We’ve all had them — endings and beginnings.

I find myself in a new place in life because of an ending: the end of my time serving in a local United Methodist church. The hardest part? It wasn’t my choice. It came as a recommendation — from a consultant, no less.

That was months ago. In September 2024, I was informed that my position would be eliminated by the end of June 2025. I was hurt. I was mad. I was sad. I was resentful. How dare they?

I spent most of the fall grumbling, angry, frustrated — and yet still doing my job. Showing up. Caring for people who were sick, dying, or wrestling with the very real, everyday challenges of life. I held space for others, even as I quietly unraveled inside.

Then, in early January 2025, I had something of an epiphany.

After a string of emotionally heavy hospital visits — sitting beside folks dealing with terminal illness — something clicked. I watched these individuals choose, with grace and courage, to face each day with gratitude and groundedness. They were facing an ending they didn’t choose, yet they were doing it one day at a time, and with good attitudes.

That truth stopped me in my tracks.

I encourage people all the time to make a new choice. I cheer them on with pep talks about how we are the product of our decisions. But here I was — stuck in bitterness, refusing to take my own advice.

Damn. It was time to take my own medicine.

It was time to stop stewing in my funk.

It was time to choose something better.

And so I did.

This ending doesn’t have to be the end. It can be a beginning — one of my choosing. I choose hope. I choose energy. I choose excitement.

I can do whatever I want.

I can help people on my terms — with honesty, integrity, and vulnerability.

I can use all the experiences of my life to stand with others in their endings and beginnings, and cheer them toward a new way of doing life.

Let’s do this.