Life Without Mother

Dear Friend,

As I have shared in the past month, I’ve moved. Not just my place of residence, but of dwelling. I’ve moved cities. I’ve moved states. So, understandably, one of the new things I’ve had to do is find a local church in which to become a member and invest and serve, just as I have at Graffiti 2 Baptist Church since June of 2020.

Now, the great news is that in writing this, I believe I’ve found that place here! A wonderful church that from the first moment of greeting during my first Sunday’s service there I felt welcomed and seen. (Nothing dramatic to it, really — simply in the fact that the woman seated behind me not only acknowledged that she hadn’t seen me before but went so far as to introduce herself.) I’ll share more about that experience of being immediately and so completely welcomed from start to finish in another letter. (Of course, even more importantly, from the first I’ve seen their evident love for the true teaching of God’s word as authoritative and true and life-giving!)

Yet, finding a new church means something else — something I’m sure you could guess from prior letters: the separation from the old. I actually did tell one of my best friends from that wonderful church family of mine that in many ways, it has felt like that kind of grief in the face of death. Because, while my relationships remain ever so strong, the separation creates an undeniable division in many aspects.

For one, serving. At G2BC I had the privilege of serving in many capacities over the past five years and through this service, I became far more engaged and invested in our church body and growth than with any other church I’ve been a member of over the years. Through serving, I found so much joy, and God worked an abundance of sharpening and growth of my walk and gifts. Right now, my spirit longs for that feeling of being “put to use” and, in conjunction, when I hear the continued work of the LORD at G2BC, my spirit longs to be a part of it or even get to rejoice alongside my church family over it.

Two, community. Like I said, my friendships with my G2BC family have remained thus far. But, no longer can I run over to their apartments for dinner (or some late night cookies and chats). There’s no more walking home together, no going out for tacos after service, no hugs before and after (and during) services, and even the simple reality of seeing the beautiful faces of my church family. The wonderful rhythms that we’d built up, the vulnerability I’d learned in not over-thinking random texts or calls, the daily and weekly check-ins by virtue of proximity — these are all cut off by the physical removal of my person from that physical community.

Three, worship. Perhaps this could be included under “serving,” but for me, worship through musical praise is particularly special. The first two weeks in Texas I went to a much larger church with a crowd of hundreds and all the stage bells and whistles (nothing personal against all that, but for context). Both Sunday mornings, during the praise part of the service, I struggled to sing, fighting tears and the lump in my throat. About 75% of the last five years, I had the joy of leading my church in worship from the stage myself, seeing their faces as they sang praise and prayer to the LORD. Now, I stood, staring up at some the faces of strangers (albeit brothers and sisters in the LORD), struggling to hear my own voice — when I could sing — in the midst of the crowd.

I missed the joy of serving my church through the teaching and exhortation of singing hymns and spiritual songs together, as the few voices were raised in beautiful unison to the LORD after doing the daily work of ministry together throughout the week.¹ And the ways God has done much needed work on my heart in the process of being a part of, developing, and leading our worship team — He has blessed me beyond belief and even so prepared me for this next season. I’ve been so abundantly encouraged to hear the continuation of that worship and growth for our team of leaders. Yet, it hurts to not be a part of it. My comfort has especially been in knowing that I have not been stripped of my identity — the LORD had already done the work of establishing my “worship leader” calling in my heart before I stood on a stage. And thus, I continue in that calling from the back pew of my new church.

But this is the grief of it, especially as I am seeking a new church home: it’s standing open-handed before the LORD and Him taking back the stewardship He entrusted to me as part of that local body of believers for the time He had me there. Now, in this in-between, my hands feel empty and useless.

Now, my dear friend, I do not leave this letter with no hope and only the bitter part of “bittersweet” transition. Rather, with the reminder that we are to be open-handed in all things, even the ministry entrusted to us. Of course, this is applied to all of life — for some of us, ministry is vocational where we have the opportunity to meet the physical needs of a whole community, or it can be our own workplace or friend group or home (parents, siblings, spouse, children). And what Job says is true even to ministry: “The LORD gives and the LORD takes away. Blessed be the name of the LORD.”² Truly it’s the story Jesus told of the talents, of the three servants who are entrusted with talents “each according to their ability” by their Master who, after his long journey, comes back to take account for that stewardship. And that’s where the true comfort lies: it was always the Master’s and for His benefit that we steward. And, in the hope that He will say “Well done, My good and faithful servant” when I “enter into the joy of my Master.”³

And, I think it says something about the depth of fellowship and brotherly love we have with our local body of believers when there is grief in parting ways. It demonstrates that we loved and were loved well. To God’s glory.

Grace and peace from the LORD Jesus,
Hannah

1. Colossians 3:16 ↩︎
2. Job 1:21 ↩︎
3. Matthew 25:14-30 ↩︎

Some sweet church mems: