Grace & Harmony

I awoke to the bright sunlight shining through my bedroom window.  Despite the chocolate-colored curtains and the fact that it was late January, the light was brilliant.  Never mind that it a chilly Arkansas morning.  It felt like spring.  With a dog nestled under my arm, my husband beside me and a cat meowing in the kitchen, I was focused on my day dreams of what was going on outside.  The cool breeze whistled through the budding trees while birds sang a song of new birth.  The grass was a vibrant green and flowers had begun to bloom.  Instead the reality was the breeze was a chilly 20 degrees; the trees were still barren; and the ground was frozen and the grass dormant.  However, the birds still sang and granted there was signs of daffodils emerging from the frozen tundra, there were no blooms to be found.  They definitely weren’t colorful.

After my thoughts of spring filtered through my mind, I began to reminisce about days long ago.  I was in my teens and things were quite different.  My teen years were not typical.  I didn’t spend my days hanging out with friends or roaming the corridors of the local mall.  My time was split between softball, my parent’s quartet and church.  My life revolved around softball, playing for the league and for a tournament team for much of my childhood.  I loved the game and nothing meant as much.  That was until I turned 14.

I was saved when I was six years old.  My family was members of a local Missionary Baptist Church.  My grandmother was an active member until her health began to fail.  Both my parents were also actively involved and close to the minister and his wife.  Despite all this, I was never truly satisfied at this particular church.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved the pastor and I loved services.  I just didn’t care much for classes.  My grandmother passed away on Tuesday, November 1, 1994.  That following weekend our pastor died.  I was 13 years old.

I honestly don’t remember going back to church after that.  I don’t remember if it was because my parent’s group took us away most weekends or if we simply didn’t go.  Lord knows I wasn’t complaining!  A few months later my uncle approached my mom with a request.  He and his family were members of a small Baptist church in town.  Their piano player was going out of town and he asked if my mom would fill in for her.  My mom agreed.  I instantly fell in love with the church and asked to go back.  We joined Grace Missionary Baptist Church and things seemed to take off.  We quickly became involved in many different areas.  My mom stayed with the music ministry, playing the organ.  She began serving within the women’s ministry as well.  I offered to help with the children’s Christmas program.  I played the piano and helped the kids learn the songs.  I never left the Children’s/Youth ministry.  Having a computer, I began laying out the weekly bulletin for the church.  Shortly thereafter, with the pastor’s approval, I began writing the devotional for the bulletin.  I began teaching the four and five year olds (Sunday morning, night and on Wednesday), while still assisting in Children’s Church.  Managing the music portion of Children’s Church, I formed a Children’s Choir where we performed in front of the church once a month.  I served as secretary for the women’s ministry and for the youth council.  I became the Youth Director, taking over Children’s Church and the children’s ministry.  My mom and her friend spent Friday nights cleaning the church, while my dad maintained the grounds.  I spent my Friday nights cleaning my Sunday School room while copying/folding bulletins.  Saturday mornings would find us back at the church for outreach missions.  We would spend an hour or so in area neighborhood inviting people and kids to church.  One weekend a month a group of us would visit our shut-ins.  My afternoons were typically spent preparing for my Sunday School lesson – visiting Glover’s Bible Book Store, preparing crafts and visual aids along with a devotion or story that coincided with the lesson.  And then there was Children’s Church to prepare for and the music for choir rehearsal.  Balancing this responsibility with softball became a challenge.  I now spent more time at the church than the pastor himself.  And when I began longing to lose games so that I could be certain to be in church on Sunday mornings, I knew it was time to let it go.

I loved the years I spent at Grace.  Since closing her doors over a decade ago, I have mourned for her ever since.  I cannot explain it.  I miss this church.  We grew over 33% in a matter of weeks.  That’s a testament of the spirit of the neighborhood church.  Our official anthem was the hymn “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” and, boy, was that ever true.  Sunrise services, breakfasts, fellowships, special services, gatherings and parties to outings and service.  Unless you’ve been a part of such a close-knit group, it’s hard to explain.  For the past fifteen years I have not found a church that holds a candle to Grace.  I’ve visited larger churches and I’ve visited smaller churches.  Programs are there and so are the numbers.  But you cannot gauge success in numbers.  The preaching is weak and watered down.  We tip-toe around sore subjects in order to make the congregation happy.  We erect magnificent buildings of stature and grander mainly to impress.  It means nothing unless Christ can be felt within both physically and spiritually.  The world is in desperate need of a spirit-led church.

After serving in such a capacity for much of my adult life, I find it hard to just occupy a pew.  Weekends have become a sad reminder of what was.  I miss the hours of dedication to the ministry.  I miss the camaraderie between God’s people.  I miss strong, old-fashioned leaders with conviction and desire.  I miss hymns and harmony.  I miss sitting in my bedroom listening to Ray Boltz or Audio Adrenalin while working on a poster for my class; or spending the afternoon filling plastic eggs with Starburst jelly beans for Easter morning; or spending half the night rehearsing a special with my cousin.  They are fond memories that leave me longing for something more than what is now.  I honestly don’t know if I will ever find the church home that will fill the void left by these two churches.  But I pray that I do.

There's a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place,
And I know that it's the Spirit of the Lord;
There are sweet expressions on each face,
And I know they feel the presence of the Lord.

Sweet Holy Spirit, Sweet heavenly Dove,
Stay right here with us; filling us with Your love.
And for these blessings, we lift our hearts in praise;
Without a doubt we'll know that we have been revived
When we shall leave this place.

"Sweet, Sweet Spirit" by Doris Akers