and 6-8 feet wide and kids who choose to participate scale the wall with others in their grade. It’s always a beautiful thing to watch.
This year, Cameron, a 16 year old who has been raised in the church, made his first trip to Caswell. He’d been on other youth trips, but not this one; so he’d never seen The Wall, never participated in this tradition. Of course, he didn’t have to do it. No one would have objected if he’d taken a pass.
You see, since birth, Cameron has developed at a different speed than other children. One orthopedist even told his parents not to expect much in the way of gross motor development, saying that Cameron would likely be in a wheelchair. (His parents got a different orthopedist.) It took him awhile, but with the help of a kid-sized walker, Cameron put one foot in front of the other, and by the time he was four and a half years old, he was walking on his own. These days, while his muscle tone is still relatively low, he gets around fine. He does, however, walk slower and more intentionally than most folk. And, well, he just has to work a little harder than other people to move through the world.
But back to Caswell’s wall.
“Are you going to climb The Wall, Cameron?” We asked him mostly out of courtesy, not wanting him to feel left out.
“Yep,” he said, looking over his glasses that had once again slipped too far down his nose; and he made his way over to lifelong friends who awaited him at the wall.
Physically, Cameron couldn’t offer much assistance at all. He couldn’t push or pull himself up. He couldn’t reach out or grab hold. If he panicked, he would fall. If he struggled against them, they would drop him.
Cameron put his hands on sure shoulders and lifted a foot onto the human stool; his friends did the rest. One adult and two girls standing on the back of the wall reached down, while several guys at the base helped lift him up. Other teens gathered around, arms extended, ready.
He progressed, inches at the time, eventually straddling the top of the wall. Once there though, he seemed to get stuck. A moment of uncertainty followed when no one was exactly sure how to proceed. Then another teen—a bulky weight lifter—popped up on the back of the wall, reached down, and gently lifted Cameron’s leg up and over.
Cameron got his balance, looked out over the crowd, and hesitantly lifted a hand to wave.
Now for most kids, getting down is easy; but Cameron couldn’t jump off the platform to the ground without injury. No worries! His friends had already figured it out. Four strong arms waited to cradle Cameron from the wall to the ground. He let go, they held on, and then he was down, smiling at the cheers and congratulations from his youth group.
Cameron punched his fist into the palm of his hand and said, “I did it!”
And he did. He really did.
First Baptist Church of Asheville Youth Group, Fort Caswell 2014
. . . like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood . . . from 1 Peter 2:5
It's that time of year: admissions decisions are being finalized, scholarship applications are due, and students are trying to decide where they’ll attend college in the fall. They get lots of advice: sound counsel that really does help and trivial platitudes that don’t do anyone any good.
Here are a few of the most common statements I've heard.
Unfortunately, students also hear things that are more myth than truth and are neither exceptionally helpful nor entirely true. Here are just a few of those.
1. HOPEFULLY FALSE: “This will be the best four years of your life.”
Really? It wasn’t the best four years of my life and I had a great collegiate experience. But best years of my life? Not even close. Frankly, there’s not much that compares to my childhood summers: homemade ice cream under the carport; watermelon seed spitting contests; roller skating, bike riding, playing in my playhouse. Those were some great years. But then, the last four years have been good too. And the four before that. Life is full of great years, so at the very least, you’re overstating.
But there’s a bigger problem with this statement. Expectation. Expectation can just flat slaughter reality. See, no matter how good college is for you, I promise you it won’t be perfect. You’ll have some life-changing experiences, but some of those you would just as soon have lived without. College can be wonderful. It can be difficult. It can be wonderfully difficult and difficultly wonderful. But don’t set students up to approach the next four years as the highlight of life. That’s just not true. And if it is, that’s sad.
2. SOMEWHAT FALSE: “You’ll meet the best friends of your life while you’re in college.”
For me, this is somewhat true, but I’ve also developed friends since graduating college who are more like family than friends to me. Before Facebook, I’d kept in touch with three or four of my closest friends from college. Now I’ve reconnected with many I’d lost contact with and I’m grateful for that. But I’m also in touch with childhood friends and friends I’ve made since the late 80’s. You can make friends whenever and wherever you are. My brother-in-law’s closest friends are high school buddies. My sister’s besties are co-teachers. So yes, hopefully college students will meet and keep new friends. But I for one am grateful that I didn’t stop making friends when I left college.
3. POSSIBLY FALSE: "You’ll be fine."
This may be one of the most dangerous things we say to students. Here’s the deal: way too many college students are anything but fine. Depression and anxiety spike during these stressful years. Suicide on the college campus is consistently on the rise. If students go into college thinking everyone else is fine and they are the only one struggling, they can feel isolated and resist mental health resources because of the fear of being different from the masses. A lot of college students find these years difficult and confusing and lonely. So adults, instead of “You’ll be fine,” how about we say, “I’ll always be here for you,” and mean it. And students: it’s okay if you aren’t okay. I promise you are not the only one. Reach out to people you trust and look into collegiate mental health services. Sometimes, we all need a little help to be "fine."
4. FALSE: “It doesn’t matter where you go.”
First of all, this is flippant and dismissive. If you are trying to make a decision that affects your future, it is not helpful for someone to say the equivalent of “Stop whining and get on with it! Your concerns are invalid.”
Secondly, it does matter, but perhaps not for the reasons you think. It’s not because of the college's reputation or status; the quality of the school and its majors are important, but the truth is you can find quality at just about in college or university. There are exceptions, but mostly academic experience is shaped by personal investment.
But it does matter where you go to college. It matters because of the connections you will make both personally and professionally. How many people do you know who are married to someone they met in college? A lot, right? And that best friend thing—most college graduates have made dear friends along the way, friends who have shaped their lives in profound ways.
That’s not all though. During the next four years and beyond, your professors and advisors will share more than academic knowledge with you. They will also pass along information about job openings and career opportunities; they will be your references for graduate school or employment. It matters that you choose a college where the faculty appeals to you.
Indeed, it doesn’t necessarily matter where you go in terms of national ranking; but it totally matters that you choose a college that feels right to you.
So good luck students! And no matter what other advice you get, remember this:
Choosing a college matters; YOU matter more.
This post was first published March 9, 2016.
8/12/2018 How fitting that on my first day as shepherd at Ecclesia Baptist, my "Hur" surprised me and came to the service. Thanks be to God for this precious and dear friend!
8Then Amalek came and fought with Israel at Rephidim. 9Moses said to Joshua, “Choose some men for us and go out, fight with Amalek. Tomorrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the staff of God in my hand.” 10So Joshua did as Moses told him, and fought with Amalek, while Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill. 11Whenever Moses held up his hand, Israel prevailed; and whenever he lowered his hand, Amalek prevailed. 12But Moses’ hands grew weary; so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side; so his hands were steady until the sun set. 13And Joshua defeated Amalek and his people with the sword. Exodus 17:8-13
Imagine the pressure: Moses—who as we know had his share of problems as leader of the children of Israel—is now in the midst of a battle. The battle goes well for his people as long as Moses lifts his arms; when his arms sag, so does the will of the people and the battle goes badly for them. Think about it. Or try it. Just try lifting your arms while you read this short blog. (I know: you have to lower one arm to scroll down. Make that little exception.) The leader, Moses, was faced with a situation that was physically taxing—one he could not manage on his own. Thank goodness for Aaron and Hur.
Most of us church goers have heard of Aaron. He’s the brother of Moses, the one who spoke for Moses. You may remember the story (you can find it in Exodus 4:13-15). But Hur is a less familiar name. Yet Hur seems to be a part of Moses’ inner circle of support just as Aaron was. In this passage, he’s there offering support to Moses when he grows weary. In a later passage (Exodus 24:13-15), Moses refers the people to Hur and Aaron for handling disputes when he left for the Mount of Sinai.
Leaders need people like Hur: people who will hold them up during times of trial, people they can rely on when responsibilities call them off site. In fact, leaders cannot lead effectively without the Hurs in their lives.
Several years ago, I was serving as coordinator of special grants at a community college. While there, I found out how a Hur can help a leader serve more effectively. In that job, (believe me) I had my share of battles. Sometimes I felt as if I were on the frontline, with student frustrations and provider disputes exploding all around me. I could not have managed on my own. Thank goodness for Keisha.
Keisha worked with me, fielding the frustrations and deciding the disputes. She held my arms up when I grew weary. She stood in for me when I had to be away. Of course, Keisha did not get a lot of credit in the annals of community college history for being my support system. But like Hur, Keisha shared her talents and abilities readily, making possible any successes we experienced in our little department.
Oh, you can put your arms down now. And be encouraged: you don't have to lead alone. Thank Goodness.
(Are you a Moses or a Hur? Have you had a Hur in your life?)
In 2009, I wrote this post for a different blog. June 22, 2014--I preached from this text, in part because our children had heard this story during VBS the previous week.
On August 2, we celebrated our mother's 80th birthday. At her party, I read this tribute. Of course, there are lots of personal references here, but I thought you might appreciate it anyway. First, though, you should know that Mother's grandkids call her Gangi pronounced "gan-gee" with two hard G's as in "Gloria" or "Grace." Also, my grandfather, her dad, was a math whiz who could do complex mathematics faster than a calculator. More explanations below. Enjoy!
Gloria Mitchell, Happy birthday to you!
80 years old? That just can’t be true!
(But if her daddy were here he would write an equation
And tell us for sure, “It’s time for celebration!”)
It was 1938 when she came into the world:
The youngest of five, a sweet daddy’s girl.
A giggly youngster, an award-winning speaker,
A signing teenager for her Sunday School Teacher. (1)
She turned 18 and headed to college.
Mercer provided all kinds of knowledge.
Papa spied her on campus, and thought she was cute.
So he took her sign class, and began his pursuit.
Harold had in his hand a Heinz pickle pin; (2)
And when Gloria accepted, it sure tickled him.
In 1960, they went and got married.
Then headed up north to get seminaried.
Dawn and Aileen, and their baby brother
Made Papa a daddy and Gangi a mother.
They ministered together, preacher and wife,
Dealing with deacons, and other church strife.
Gangi handled it all, and managed the stresses;
But she wore pants to church, forget fancy dresses. (3)
In each of their churches, each town where they roamed,
Gangi converted each house to a home.
Wherever we were, she worked her home magic . . .
Even at Crescent, where Hal’s lizards went spastic. (4)
She held lots of jobs, she filed lots of folders; (5)
But best job of all? A Romanian head-holder. (6)
Actually, the job she does as our parent?
That is the one where she is truly inerrant.
Our birthday parties were best of the best.
And our Easter Egg hunts? They topped all the rest.
She handmade our clothes, on her Singer machine,
Like the best cowboy suit that you’ve ever seen.
She made Easter dresses with purses to match them,
And suits for her pastor to go to work in.
Plus, that isn’t all, our friends also choose her
(Until they play games and end up the losers)!
Once we were five, then each said I do:
Jay, Mike, and Kim, and soon grandkids too.
We were up to 16 by 2004,
And just this year, we added one more.
“You text us all daily, with Bitmoji flair
And we know every morning you lift us in prayer.
So, despite how it looks to everyone here,
It truly is your 80th year.
We try (but we can’t) to name all the lessons;
We cannot even start to count all the blessings . . .
Of having you as mother, aunt, friend, and wife.
We celebrate you and your wonderful life.”
We surprised our parents with a combined 80th birthday/anniversary gift. (They were married on August 14, 1960.) They've dreamed of taking a train trip through the Canadian Rockies. We set up this fundraiser to help them make that dream a reality. While private donations have essentially doubled the amount you see online, we still have a ways to go. Would you like to help us make their dream come true? Every amount counts--single digit donations add up fast! Here's the link: https://goo.gl/ESDQ5A.
My workouts this summer have not been nonexistent; however, they haven’t been what you would call regular either. So, when I got to the gym this morning, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I started my work-out on a cardio machine, listening to an Audible book while I was at it.
I picked a machine with the TVs behind it because I didn’t want to be distracted by the news. For some reason, I just don’t seem to have an emotional epidermis; things get to me that apparently don’t bother others. Maybe that is why I am so highly attuned to angry voices—something in my brain picks up the tension before the person even looks or sounds very upset to anyone else.
So, anyway, I was happy to find a cardio machine with its back to the incessant media input of the gym’s wide screen TVs. I had just gotten started when I began to sense hostility nearby. I looked over my shoulder and noticed a staff member (let’s call her Carla) about to assist a patron (we’ll call him Josef). Carla, a gym favorite, is legally blind and brings her guide dog along with her to work. She’s worked there four or five years. I thought initially that I had misread things and that Josef was just making an attempt at sarcastic humor.
Within a couple of minutes, it was clear that this was not a good-humored exchange. Josef said things like, “How are you supposed to help me? You can’t even see!” and “Go away and find me someone who isn’t blind.”
Fun fact: Josef is completely blind himself. Carla has been helping him since he joined the gym a short time ago. Previously, he had said she made him feel more comfortable there because of how adept she is at maneuvering around the machines and so on. (Qualification: no doubt something else major was going on with him today for him to act so ugly. Relevant? Sure. A valid excuse for verbally abusing someone? Not in the least.)
“Hey buddy,” I said when I’d gotten off the machine, “Settle down there.”
“Who are you?”
“Well, I’m a patron who pays my monthly fee just like you and you have gotten so loud that you disturbed my workout.”
“I have told her to go away and get me someone who can see and she’s still standing there.”
Me, to Carla: “Let’s walk over here.” She was trembling by this time, visibly upset. “I’m sorry there are people who behave like that,” I said to her. I walked with her to the wellness center desk as she tried to figure out how to handle the situation. She filled me in about Josef (I’d not noticed his visual impairment) and their relationship to this point. She told me, by the way, that recently, these kinds of things have been happening more frequently. (I cannot even . . . I truly cannot . . .)
At some point, I went to retrieve my things. I turned back to Josef and said, “Dude, that was rough. You just ruined my workout and messed up Carla’s whole day.”
“Screw you! I don’t care about your workout. It’s all about me. Go away!”
So, I did--go away, that is. (Incidentally, the whole time this altercation was unfolding, I was saying to myself, Be a non-anxious presence. Be a non-anxious presence. Be a non-anxious presence. #pastoralcare101)
I submitted a comment card detailing the incident and told Carla I would go ask others to do the same. At the time of Josef’s verbal assault, all the cardio machines around him were occupied. I knew others had to have heard it.
Well, maybe they did, but didn’t want to get involved; or maybe they were all so internally focused that they truly did not notice what was going on around them. In either case, not one of them was willing to complete a comment card.
Carla thanked me repeatedly, I gave her my contact information, and I went on my way.
Oh, one more thing. I haven’t been to that branch of my gym in more than a year. I only went today on a whim. Or so I thought.
On my last Sunday at FBC Weaverville, I read this little ditty at the reception following worship. It is set mostly in the context of this congregation, with lots of personal references. But for what it's worth, here's my Seussian farewell to FBCW.
“It’s a really good church,” my friend said to me.
“You know Jim McCoy, the pastor?" said he.
“Yes, I think so, he sings (did you say?)
In the pizza place on Main Street with Kirk McKay?"
So five years ago, with a smile on my face
I came here to join you at this very place.
To minister here with you and with Joy
And also of course with the singing McCoys.
Our students in college, we had five of them,
Molly and Marley, the twins and Dylan.
Plus Alex, and Chelsea, and Jennifer Sell
Came over each week from U of Mars Hill
Now they’re all grads, and Jordan is too
And Shelby’s a senior at NCSU
So much has happened, we’ve had lots of fun
Remember the Sunday of Benjamin’s run?
And when Corbin said “Actually I have found
That I’d rather hear music with ambient sound.”
Aiden, the red head, who told us his brother
“Cannot settle down, he’s really a bother.”
We cleaned up the church and spruced up the yard
I told you some stories and you gave me your heart.
Baptisms, weddings, and funerals (so many)
We worshipped, we laughed, and we shed tears a plenty.
Thank you dear friends, for how you’ve loved me
With God as our parent, we’re all family.
Today was my last Sunday as Children and Youth Pastor at First Baptist Church of Weaverville, NC. I will begin my new role as pastor at Ecclesia Baptist on August 12. I wrote the letter below for the August 2018 FBCW newsletter that came out today.
For five years, I’ve been a part of the FBCW family as member and as minister. Reflecting on my time here, I’m struck by how much life we have shared since I joined you. Back when I started, Garrett Spivey was in the 7th grade and—much to his frustration—was barely 5’0 tall. David Stone was on crutches and Christin, pregnant with Jonathan, was on bedrest. Dave Miller still drove the golf cart for the fair ministry, Dawn and Irene Edwards sang in the choir every Sunday, Mary Porter crafted handmade cards for the CARE Ministry, and Juanita Mantel was making delicious magic in our kitchen.
Indeed, our church family has experienced the fullness of life during these past five years. Now as we transition from what has been to what will be, I am reminded of lessons I have learned from my own family over the years.
As a preacher’s daughter, I left churches several times throughout my childhood. In my grief over leaving beloved church family, I would cry out to my mother that I wished I had not made any friends at all in that place because leaving them was just too hard. My mother consoled me saying, “It is always right to love with your whole heart. Fearing the pain of loss is never a good enough reason to withhold your love.” Thank you, FBCW for loving me well. My prayers is that you will love your next ministers with as much devotion as you have loved me.
Once when my father resigned from a church, a number of members told him that if he was leaving, they were going to leave too. He was deeply aggrieved about this which I found surprising.
“Daddy, that should make you feel good! It’s because they love you so much!”
“Oh no, Aileen,” Daddy said. “The church is bigger than any one person, even if that person is their minister.”
I have never forgotten this wisdom. It is painful when someone leaves our church family; that pain is not relieved by breaking the fellowship, but by wholeheartedly honoring our covenant to each other.
My brother was a youth minister for more than two decades. When he would begin a new position, he inevitably faced resistance by those whose loyalty remained with his predecessor. Far too often, when he proposed changes or offered new ideas, he was regaled with nostalgic tales of times of old. It was exhausting for him and it limited his ministry. We have certainly shared some wonderful times together. Store those memories and open your hearts and minds to make new ones with my successor.
We’ve had five golden years together. In the words of Amy Grant, “Let me say once more that I love you...and I love the ways that you love me.”
Grace and peace!