Lessons in the rubble

A chapter in my life came to a symbolic, cinematic end today. The new owners of the LifeWay property in downtown Nashville imploded the Draper Centennial Tower to make room for the upcoming Nashville Yards project.

I spent 12 years working every day in that building. Twelve years that spanned only two offices (a rarity for anyone who works at LifeWay past a year). Twelve years of hard work, amazing coworkers and lunches in the cafeteria.

I watched from home, via livestream. As the building crumpled in on itself, I thought about the memories those hallways and offices held. Those EC planning meetings where we laughed until we cried. The week of feasting before Christmas, department meetings and Monday devotions. That time my friend Jason and I watched the trailer for a scary movie and both screamed when something creepy suddenly showed in the video. That weird sticky eyeball that we threw onto the ceiling of my office and it got stuck and stayed there. I kind of hope it’s still there, somewhere in all the rubble. There were stand-up meetings, tough conversations and people who would stop whatever they were doing and pray for you. Cart luge. Birthday celebrations. Practical jokes. Laughter, a good share of tears and so many hugs.

I will admit that the implosion affected me a little more than I expected. I understand and agree with the need for change and know the new LifeWay building just a few blocks over provides better resources for the nature of the work in today’s world.

But after the tower fell and the smoke began to clear, I realized a couple of things.

1. It was just a building. It wasn’t the building that made those 12 years of my life so special. It was the people, the relationships. My coworkers. The talented people who graciously wrote for me for years and those who trusted me with the words they’d birthed into the world and allowed me to prune and shape them. Many of my coworkers became more like family and those relationships continue today. The building may be gone, but those are the things that last.

2. In the end, only the things that really mattered will last. Buildings fall. Jobs change. Stuff is just, well, stuff. What mattered within those walls was those relationships and the shared goal of the material we created. We were there, united under one mission: to create resources that God used to draw people into deeper relationship with Himself. I hope that even now, the resources I worked on continue to draw students closer to God. The fact that He would use our humble efforts is amazing, to say the least. The walls where we planned and prayed for those resources are gone, but the mission continues. At times, the work may have felt like just meeting deadlines, but it was work with an eternal impact.

And eternal things last.