The Family of God for Me in this Place
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." It was so cliché, at least until 2020 came along. As routine and rhythms have been torn apart worldwide, we have discovered that which we crave most, not through its abundance, but through its absence. That which anchors our individual senses of normalcy has never been more apparent. For some, it was an evening spent over drinks with a group of friends. For others, it was the ability to visit aging relatives in a nearby care facility.
For me, personally, it was the cadence of a Wednesday evening at 4100 Main Street. From assembling my daughter's ice cream cone after dinner, to wrangling the third graders for bell rehearsal, to attending Dolores Rader's parenting class with my best friend, it was the centerpiece of my week. Enter the year of COVID-19. For all the disorienting aspects of 2020, none was quite as jarring as the loss of the Wednesday rhythm. The place in which I had sought refuge starting in 2017 and eventually called my home, along with the congregation I have come to know as family, had seemingly and suddenly been torn from my hands.
But it was my refuge, my home, and my family from 4100 Main Street which kept me anchored throughout this turbulent year, and being able to come back to it after seven months was more nourishing for my soul than words can express. A sea of uncertainty lies ahead, but what can never be called into question is the fact that the family of God for me in this place is my anchor... my safe harbor—my sanctuary.
