I’m emotionally tapped out. I knew it was coming, and I should have written this post before the final Westport service, but I didn’t know what to say.
Twelve years ago, I listened to a sermon from two guys who were starting a new church in my neighborhood. I jumped on the team as they launched what became Westport Church, and I just listened to two and a half hours of stories of Westport as it concluded its time as a church body in Hillsboro. Next week the members living in the area will gather with the members of another church called Colossae, and they will become a new body.
I’ll still be here in Germany.
I’m not conflicted in any way, shape, or form about my service here. That doesn’t change the waves of emotions that wash over me as I watch Erin jump around on the stage for the last time where I once jumped around dressed up as Justin Bieber six or seven years ago. Or remembering Shane hand me a check for my plane ticket to Germany just over five years ago when he prayed over me and the church sent me out.
They sent me out a little different – my hair was shorter. Oh, and I could walk. And everyone regularly attending Westport was familiar with my name. Now the number who’d recognize me is significantly fewer, and the wheelchair seems strange to them. The Westport chapter in my life closed in some ways when I moved to Germany, but I was still sobbing through a lot of the stories and songs. They ended the service with Chris Tomlin’s song “I Lay Me Down,” and I lost it.
I’m not recognizable to a lot of people who knew me five years ago not so much because of my accident but because of the transformation that the Lord has done in my life in the intervening years. I still think I’d have a better witness for Christ if I could walk again (and I won’t give up trying), but I’ll joyfully sing to God, “letting go of my pride, giving up all my rights, take this life and let it shine.”
