Unpacking the personal emotions of packing up and leaving town

The time has come to say so long,
but I don’t know quite how.
In ten short years I’ve put down roots.
I’d love to stay. But now,

a church out west has called my name.
They claim that I’m their man.
And though it hurts to pack and move,
it seems to be God’s plan.

I’ll miss our home and neighborhood,
our church and friends and school.
And though my mind has settled peace,
emotions often rule.

When memories come, my eyes tear up.
My gut knots in a ball.
To leave a place you’ve grown to love
is like a death. That’s all.

And yet I know such sorrow’s sweet.
The pain means lives have touched,
that love’s been offered and returned,
not seldomly, but much.

This hurt’s a sliver in my heart
I don’t want tweezered out.
The ouch will help not forget
a town I care about.

As strange as it might seem to some,
I’m grateful for the pain.
It means I felt embrace by you.
Perhaps you feel the same.

Such sadness is a part of love
for those who risk to care.
It is the proof that those who reached
found ways to really share.

So thanks for letting me draw near
to share my heart with you.
And if you would, please pray for me
as I begin brand new.