Tears In The Bathtub, Peace In The Chapel

I love this small, simple chapel.

It beckoned to me when I first saw it. My students had just finished performing music at a retirement home near their school. After their performance, a friendly resident took me by the hand to show me around the building.

"This is where we have chapel every Thursday afternoon at 1:30," she commented, as she flipped on the light switch in the upstairs room.

"Ohhh," I breathed. "It's beautiful."

It was beautiful. Small, but quaint and inviting, with a communion table and beautiful stained glass window of a cross that still appeared triumphant.

The Tears Of Change

Change.

My heart aches tonight, and I'm not sure why.
Probably because of that word: change.

I'm not opposed to change. I can often adapt easily and with flexibility. Sometimes I don't even feel the pangs of change until after it has happened---running purely on adrenaline in survival mode when I am in the midst of it. And I have many things in my life changing for the better. I am about to relocate my piano teaching studio---positive change. But the reasons behind it---hurtful, disappointed change.

Watching friends go through situations that I keep hoping and praying will improve for them, but don't seem to be---sorrowful change.

My boyfriend is possibly in the middle of a career transition, and I'm trying to assist him with some of the steps I've navigated before in that process---hope-filled, turning-point change. But seeing the pain on his face as he still deals with being in the middle of the process---heart-breaking change.