Surrendering even the good.

I thought the first year would be the hardest.

We turned 2 in April and knew - KNEW - that this third year would be ours. Attendance was up. Relationship was real. Energy was attractive and God’s Spirit was tangible.

Then Covid. And shut down. And a halt on all of it.

In a way, I’ve felt like a small business owner, watching larger churches around us thrive and press on. Scrambling for innovation because I’m grasping to keep what was there. To keep “customers” coming back, to support the “business” and it’s costs, in a sense. To make any necessary changes to hold onto what was before it was out of my control.

Yet I know that church isn’t a place. I know that it isn’t just a business. And therefore it must be run differently.
Handled differently.
Released & surrendered & placed in trust differently.

This place and the people who have been entrusted to me have been my greatest joy and my most tender ache this year, depending on the day. On the minute.

It’s been my hardest surrender of 2020.

But I know that my plans for Metro, for Mosaic, for it’s people, for myself - even the good ones and the ones from Him - can only go as far as my vision, dreams and capabilities until I release them all to His purpose. His plan. His story to write.

His ability to do immeasurably more than all I ask or imagine or plan or desire or wish or think I need.

Because Metro is His. These people are His. And as much as I feel and care and want for all of them, it’s nothing compared to what God has. To what He already knows is to come.

Merry Christmas, Metro. I’ll be honored to be in this story with you as long as it’s time. I’ll see you in 2021. ✌🏼💚