growing up, every sunday at the end of church, my dad would say one word to the congregation. i can hear it clearly now, thirty years later. after birthdays, anniversaries and moments of import were announced, he would raise his arms, smile ever so slightly, and shift his gaze above our heads. voice emphatic, with a hint of promise, he would pronounce one syllable:
“GO.”
and off we would.
each week, an opportunity to begin again. in my dad’s religious terms, i’m sure the instructions were to go off and ‘live god’s word’, or something to that effect. i chose to take it as instructions to go off into the world, doing good, living well, and living fully.