I am old now. I cannot reckon time any longer. Sophie is married. She is the mother of her first child. Jill has been my constant helpmate. I have been the pack burro for these virtues for the entirety of my days. Never once have I faltered, swayed, or allowed any boulder that fell upon me to deter or alter my path. I am walking the last few paces of my journey. I am standing at the corner of Main and Lafayette. MagNeedles are whisking by. The people are smiling. There are no more tears.
Before me is the colossus that was once known as Harmony Heights Community Church. No religious services have been held in this one-time fort of the faith for over a decade. The place still percolates with people. The entire campus still resonates with goodness and effuses hope. This garden still has the lingering scent of faith connected to and associated with it. Try as he could, Herr Bosel could not entirely snuff out the aroma of Christ from this holy touchdown spot.
I cross the street. As I do so I notice that I can no longer dodge the passing red darts with the ease of the young matador. I am slowed by age and bear upon and within my body the stigmata of my Christ. I can successfully cross the street. I find myself once again on the threshold that twice occupied my life. God gave me back this blessing. As a young man, I was forced from this place of service by the serpent’s guile. I fell from grace. But God, through His mercies, restored me to his service. I dispensed mercy in this place through two full seasons as senior pastor.
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