This weekend was a strange juxtaposition of events. On Saturday, Brandon and I attended the funeral of a next door neighbor (one we have only recently met). We listened to his young adult children tell stories of his kindness and care for their family. They mentioned his frequent singing, his efforts to attend soccer games despite travel, and the fun of family camping trips. It was sad to hear of their great loss; he was only 57 years old. Then Sunday, we attended the first church service of Grace Presbyterian Church, a new church plant in the NorthEast. The sun was shining, sparkling across the surface of the lake beside our meeting place as a new group of families and adults met to worship for the very first time. The music was amazing as a mandolin joined guitars as well as an accomplished pianist; the service was surprisingly smooth. A joyful beginning and a sorrowful ending all in one weekend, but both were the culmination of a million "little" things. Bill's sons never mentioned honors or awards, accomplishments in his job. They did share his meeting his first grandson, holding him and singing to him right away. They spoke of specific poems he wrote to them, jokes he told them. All that was ordinary and common and good in his life. It was a lot of little things. And as I walked into our "new church" this Sunday, I could see the fabric of a church body woven from different people who joined together with many different ideas and strengths: the woman who picked back up the violin in order to play for worship, the friend who thought of another way to set up the downstairs nursery, the family that was a part of the original committee that researched whether a church should be planted in the NorthEast. Sunday's service was the culmination of many little threads of life, all coming together over time for His goodness and glory to be shown. The little things really do mean a lot. It was a good reminder to me. I think I should go and read Fancy Nancy for the 201st time.
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