The Search for a Home Church

I wish finding a home church were an easy endeavor. I wish it were like "love at first sight," when I'd just know if a church was the right one for me.

I must be a very picky person. I'm not sure what I have in mind for a home church, but at the same time, I know what I wouldn't like in a home church.

Not that I have a wide basis for comparison. In all my years as a believer, there's been only one church I referred to as a "home church." It was distinguished as such in my mind, because I came to know the pastor and his family, and his particular method for his sermons and services.

I knew all the worship songs by heart. I came to know the other leaders. I knew all the families in the congregation. I participated in the women's ministry, served in the choir and in the nursery. I felt completely comfortable there. I knew what to expect.

Through that one "home church," I was also first exposed to the weaknesses in a church body. I learned my fellow Christians were still capable of profanity, conceit, and pride. They were still capable of treating each other horribly, lying to each other, making poor and selfish choices. And I was still vulnerable to being treated badly, too.

That experience didn't make me a cynic or cause me to doubt God's holiness or purposes. Even after the first shock of being yelled at by the worship leader.

(To make a long story short...

I was working in a sandwich shop, and the worship leader's wife came in late to pick up some cookies. When I told her we'd run out, she got very worried and asked to use the phone. She called her husband (the worship leader) and told him the bad news.

The next thing I knew, she held out the phone to me and said, "He wants to talk to you."

The worship leader said, "Are you serious? You're out of chocolate chip cookies?"

"I'm afraid so," I said.

"Well, that's crap," he said.

I thought he was joking, so I laughed. "Yes-sir. I just sold the last one."

"No, no, don't give me that. How can you be out of chocolate chip cookies? That's ridiculous. Your sign says you have cookies; you're supposed to have cookies. I'm supposed to be able to send my wife in there to get some, and you're supposed to have them...," and on and on and on.

It took a few seconds for me to realize he was serious, and angry with me--angry that I didn't have chocolate chip cookies.

Of course, I've never been one to handle confrontation well anyway, but in this particular instance, I was caught so off-guard, I really didn't know what to do.

His wife looked at me sympathetically, and she was obviously embarrassed, because she knew who I was, I knew who she was, and we both knew I knew who he was.)

But like I said, that experience didn't make me a cynic or cause me to doubt God's holiness or purposes. Even after the first shock of being yelled at by the worship leader.

What it did do was help me realize the church is not a perfectly functioning, spotless entity. The people in the congregation are not perfect and spotless. I couldn't expect them to be, unless I expected to be perfect and spotless myself. But I'm not, and I know they can't be either.

However, that experience did cause me to evaluate what I would expect in a home church, and that standard is a genuine, Christ-seeking leadership. Kindness, prayer, a total reliance on God and His word. I know that's not too much to ask, but I also know I'm no expert at recognizing that in a leader.

So, I've prayed and prayed for many years to find a home church. I've visited a few.

At the first one, the pastor was kind, but the messages fell a bit flat for me. The congregation seemed a bit too content for my taste, so I didn't go back.

At the next one, the pastor was a bit too focused on the men in the congregation, and I guess I just couldn't very well identify with his fervent love for sports, especially as he drew on his love for sports for most of his analogies.

The last one I visited, the congregation was so large, I felt utterly lost in the pews. The people were kind enough. The leadership was genuine and enthusiastic. And the church certainly wasn't at a loss for ministries and activities. But it was just way too overwhelming for me.

What do I envision?

I suppose I'd like to be a part of a smaller congregation...one where I wouldn't get lost in the pew, and I could make a real difference when I find my opportunity to serve.

I pray for a pastor who may have quite a few years behind him, but isn't so distant from the nature of the present generation that he can't relate and struggles to be relevant.

Having the kids attend services with me on Sunday is so, so important to me. I know how much they love children's church, but having that family time together to hear the word...so important.

And I wouldn't want all the ministries and activities to become so weighty on the church's agenda that it draws away from keeping the body strong and right and in Him. It's so easy to get caught up in barbecues and fun days and coffees and classes.

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We got an invitation in the mail today to attend a Christmas festival and performance at the big (big. big. BIG.) church downtown. I have no doubt it's a great church, but it may be too great for me.

There's also a little church the girls' friend goes to. It sounds like a sweet congregation, mid-sized. But it's a denominational church, and I just don't know if I could be comfortable there.

All this wondering and comparing and contrasting. All these questions and concerns, as if it were entirely up to me. As if it's ever been entirely up to me.

There's a reason I put this decision in God's hands so long ago, and there's a reason why He hasn't answered yet. In any case, I'm putting it at the top of my prayer list: God, please give us a home church.

"Bunny," A New Robe, & A New Year's Prayer

Eve's Finished Rag Doll, "Bunny"

On this Day 2 of her project, Eve sewed together her rag doll's body and limbs, cut and sewed the doll's dress, and added a ribbon sash and bows in her hair. She named her doll "Bunny," after her beloved plush bunny she lost a couple weeks ago when a rambunctious little boy threw it on the roof at Love's gym class.


We all thought Eve did such a wonderful job; Love and Alice were inspired to make their own, so Eve helped Love sew and stuff an unadorned head that will soon become a new rag doll for Love. Eve's promised to help Alice with her doll after that.

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A New Robe

After repenting and stepping from the brush last week, Jesus met me on the road there. I felt such a sweet sense of relief. He very simply took from me the burden of many months trying to make it on my own strength along my own path.

An image has followed me all week. I looked down at my robe, at the rips in the fabric, the dirt, the sweat stains, the places where the thorns broke my skin and drew blood. I was repulsed and ashamed at how filthy my clothes were.

Jesus said, "Let me have that." So I gave the old robe to Him. He took it in His left hand, and it turned to ash.

With His right hand, He handed me a brand new robe He fashioned just for me. It was made of spotless white linen, soft and perfect, and it had never been worn before by anyone else.

I put the new robe on, and ever since, I've been unashamed to walk next to Him, to ask for things in prayer, or even to confess my sins and ask for His forgiveness and guidance.

I suppose I feel like I'm part of His family. (Intellectually, I've always known that I am, but genuinely feeling that I am part of His family, that I can approach Him without rebuke...that has taken a long time to come to.) I would never feel hesitant or apprehensive to go to my earthly father or my uncle or any of my brothers to talk with them about things, good or bad. Jesus loves me more than my father or uncle or any of my brothers, and He welcomes me in every hour. It struck me quite deeply that I find a comfort and ease of intimacy with Him now, in my new robe He made for me, on this road He paved just for me.

And I can't help but wax sentimental about it all, because I've yearned to experience healing for such a long time. I've never known why there was such a wait before it came to pass, and I may not fully understand for a much longer time. But honestly? I'm content right here where I am with Him on this path. I know He'll walk me to the next destination, wherever that may be, whatever challenges may lie ahead. But I'm not rushing; I'm not impatient. And I'm not dreading the next bend either.

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New Year's Prayer

Otherwise, I'm anticipating some big changes around the house between now and the New Year.

• Cutting off digital cable television (for a significant savings on the Internet/telephone bundle).
• Opening a second checking account. Deposits into the first account are for bill payments only. Deposits into the second account are for other household expenses and general spending.
• Major shift in the kitchen. Scaling way back on prepared foods, and cooking from scratch the majority of the time. It's going to require better time management, but I think I'm ready to take on the challenge.
• Stricter limitations on driving habits.
  
• Sticking close to home as much as possible.

I welcome the changes. I miss being home, making home, enjoying home. Community involvement is great, but not at the expense of peace at home.

Guess I've just discovered my New Year's Prayer (formerly "Resolution"): Return to Peace at Home.

Lord, teach me what to say.

Advent Activity, December 4th
Cut-Out Paper Chain Garland

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Answered Prayer: Lord, teach me what to say.

10 And Moses said unto the LORD, O my LORD, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken unto thy servant: but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.

11 And the LORD said unto him, Who hath made man's mouth? or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the LORD?

12 Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say.

Exodus 4:10-12

I thought my Social Anxiety might get the best of me today when I had to give a second parent advisement session on essay writing. The session last month went well, judging from the feedback after the fact, but I walked away feeling scrutinized and traumatized, though I knew it was all in my head.

This time, I'd been dreading the speaking engagement all week. It's not that I didn't know my topic through and through, not that I didn't feel a deep purpose in sharing what I've learned. It was worry about presenting myself well and providing the information in a way that could be understood and absorbed. It's hard for people to understand a person and absorb what she's saying if the speaker's stumbling over her words, shaking from nervousness, and pausing because she's forgotten where she was.

I had a long talk with God about that. My intentions were good, and I felt I truly did have something of value to give, and I wanted to give that presentation, because I knew it would help other moms who have trouble teaching their kids to write. So why all the anxiety?

Well, I asked God to take my nervousness from me and to give me the words to be clear, amicable, and thorough.

He gave me all of those.

The session went swimmingly. When all was said and done, it felt less like a "presentation," and more like a moms meeting. That is what I envisioned for the session, and I've been so grateful there are no lingering bad feelings or anxiety to follow me through to the next presentation.

Stepping from the Brush: On Repentance

Someone's been fervently praying for me. I can feel it. I can always tell when the Holy Spirit floods into my shadowed encapsulation, begins fighting off the darkness, and then fills the gaping wounds inside even though I've been too weak to pray for myself.

He has, He has.

For many months now, I've felt as if I've been walking along the overgrown edge of God's path, beyond a fenced barrier. I've cut my feet on the thorns, had to claw my way through thick vines and branches to stay close enough to His road so I can still see it.

And I've been mindful how smooth the soil is on the way He paved for me, how it will always lead to His lighted city, no matter how dark the valleys or how steep the hills become on the way there.

Someone has prayed a break in the barbed wire, and I stand here with a clearing wide enough to squeeze through, and He waits there, just an arm's length away. All I have to do is walk toward Him, and the rest of the journey will be safe and secure.

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It's better for me to wait a while before I seek the company of other faithful Christians. We're all flawed, but at this fragile juncture, any pressure or accusations or negativity from other believers could be detrimental. Not that I am easily jaded, but I'm easily turned against myself, and self-loathing and self-punishment is NOT God's way.

Repentance is indeed sorrowful. The process of being broken is painful in its own way, but the sense above all others is a predominant love and adoration, a deep gratitude to Christ for making me whole.

When I'm genuinely repenting, the feeling that overwhelms should not be self-hatred, should not be an unholy shame that would drag me farther away from God instead of toward Him.

It's so easy to fall victim to those falsehoods and lies. I think most Christians are well-meaning, and they want more than anything to share the brokenness and the victory that follows it. But many folks get caught up in what they believe is an established process, that a person should go into salvation on one side looking like filth and come out on the other side looking like them.

Spiritually speaking, yes--we do come out of the other side of salvation with a clean soul, washed by Christ's blood, ready to be presented before the throne. But the flesh...life...the every-day...that takes time, discipline, determination, self-control, willpower, practice.

It's almost as if I'm recovering from an addiction to fleshly living. It's a fragile time. I'm vulnerable and exposed. I need to steep in the Spirit, strengthen my bond with Him, allow Him to build me up so when the time comes for me to reenter fellowship, I'll be strong and secure in Him, impervious to the lies that may rob me of my confidence in Christ's profound sacrifice.

It begins with prayer. It began with someone else's prayer for me.

I can pray for them, too, and even if I don't know who they are, God does.

And then I can pray for myself.