The new kid

I could tell that we weren’t the usual Lutheran church goers. Ours was a very traditional Lutheran church. We lived exactly one city block from our church. We lived close enough to hear the church bells ring from our house. When friends would come over in the summer they would ask if it was the ice cream man. I assured them that I didn’t think the ice cream truck played “Ode to Joy”. Regardless of the miniscule distance we had to walk to get there—we were ALWAYS late. Normal people would sneak in quietly into one of the back rows when they are late. Not my dad. He insisted that we sit in the third row. And he had squeaky dress shoes. Imagine us, shuffling up the side of the church on linoleum floors, squeak, passing dozens of empty seats, squeak, greeting every family we knew, squeak, my dad kissing babies like he was the president, squeak, finally making it to our seats. Then, just as we are all settled into our seats (did I mention it was the third row?), my dad reaches into his pocket and digs out a piece of cellophane wrapped candy. You know the kind. I think he was hoping that if he unwrapped it very slowly it would be less distracting.

Crinkle….   

(I sink lower in my seat)

Crinkle…  

(Can I just crawl under this pew… )

Crinkle…

(JUST OPEN THE CANDY ALREADY!)

Then he would proceed to pass it out to the children that were sitting around us. My seventh grade embarrassment was on overload. My dad is a wonderful guy. He can make friends with anyone. He loves kids. I just couldn’t help but notice that we didn’t quite fit in with the stoic Lutheran crowd.

I love how God calls His people. We were certainly an unlikely bunch in the third pew of the Lutheran church, but it became a place where we found an identity. We have never really adopted the reserved Lutheran persona, but we were met by Jesus in those church pews. We met people who loved us, taught us, and gave us more than they probably knew. My sister and I met adults who invested in us; who saw kids who needed to know that they were precious daughters of a Mighty God. We didn’t know the liturgy. We didn’t know the prayers, or the Sunday school stories, but we found a place where God did His work in us.

Now, years later, I get to be one of those adults. I pray often that God will give me the eyes to see those kids; those families, who need an extra measure of grace. I want to notice those hearts that need to see Jesus, maybe for the first time. I want to keep fresh the memories of being the new kid, and the gratefulness that came from those who walked with me.