People leave and get let go. People quit and get fired. This is not a conversation about that. This is a conversation about how we treat people who leave or get let go.

There are many roads in this life. Some are actual roads that take us from “point A to point B.” Others are metaphorical, roads that we travel in our hearts. Many of the roads we travel, we never think of again, but some roads are so defining that they become drawn across our story with indelible ink.

You are invited to focus on your personal regrets by both naming and reframing them, and by so doing, nourish in a particular way, God’s call for both your present and your future.

You are invited to focus on where you regularly invest your attention by considering what captures your time, energy, thoughts, and imagination in everyday life.

As my faith evolved and I began to question many of the traditions I was raised with, the memory verses sometimes stung like fresh cuts or ached like purple bruises.

I believe we are in another “what we tell our grandchildren” moment with Afghans, Ukrainians, Haitians, Venezuelans, and so many more, fleeing war and violence around the world and seeking protection in the U.S. What will tell our grandchildren when they ask us how we responded?

So, from the vantage point of the wheelchair, I learned a few lessons that I hope will be helpful to others. The lessons start with a full assessment of a church campus, and an open invitation to the congregation and persons who visit the campus regularly to offer ideas about how the campus can truly serve all of God’s people.