Yesterday I had the privilege of worshipping in South Bend with the church I grew up in. Though it had been a few years--over three I think?--since I had last been to a Sunday morning service there, in several ways it felt like going home. The warm welcome we received only added to the wonderful level of support and generosity we have enjoyed from that congregation since this whole cancer ordeal began. In many ways, I felt like I had never left.
Sure, the church has a new name that I struggle to remember off the top of my head: Church of the Savior (yeah, I googled it just to be sure). Yes, there were dozens of new faces I did not recognize, and many people I would have loved to see but did not get the chance to. But I also got to meet several people I have known only through Facebook or email, and reconnect with a great many old friends. The wonderful Hanstra family, with whom we stayed Saturday night, even managed to put together a lovely cookout after church on just a couple days' notice. We relished (get it? cookout, relish?) the chance to spend more time Sunday afternoon talking with everyone from church who was able to attend.
I think in many ways It felt like I had never left because really, I hadn't. I know I have continually been thought of and prayed for by so many there. I have never left their hearts, nor have they left mine. I cannot help but think that this provides an excellent example of church at its best. It scarcely matters how far away I may live, or how long it has been between visits. This group of brothers and sisters in Christ will always be family.
P.S. apparently "worshipping" is not the standard spelling of the word here in the U.S. but "worshiping" just looks wrong to me.
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