My husband drives by the church property at least once a day. Two Saturdays ago, I counted four times. To say he’s excited doesn’t quite do the trick. If they’d let him, I think he’d work along the big machines with his gold shovel in hand. I find myself having to bite my tongue not to bring up the building in every conversation. It’s more than anticipation. We know in our bones that this is our legacy. Generation after generation will worship in this building. They will forget our names. They won’t know the blood, sweat, and tears that built it. But on this property, they will lift the name of God to the heavens. They will make disciples. This property will make heaven more crowded.
If our contribution is but a comma in the story of God, I want to be the boldest comma anyone has ever seen. I’m okay with unnoticed. I’m okay with overlooked. I just want to do the job well. To point to the Storyteller. What a story it is that He’s writing.