I probably haven't seen you in close to 30 years, and, truthfully, we probably won't see each other again. Whether we recognize each other in heaven is open for theological debate, and I'm sure you'd have more convincing evidence, but let's just go with my unsubstantiated belief that we'll run into each other on the other side.
When I was young, like really young, 10 or 12 years old, I never knew for sure if I was afraid or you, if I loved you, or if I thought you might possibly be the smartest person I have ever met. You'll have to admit you weren't exactly warm and fuzzy when you gathered with us kids every Sunday afternoon at Main St. United Methodist Church to try to teach us Bible stories, crafts and songs. I don't remember you smiling or laughing too much, and I don't actually remember a full on hug or anything like that as well. By the same token, I was always amazed at how you could possibly know so much when your Bible was so small!
I DO remember that you showed up every week, no matter how we had behaved the week before. I also know that you gave us the real Bible story, complete with maps and world history, not some make-believe story with blond-haired, blue-eyed baby Jesus. (Incidentally, I've spent my life looking for the truth, the real story, that you loved so much.)
I think you may have been the one to convince me that God had given me a mind to ask questions, to doubt, to search.
Truth be told, I think most of the kids were there to paint the plaster of paris plaques you prepared for us, but I was always really, really bad at painting those little suckers, so I hung back with you with the maps, where you showed me how to use the index in the back of the Bible, and I learned the difference between John's gospel and the others.
Anyway, I was walking my dog the other night, and it was kind of chilly and the wind was blowing. I wasn't feeling so great about how the day had gone, and for lack of a better word, I think I was a bit lonely. As I was walking though, from somewhere in the dark recesses of my 48 year old mind, I heard this chorus and I started to sing along:
Into my heart, into my heart
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.
Come in today.
Come in to stay.
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.
The same chorus that we sang together as we held hands in a circle every Sunday afternoon. My heart was filled with sweet memories and, more importantly, with Jesus.
I just wanted to tell you thanks. Thanks for the gifts that you gave to a bunch of kids that lived around 8th & Main Streets in downtown Covington. I thought you should know that at least one of us grew into a pretty decent person, who still uses her mind (not her emotions) to search for Biblical truths and still hears the choruses you sang just at the right moment.
Oh, and I might say, I have also grown into a woman who never claps in a church service! You taught me well.
Love,
Angie
No comments:
Post a Comment