I stopped in a new Christian book store on my walk yesterday, and there was a picture on the wall that brought a flood of emotions and tears. It was a little frame church that looked so much like the church I attended as a child -- and the memories got me all choked up as I tried to talk to the owner. He said many tears had been shed in that store -- I was not the first.
My church was the second one in that location. My great grandparents were charter members in the 1800's when it was built. There was no air-conditioning or padded pews or bathrooms except for the outhouse out back. But I have so many memories!
I think of the sweet elderly people who sat on the left side in the front. And Mr. Warner who always said,"Wonderful! Wonderful," when the choir or my girls chorus sang.
My Sunday School class with the flannel board stories, and later the youth group class where everyone painted their chair and labeled it with their name.
The picture in the front of Jesus knocking on the door.
Santa coming down the aisle with a bag full of presents for all the kids after the Christmas program where the little kids said their "piece" and the youth put on a play.
Youth Sunday when all the teenagers led the service.
Revival services -- especially the one when I was 10 years old -- I walked the aisle ond knelt at the altar bench and gave my heart to God.
We built a new church after I finished college -- I was married in the new church -- and the old church is now covered with kudzu and falling down. But it was such a special place to me. I can still picture my grandan Frazier singing "Amazing Grace" and my dad leading the choir and my mother's strong alto voice. I picture my brothers and many others praying at the altar. Sometimes I'll admit I sat in the back and read my "Builders" magazine and didn't hear a word the preacher said. But that little church is where I first learned to love Jesus and His people. Most of the people who went to church there are in Heaven now -- and I look forward to seeing them again one day. Those days will live on in my memory -- I am so thankful for that little church between the Kanawha River and Red Rock.
