She quickly found a seat before her legs gave way beneath her. Choking sobs stuck in her throat. Not now. Please Lord, not now.
They’d just been told they would be unable to keep using the school as their meeting place for church on Sundays. Their last meeting would start in half an hour.
‘But you’re preaching your last sermon next week,’ she creaks out.
‘Don’t worry, it’ll all work out, God’s got it covered,’ he says with a smile frown.
Faith mingles with fear. Already weighed down with so much change, she tests to see if this extra load is going to break her, leave her shattered all over the floor. No. She’s not going to break. Well Lord, you’re just going to have to show up hey? I’ll trust you.
Still, it’s sad and tears flow as she gratefully says goodbye to where they’ve seen a little church be planted, roots go down, begin to bear fruit. Where Duck Duck Goose has been played with gorgeous little laughing faces, and the week has been shared over coffee and biscuits. Where Word has been spoken and praises sung, hearts lifted and changed. Where lives have passed from death to life and symbolised through dunking in a pool. She knows it’s all not contingent on a place.
During the week, faith battles with fear. She wakes up one morning with a song in her head, it lifts her heart and fear flees. I’ll sing your praise, no matter what happens.
Saturday morning and they visit the home of generous dear ones, offering what they have. He arrives home with a question in his heart and disappears to check one more place.
‘They’ll let us know at 4pm,’ he says. I’ll sing your praise, no matter what.
He comes home at 6pm. A smile has wiped the frown.
It has everything we need, even space for Duck Duck Goose and coffee. We sing His praise together. His presence fills us and overflows on this new place. The preacher preaches one last time. It’s called The House of Angels.