Just heard on Friday (when my MT system was down, blast it), that one of the churches in town is closing its doors. My neighbor leads (led?) worship there.
They had been ~ 100 or so, then they shrank back to 40, and today was their last meeting. Last week they handed around a list of churches in the area, and we expect to see a few visitors in the next month as a result. Hopefully my neighbor can plug in and heal up.
As a church planter I find myself grieving. I love the church. I love its many manifestations. I love high church, I love house church, I love whatever the heck we‘re trying to be. And since they had experienced reasonable growth, and we had under 15 with us today it certainly makes me look inward, to examine myself and the work of my hands.
And yet I stop. I’m reminded of the picture the Lord showed me in worship today: a colorful hot air balloon, floating on the breeze. Not so much in control of the wind as being carried along by it. Peaceful, calm, quiet. Right where it’s supposed to be, even if sometimes it wants to be a Learjet.
pat loughery 
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