Searching for heart's desire while feeding my soul.....That journey has led me down many roads. If you've read any of my other blogs, you are familiar with some of those experiences.
There's one experience I haven't written about and it's probably the one that had the most profound affect on me. It seems easier for some people to recognize "Christians" these days as the ones who attend church regularly. And some quickly decide that if a person does not attend church, they must not be a Christians or that they do not believe in God.
I stopped going to church a long time ago. We are so private with our lives that maybe most people didn't notice. But everyone now and then, and probably more often then usual, I would get the most often asked question. "What church do you go to?" I would answer that I was a member of First Methodist and that would satisfy them. And that was true. I was a member of First Methodist. Just not a good member.
Several years ago I was fortunate enough to be asked by the First Methodist Church to assist with a special summer camp for kids. Under the direction of the church's Minister of Music, I would assist with the artistic part of this camp. Offering up art lessons to campers centered around the selected Christian musical theme, I became part of a team of teachers hired to instruct the children. The camps were quite successful. And I brought my love of the arts and my love of teaching to children, whom I also loved.
In the Methodist circuit, ministers are often moved around from church to church. In the years that I taught the summer art camps at First Methodist, there were several ministers who would open the summer art camp with prayer and invitation. After several summers as the art instructor for their annual summer art camps, the minister, whom I had become quite close to and quite fond of, recognized by surprise that I was a member of his church. While he never made me feel guilty of being an absentee member, he also never approached me about why I didn't attend church anymore.
It was at the end of one of productions that he offered up his usual prayer and public offering for anyone to join the church for their Sunday services. I had heard that offering on many occasions but this particular one stuck with me.
I felt guilty.
I waited until he was alone in his office and asked him if I could speak with him privately. And of course, like always, he was so gracious and loving and made me feel like he was there just for me. When I sat down on the other side of his desk, I noticed on the wall behind him was a collection of abstract art that he had created. I had come to know that he, too, was an artist. Alongside his beautiful collection of painted canvases was a framed black and white photograph of the Beatles. I guess just seeing the art and the black and white photograph of the Beatles, I immediately felt 'at home.'
Now time to confess.
As I shared with him how much I loved what I was doing for the church during the camp, I had to confess that I was not a church goer. And I didn't want him to think that my lack of participation in the Sunday worship services was any indication of how I felt about him or God
. I was surprised how quickly he interjected that I should not feel guilty. And it would be the next statement that he made to me that put my spirit at ease and filled my heart.
I will paraphrase what he said because his exact words were much more beautiful and eloquent than I could recount. But I got the message.
'There are many people who come to church because they need to feed their spirits. And some people have learned to feed their own. And you are one of those. So, don't you feel guilty. You are blessed. But please know that you are welcomed here at any time as the NEED arises.'
I did attend church the next Sunday out of respect for this beloved minister. And I am guessing it was my way of saying thank you.
I know that many people might not agree or understand his message to me. But I felt that he knew my heart and he spoke to my soul.
I still search for my heart's desire and
feed my soul daily in my own church,
on a hill in the woods.
Love lives there.
God lives there.
And I'm good with that.
There's one experience I haven't written about and it's probably the one that had the most profound affect on me. It seems easier for some people to recognize "Christians" these days as the ones who attend church regularly. And some quickly decide that if a person does not attend church, they must not be a Christians or that they do not believe in God.
I stopped going to church a long time ago. We are so private with our lives that maybe most people didn't notice. But everyone now and then, and probably more often then usual, I would get the most often asked question. "What church do you go to?" I would answer that I was a member of First Methodist and that would satisfy them. And that was true. I was a member of First Methodist. Just not a good member.
Several years ago I was fortunate enough to be asked by the First Methodist Church to assist with a special summer camp for kids. Under the direction of the church's Minister of Music, I would assist with the artistic part of this camp. Offering up art lessons to campers centered around the selected Christian musical theme, I became part of a team of teachers hired to instruct the children. The camps were quite successful. And I brought my love of the arts and my love of teaching to children, whom I also loved.
In the Methodist circuit, ministers are often moved around from church to church. In the years that I taught the summer art camps at First Methodist, there were several ministers who would open the summer art camp with prayer and invitation. After several summers as the art instructor for their annual summer art camps, the minister, whom I had become quite close to and quite fond of, recognized by surprise that I was a member of his church. While he never made me feel guilty of being an absentee member, he also never approached me about why I didn't attend church anymore.
It was at the end of one of productions that he offered up his usual prayer and public offering for anyone to join the church for their Sunday services. I had heard that offering on many occasions but this particular one stuck with me.
I felt guilty.
I waited until he was alone in his office and asked him if I could speak with him privately. And of course, like always, he was so gracious and loving and made me feel like he was there just for me. When I sat down on the other side of his desk, I noticed on the wall behind him was a collection of abstract art that he had created. I had come to know that he, too, was an artist. Alongside his beautiful collection of painted canvases was a framed black and white photograph of the Beatles. I guess just seeing the art and the black and white photograph of the Beatles, I immediately felt 'at home.'
Now time to confess.
As I shared with him how much I loved what I was doing for the church during the camp, I had to confess that I was not a church goer. And I didn't want him to think that my lack of participation in the Sunday worship services was any indication of how I felt about him or God
. I was surprised how quickly he interjected that I should not feel guilty. And it would be the next statement that he made to me that put my spirit at ease and filled my heart.
I will paraphrase what he said because his exact words were much more beautiful and eloquent than I could recount. But I got the message.
'There are many people who come to church because they need to feed their spirits. And some people have learned to feed their own. And you are one of those. So, don't you feel guilty. You are blessed. But please know that you are welcomed here at any time as the NEED arises.' I did attend church the next Sunday out of respect for this beloved minister. And I am guessing it was my way of saying thank you.
I know that many people might not agree or understand his message to me. But I felt that he knew my heart and he spoke to my soul.
I still search for my heart's desire and
feed my soul daily in my own church,
on a hill in the woods.
Love lives there.
God lives there.
And I'm good with that.
❤️. This snippet of an article that I read stated that: God appeared to Moses on Mount Sinai in the splendour of his glory. The whole mountain shook violently; Moses spoke and God answered him amid thunder and lightning (Ex 19:16-22). All the people listening were overwhelmed by God’s power and majesty. God usually showed himself to his People not in the splendour of his light, but in silence and darkness. I think He also showed Himself in beauty/nature.
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