Churches, a Choir, and a Cantata

A friend has recently asked me about my faith - if and how I'm struggling right now.  I don't think I'm quite ready to blog about that.  Soon, I think.

I am ready to blog about church, though.

History:

Summer of 1999, Jason and I started attending MPC.  Loved it.  LOVED it.  It quickly became home.

Fall of 1999, Jason began working towards his MDiv.

Sometime around there, MPC hired Jason as a pastoral intern.

Fall 2002, MPC transferred Jason's internship to GFC to help our friends, Jeremy & Gina, who were planting this daughter church about 30 minutes away.

GFC became our church home.  And we've been there ever since.

We love our church - so much.

Last October, Elliana's funeral was at MPC.  Mainly because MPC is 10 minutes from our house, and GFC is 30.  It made more sense for us to plan services and make all of those difficult arrangements close to home.

Over the past few months, we've come to believe that God is calling us away from GFC.  There are several reasons, and I don't really need to go into them here.  But I will say - we're not leaving because we're angry or hurt.  It's just time.

But it hurts to leave.  Church feels like the last piece of 'normal' that I have left.  Everything has changed.  And I've wanted things to be different, but leaving our church... this one is really hard.  Back in May, Jason and I decided that we'd stay at GFC through the end of the summer.  And as the end of August gets closer, it gets harder to think about not having that last piece of 'normal'.  The 30-minute drive, band practice, the people who are my church family, lunch with friends after the service - those things are the last bit of 'normal' I have left.  So much of life has changed.  And church - my church - has been constant.

After we leave GFC, we'll go back to MPC.  And it is so hard to think about going back there.

I have so many difficult memories there.

That room - the worship center at MPC - is where I sat and stared at my daughter's casket.

That is where I played the piano with my band people - the only way I could communicate anything that day.

That is where Jason carried her for the last time.

That is where my heart broke all over again.

I can go back there and play - by myself.  I've been to MPC several times over the past months.  I sit at that great big grand piano and play angry pieces.  Sad pieces.

And this past Thursday, I took a small (well, big) step - I started playing while there were two other people in the room.

That was HUGE.  To play with other people in the room.  And I did it.

But I don't know how I'm going to walk into that room on a Sunday morning with hundreds of people in it - people who are laughing and hugging.  And singing and clapping (maybe) and smiling.  I don't know how I'm going to do it.

It feels impossible.

I do have to admit something.  I don't want to admit it, but I need to.

Throwing lots and lots (AND LOTS) of really breakable things **here**.

God - the One I'm really angry with - has given me something to make this transition a bit... easier?  That feels like the wrong word.  It's not 'easier'.  I don't know what it is.  But I do know (think?) it's a gift.

A couple months ago, MPC's music director called me (not knowing we were leaving GFC or planning to come back to MPC) and asked if I'd be willing to help with their Christmas cantata.

And not just help.  Direct.  Like, the choir and orchestra.

The last time I directed anything was at least 10 years ago.  And the last time I conducted an orchestra... well, I don't even want to talk about that.

But... I get to do something I love.  And doing that something sort of helps me.

When I walk into 'that room' now (MPC's worship center), I won't just 'see' Elliana's casket in that spot in front of the stage.  I'll be looking at the stage and the stairs, trying to figure out the best places for the choir and orchestra on 'performance' nights in December.  When I walk into that room now, it won't just be a painful reminder of October 10, 2012.

That room won't just have a really painful history.

It holds... vision?

The One Who I'm really angry with - the One who created my little girl with such a broken body, the One who created her without a chance at survival, the One who took her away from me so quickly after she was born - I don't want to admit that any of this is a gift from Him.

But it is.  This whole Christmas cantata thing and my role in it - He gave me that.  He gave me music.

I still don't know how I'm going to walk into that room with all those people in it.  Or how I'll ever participate in a Wednesday evening meal in that room.  It just feels so casual - and there's nothing casual about that room to me.

Taking baseball bats to laptops *here*.

My first choir rehearsal is this Wednesday night.

AND I. AM. COMPLETELY. FREAKING. OUT.

What if I don't remember how to do this?  What if my director's hands and arms are as lost as my brain is right now?