Yesterday, we said goodbye.

Our family has made a home with the church where my husband has been the Senior Pastor for many years. The time to say goodbye to that place has arrived.

My husband and I wrapped up our heartache and pain from this season and set it down for an hour. We picked up stickers, bubbles, a card, and some markers. We prepared a litany of goodbye for our children.

They needed space to understand this change. They know that Daddy is shifting to a new space to work. They have a hundred questions. We do too. But we have shielded them. I will not have them experience the church hurt that we know. We only want them to know that God loves them, that wholeness is worth seeking, that our family believes in justice and care for all people.

They needed time to stand in their classrooms, their playground and their sanctuary. And remember.

We took our little paper hearts, and shared memories – a sticker for each special memory or person. We lit a candle in each room. They have a hunch there will be candles in our next church, too.

We blew bubbles to embody our prayers for our friends. We ran and jumped on every inch of this second home called church. My five year old laid down, arms outstretched, on the chancel. “I’m giving the church a hug goodbye.”

My oldest son was a toddler when we came here. As we walked around yesterday, he kept writing his name on any whiteboard he could find: LJH was here.

I get it, buddy. You want to know that your presence mattered.

And then. I took each child by the hand. I took their tiny finger and covered it in ink.

We talked about how this church has made an impression on their lives. But just as important? They made an impression on this church. Their fingerprints are as much on this place as anyone else. I let them find a “hidden spot” somewhere in the building, and place a fingerprint there. Somewhere not noticeable. Except to them, and to God.

My oldest son said, “I know exactly where my fingerprint should go.” And he ran directly to the place I had hoped he wouldn’t ask much about. I just about came undone as I watched him leave his mark underneath that spot.

You won’t see their fingerprints in that building. But they know and I know that their presence was a gift to that community.

Their goodbyes were a sacred moment. As we step into a season of joining the wanderers in search of home, I am more certain than ever that we will find home. God’s kingdom goes beyond these walls. Dear Rachel Held Evans once said:

“This is what God’s kingdom is like: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes. And there’s always room for more.”

We go now, having blown bubbles and said goodbye. Knowing there is a place ahead with room for my family. Our children will know the love of God in community one day again, I believe that.