As one of my jobs, I am working for a construction project. This is close to my heart, because I grew up in this place.
I was a kindergarten kid running around here, when the place was still hilly and looked more like a house than a school. I made lifelong friends here. I discovered my love for writing here. I learned about Jesus here.
Pictured above is the sanctuary. We are getting ready to finish demolition and start the excavating the area. I’m feeling all sorts of things. It looks nothing like it used to. Everything has been stripped off, removed, thrown away. Next week it’s gonna be hollow ground.
There’s nothing easy or comfortable about changing. About seasons of breaking down. Pruning. This will cost, make us sacrifice, make us feel heavy as we empty the place.
Today was heavy for me, too. It’s exhausting to think about the future, the things that seem impossible, about the emptiness. My thoughts kept coming back to the sanctuary.
As of now, this sanctuary looks nothing like it used to, or what we picture it to be.
As of now, my life looks nothing like it used to, or what I picture it to be.
Some sort of middle ground. Hibernation period. Waiting room. And that’s okay.
I know the plans for this place. We’ve been praying, working hard to make the vision tangible. We’re emptying the sanctuary to make way for building a new one – because the future is better, the future is new, the future–
May we believe today, more than ever, that God desires to fill us, not empty us. He has promised to make all the waste places of Zion beautiful. That’s in His heart. The same heart holds us together, now. Even as I feel like I am falling apart, empty – He is building things up for me, in me, in all of us.