Failure, A Mustard seed & Landfill
I left the house early this morning because we were out of coffee and we don’t do a morning without coffee around here. After driving through at Caribou, I found my way to the land we hope to buy for Storyteller Cafe. As I was coming up on the corner I have pictured our cafe on thousands of times I thought ,
“what if my girls remember me as a failure because I spent my whole life fighting for something that never materialized?”
If you feel this is a dramatic thought, it is.
It all comes back to Identity.
When I was a young adult I volunteered in AWANA at the church I grew up at. The group I was placed with were the 3rd-6th graders and I loved them. I can still picture those girls’ faces. One of the things I had the privilege of doing was helping to lead the singing. Now, I am not a singer as in I don’t sing well. Every time I get up on stage to speak I fear someone will turn my headset microphone on while I’m singing and my voice, passionate it may be harmonized it is not, will be loud like the worship teams. Although not a singer, I do love to sing and I love, love to worship. Maybe more than I like to do anything else.