The boxes stacked behind my desk chair block my view out the window. I reach for needed items in my desk drawers, only to realize that they are empty. My Book of Worship sits, solitary, on my bookshelf, in case of a last-minute funeral. (Thankfully, it does not seem to be needed.) I’m finishing up my last sermon, and the rest of my to-do list is pretty well done in this place. Soon, I’ll crank up the Jimmy Buffett and Beach Boys and start into my final packing. Once I’m done today, this office will no longer be “mine” in any functional way.
People who will not be present at church on Sunday have been saying goodbye already. One especially dear friend just dropped by, and we stood awkwardly amid the boxes and tried not to cry our farewell. I am steeling myself for Sunday. I want to smile and celebrate and laugh at memories. The good times here deserve no less. I want to acknowledge my certain assurance that God is at work in this move, and I want to do so in a way that will allow the church here to share that same trust. I really don’t want to cry the entire morning on Sunday. But I just might.
Endings and beginnings are part of God’s good plan for us. Shortly, beach music will be resonating through my office in Warrensburg one last time. And, on Tuesday, I’ll crank up the beach music in Blue Springs as I begin my unpacking into a next wonderful adventure. I hope the staff there likes Buffett . . .
