Last Sunday for Father's Day, my dad decided to take a trip to our old church--the small, tucked-away country chapel that I grew up in. I was a bit surprised, because I didn't even remember the last time I was there. What had I been, 14? 15, maybe? Either way, it had been a long time, and I didn't expect to see very many familiar faces.

I was wrong.

It's about a half an hour drive from our house, and we got there just before service began. Instantly, I recognized people as we walked through the side doors. It felt so very nostalgic--walking the same halls I had years ago, when I was a completely different person.

We found our seats behind a family I practically grew up with. The girl was one of my closest friends since birth; in fact, I'm going to her graduation party. Her brother, now married, was sitting in the seat next to her with his two kids and his wife. I remember going to his high school graduation party, I thought.

I looked around and spotted the large cross with burgundy cloth draped over it hanging on the wall. Everything was the same: the olive-green walls, the felted stackable chairs, the old-fashioned Bibles...even the programs still had the same format. In a world full of change and uncertainty, it was kind of nice to know I had a place to come back to that was static---in the best possible way.

The praise team got up and sang all of the songs that I hadn't heard in years but remembered from my childhood. I was pleasantly surprised to see the same person playing piano as I remembered. He's so talented, I thought to myself. It's a shame only a few people can enjoy his talent in this small church building. But then I thought: Why does it matter how many people recognize him? It doesn't matter if ten people or ten thousand people are singing along to the music you're playing; in the end it's what--or rather Who--you're doing it for. This church pianist was using his talents for the most important person, which was a good way to use his gift as far as I'm concerned.

The pastor, who has known me since birth, got up and spoke a short but powerful message about fatherhood and how to be the best father you can. I could tell how happy my dad was to be there with me as we sat there with his arm draped over my shoulder.

After the service, we spoke to many different people, all of whom were surprised but happy to see us. I made small talk about college, what I'm studying in school, and my summer plans. I noticed how glad my dad seemed to be back at our old church and for a little bit I felt bad for steering our family to a new, closer church five or six years ago.

Though I don't regret going to the church we now attend, nothing compares to my childhood church. I was christened there, I was baptized there, I met my best friends there, I performed there, I played so many childhood games there, and ultimately, I grew up there. And though I've now moved on to a new period of my life, I know that small chapel will always be there waiting for me, should I ever chose to come back.