“Do you have old people at your church?”
It was kind of a strange question to ask as I called through the churches in the phone directory, but after I had asked about their theology and church government, it was my next question.
Growing up in a little church in a little town with people who had known me and my daddy before me, I didn’t think I’d find another church that felt so much like home. But I knew that no matter where we ended up going to church, I wanted there to be plenty of dear old saints who give hugs as generously as they give advice.
We visited a little fellowship of about fifty believers, most of them over fifty, just once before Merritt’s accident. We were welcomed with open arms. And a week later, the pastor was there in the emergency room with Merritt even before I got there. These members of the family of God have been there to run the store for us, help my brother-in-law with the irrigation, and write to believers across the country in a prayer chain for Merritt.
I love my church. And for the first time in my life, “my church” doesn’t refer to the little country church I grew up in. And my church is not just my church, but our church—Merritt’s and mine. As we stood there yesterday singing “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” the same song we’d been singing exactly three months before at our wedding, my heart was overflowing at all the evidences of God’s faithfulness to us. Three months of wedded bliss, a new church family of dear ones of all ages, and my husband standing there on one foot beside me.
Blest be the tie that binds… I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God… Great is His faithfulness!