One of our beloved church members passed away and there is a service for him today. The girls and I helped prepare table decorations this week.
Unfortunately, I have had a nasty cold, and today it’s manifesting in a bad cough and my nose is still running. The last thing I want to do is cough all over family and elderly people, so we are staying home. They are live-streaming the service, so I’m grateful I get to see it.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be in a good church. Our pastor’s wife, who leads our women’s Bible study on Tuesdays, closed with words of gratitude and praise for our church, the elders, and the body, who all are unified in Christ, in the Bible, and in caring for each other…really caring for each other, not just saying it, but doing it. She made me cry.
It’s the first time I have EVER felt truly a part of the body of Christ, and I’ve been in very committed church attendance since my oldest was born 22 years ago. No matter how much we volunteered, taught Sunday school, participated in church, we never felt truly part of the family. It was just a place most people went on Sunday. At our last church, the pastor’s wife was even barely around, few knew her, and the areas of church were so compartmentalized that the children’s area knew us well, but no one else did. When the married music pastor—who was accused of inappropriate conduct with a young lady who didn’t want his attention—was asked to leave, we were never contacted, even though our teen girls were taking guitar lessons from him. We just weren’t important enough to contact and assure our girls hadn’t been abused.
It was purely by God’s grace we found this church. It’s in a location I would’ve never thought of, it’s a denomination I didn’t realize I aligned with (because my Catholic mom always talked down about it), and it was at a time I was desperate to find a family in Christ.
Our brother Bob went to be with Jesus. He was faithful, a faithful leader, and a very loving man.
Jesus come soon.