I've been very absent when it comes to all things church for the past few years. My time in East Texas had left a sour taste in my mouth for it, and it has lingered for so long that even the good things I've found haven't tasted quite right. So, I've been that guy, the one who is wholly dedicated to warming seats on Sunday and doing nothing else.
But I see my son, asking harder and harder questions as his mind begins to understand life and death. I see my wife, constantly pushing the boundaries of her comfort zone because her faith moves her to action. I see my family longing for God in ways they haven't in years. And here I sit, dedicated to warming the chair. Because poor pitiful me got burned.
I'm not saying that what happened didn't hurt. But I am saying that I've had enough time to grieve. If there's still a bad taste, it's because I haven't washed my mouth out. It's time that I did.
I've been standing in this boat long enough. It's time to try to walk on water. And if I sink. ..well at least I sank trying.
Thanks, Matt, for the prodding. Thanks, Mandy, for understanding.
Keep Soaring,
B
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