It’s done. It is no more. What began as a small rag-tag group meeting in the park last August ended with a much larger and somewhat different group meeting in "the living room" for the last time.

Stones marked our journey, as we piled them into what will eventually become a lamp. I put one in just to mark that I was there once, like scratching my name into my desk on the last day of school.

I’m sad. Looking around the room tonight, I knew I had been a part of something unique and special. And I knew that we will probably never capture that again.

Some may argue that that isn’t a thing to mourn. They are mistaken. Every loss in life is worthy of mourning. We must take time to mourn, even the small losses in life. We must take time to acknowledge that our hearts are rended each time something or someone we love and have invested in is separated from us. If we don’t take that time, the wounds of our loss will become infected with bitterness.

I’m exhausted too. My eyes want to close even as I type. It’s been a heck of an emotional rollercoaster ride the last week or so, which is more wearing on the body than hard labor. And I feel it, to my bones.

But I also feel released, free. I’m no longer obligated or invested in Mosaic. It’s as if some invisible ties to "the past" have been cut (not sure what that means exactly, it’s just the way I feel) and I’m free to investigate the rest of Nashville, see what’s out there and if, perhaps, God brought me here for a different purpose than I thought.

This is what the LORD says– he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick:

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." — Isa 43:16-19