How do you know?

The question that I'm asking myself today is this: How do you know when it's over?

Big question, eh?  It's the sort of question that could be asked in a hospital room, hospice care center, in a room meeting with your boss, in a heated exchange with your friend, significant other or spouse--just about anywhere, anytime, under any circumstances, the question looms: How do you know when it's over?

I wondered this a lot when thinking about my role as the lead pastor at FVC.  There were lots of times when I asked myself (and God), 'is this over for me'?

Working through the answer to that question has led us to today...where my wife (along with her mom as co-pilot), three kids, two dogs, a hamster, and as many of our earthly possessions as we could fit into our Ford Explorer left our driveway to begin our relocation process.

It's a funny thing when you convince yourself that something is over.  You don't look at it the same way--it's somehow different.  It's been that way for me too.  Once I realized that I would be resigning, and then moving away, I've looked at the last 12 years spent here in Colorado differently.  I've been more reflective.  I've talked with neighbors differently.  Looked at the house with a different set of eyes.  Thought about our church in a different way.

But I've come to a new conclusion through this: It's not over.  This chapter is ending, but the book isn't done.  The relationships that I've had may have to adapt, but they're not gone.  My role as a lead pastor is coming to an end, but my ministry isn't finished.

Change is hard, but necessary.  Endings are, at best, difficult situations that need careful attention to close properly.  But just because something new comes along doesn't mean that the old is abandoned or forgotten.  It usually just means that a new door or window has opened.

"God...please give me the strength to walk through that door or crawl through that window."