Home Sweet Church

I was thinking today how we also ask if 'they have a church home?'. What an interesting choice of words. I wonder how often do people step through those church front doors and get that same feeling. As when one works a long hard day and they finally walking in the front door. I wonder if there is that sigh of relief, that release of stress, that thought of I made it through the day. The feeling of comfort and welcome-ness. I wonder if we long for the people inside. If walking out the door is something we do because we must, because we have responsibilities, but we would rather just stay home. I wonder if we even get those I just wanna stay home feelings. I wonder if its a place we look forward to going for the holidays. I wonder if its a place we know we can always turn to, a place that will help you in your time of need. If we feel free to release it all. All the tears and hurt, all the fears and pain. I wonder if that pew feels like a couch; a seat you think about through the day. Can you take your shoes off at the door? Do people know you by name? Do they share their life, their love, their coffee? I wonder...



I guess I have been blessed in a rather unusual way. I have gone to the same church my whole life. And for a time, I spent more time there then at my actual house. I did take my shoes off at the door. In fact I still do, after service don't be surprised to see me running around in my bare feet. I had a place for my lunch box and a coloring book in the desk. I know that whole place like the back of my hand. I was babysat by the whole youth group for a while almost every Sunday night. I remember what color the walls or even doors used to be. I remember the "old" building. I was baptized there. I was confirmed there. I took my first communion there. My parents were married there. I became a DCE there. My sister funeral was there. I became a missionary there. My church is my home. I find myself missing those seafoam green pews I used as a jungle gym. I miss sharing the peace with Mrs. Bailey. I miss getting smacked in the leg for shaking the whole pew. I miss all the old ladies say "I remember when you were this big." I miss dad smiling at me as he walks out after service. I miss skipping Sunday school with Nicki and going to our spot in the woods. I miss all those folders full of notes we hung from the ceiling. I miss Sunday night youth group with '60s furniture. I miss funny ceiling tiles and hilarious volleyball. I miss lent and advent potlucks. I would walk through every part of my life within it's walls. But most of all I miss walking through those doors feeling like I am home. I made it through the week. Here, I can be real, I can be me. Here I am home.