To the New Girl in the Back of the Church

Dear New Girl in the Back of the Church...

in the very last seat.  To you, the one who doesn't even know why she's here. Maybe someone dragged you in.  Maybe you're weirded out by church.  Maybe you've come a few times, and every week you think, "Why am I here again?!" Let me guess, before the service you probably stand on the wall in the foyer wishing you could become part of the wall, come at the very last second and after you head for Dodge.

I get it.  I was you.  

19 years ago, I sat in the back of the first church I had attended as an adult thinking I had totally lost my mind.  I wasn't a Christian, and I was the terrified girl, sitting in the back.  

The stage was an odd mixture of what I assumed all churches to be-a pulpit, stained glass windows, an organ, and lots of brass fixtures. And there were band instruments. I didn't have a compartment in my brain to process such things.  I felt like I had landed on a different planet.  On the way into the church, people hugged-a lot.  They seemed genuinely happy to be together.  I felt like an intruder or a party crasher.  I wanted to introduce myself like, "Um, hey, yea, I'm new here...not even sure why I'm here."  
     
The very first church service I can remember began with a tall, lanky guy in jeans playing guitar.  I wish I could say I thought it was awesome.  Oh no.  I seriously thought it was the weirdest thing I had ever experienced.  

Somewhere about song three, he raised one hand in the air.  I couldn't figure out for the life of me what he was doing. I didn't know if he needed something and this was a Christian way to signal from the front. Then I thought maybe he was a "free-spirit" like I heard about from the 70s.  I didn't know what he was doing but he sure seemed happy doing it; I had to give him that.  But I was so embarrassed for him.  I remember thinking, "Dude, put your hand down." However, he surely didn't seem to care if he was making a spectacle of himself.  And then, a few other people raised their hands, and I thought, "Oh, this is what they do here." Hmmm.  I don't even remember the sermon, but those first few minutes will forever be etched on my brain.

And that was my first adult church experience.  

Fast forward 20 years.  

I still occasionally sit in the back of the church, but now I'm the one singing and raising that hand in the air, and my heart still goes out to every single petrified person back there. Because Oh man, I remember those feelings so well.  

I had no idea that God was the one who got me into that church.  Week after week, I'd go back sometimes I'd be kicking and screaming, mind you, but I went. 

So, if you're petrified and maybe just a bit weirded out, know you're not the only one who has ever felt this way.  Just relax.  You are welcome because God brought you here.  Just like everyone else. You're not an outsider, intruder, or party crasher. No one is going to call you front or embarrass you. And nobody wants anything from you. 

God welcomes you.  Into this place we call "church" to worship him.  Just come.  


PS.  And the hands in the air, it's a way to worship God, just one way.  If you're not feelin' it or don't understand it yet, it's okay. Just come. Even if you're weirded out by all these weird people.

A Father's Heart for His Lost Child

"What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it?" Luke 15:4

In the early hours of the morning, as others slept, time stood still for us.   Seconds ticking more like hours, we sat side-by-side on our sofa, staring at the white walls of our living room, our souls in deep anguish.  The lights of our home burned brightly in case, just in case he came home.

Our boy was lost.

Hours before, our 14 year old boy went missing.

A lost son is an agonizing weight to bear.

When he first went missing, his father, went into a warrior-like mode with deep intensity and determined focus.  He was on a mission:  he was going to find his boy.

Other people searched diligently, but the heart of the boy's father was set on finding him, as though nothing else mattered.

While others slept in the early hours of the morning, he was out again, combing the streets, looking for his boy.

23 hours after the search had begun, he got a call.  His boy had been found.   His heart flooded with relief and joy.  He stood on the front porch waiting.  Waiting for his boy.

As the vehicle with his boy drove up, I asked, "What do we do now?"

The boy's father's words trailed behind him as he sprinted toward the vehicle, "What do you mean, what do we do...?"

As his boy stepped out of the vehicle, he fell at his feet, sobbing and hugging his boy. His boy had come home.

He was lost and now he was found.

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and embraced him and kissed him." Luke 15:20

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This is a true story of events that happened in our family four years ago.  With gratitude, we see this as part of the Lord's redemption plan in us as individuals and a family.  We could never express our gratitude for the countless people who searched diligently alongside us and those who ministered to us through presence and prayer.  We are so grateful for one man's obedience when called by the Lord to go search, he went.  He was the one who found our son.

For Jim and I, the image of a father's heart for his lost child, has been etched on the tablet of our hearts.  We have a clearer picture today for the Father's love for us because of this.

To have just a glimpse of God's heart for his lost child is a true gift.

Are you lost?  Could your Father be pursuing you?  Unlike us, He knows where you are.    
To read about a story similar to this in God's Word, read this:  Luke 15:11-24.  Find yourself in the story.  See the Father's heart for his lost child.  He's not pursuing you to hurt or condemn you.  He's pursuing you to get you home, to Him, where you belong.