Cy Wilson was my friend. I sat in my favorite chair in the back office of the church I pastor and stared out the window in silence. I considered what I wanted to articulate; to share with the people who were going to here today. The day of Cy’s memorial service.
Even though our church, New Hope Community, was barely ten years old, we had grown rapidly and still experiencing a rise in attendance. We listed approximately 2,500 people on the church roster which I find amazing. And the three services were all, typically full. We were a church plant from a will known church, Harbor Christian. But that didn’t matter all that much; it had been a challenge from the start. At least for me, probably not for Cy. He always had a way of making things look easier than they were. While I had my weekly freak-out session every Sunday because some mundane detail that wasn’t being attended to like I though it should be; Cy went about his business, relying on God to be where he was needed. I worried about the number of chairs, the volume of the worship band, the kid’s ministries teach not showing up on time. Cy couldn’t have care less about this kind of stuff, which infuriated me in the beginning. I always felt Cy didn’t take this whole church plant serious enough. Over the years I found myself coming to the realization that it was I who had the issues. I still feel embarrassed by the way I acted.
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