As a kid, I moved between states, school districts and several homes. I don’t have one permanent spot I’ve stayed in. The room I sleep in at night is not the same one I slept in at the age of 4 or 14. And that is perfectly OK with me. I made a ton of memories with my family in different homes, and I’ve spent so much time at my best friends house people might consider it to be my “second home.” I’m no army brat by any means, but despite all my moving around in my 20 years of life, I still consider myself to have a “childhood home.”
Church is a very important part of my life, and, as a kid, my parents, brothers, and I were very active in the church. When I was younger, my dad was a deacon, my parents sang in the praise band, they led classes in youth group and kids programs, they served on pulpit committees, etc. We went to church every Sunday morning, evening and Wednesday night.
In my church, at the end of the hallway on the right, stands the room where I learned about Abraham and Isaac and ate doughnuts during Sunday school. Once, I broke the lock to the nursery door. I ran around in the fellowship hall playing games during Awanas, and dominated in Bible trivia during youth group. I danced like a maniac on the stage in the sanctuary, teaching little kids VBS songs—and I raced around collecting and towering up communion cups after service. I played piano recitals and acted as a blind girl in a play. I’ve watched a handful of pastors come and go as God has called them elsewhere and I’ve watched members of the congregation follow.
I personally cannot remember a time when my family wasn’t plugged in or going to church. A lot of people tell me that I am brainwashed because I was raised in a Christ-centered home. It takes every inch of my being not to lash out, because it is one of the biggest lies and insults they could every say to me. I was raised in the church, but it was my choice to accept Jesus as my personal Savior. It was my choice to lead the life I follow. Granted, I don’t always do a very good job at leading or following it.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that my family and I are not as involved in the church. And that makes me wonder what happened? I can’t speak for anyone else in my family, but my belief in God is not any less and, to be honest, I feel like my faith has grown tremendously over the last couple years. So what’s going on in my “childhood home”?
When I was in the 5th grade, I moved to another school district, but stayed in the same county. My room was light green and my mother had stenciled birdhouses, a white picket fence, and butterflies all over the walls (yes, I was a “girly-girl”—surprise). I remember being so distraught over what would happen to those four green walls. I was horrified that a teenage girl would move in, and she would want them painted coal black. I believe I even cried over it. No joke. My wondering imagination was more like a nightmare. To this day, when I pass that house, I wonder what the room behind the 2nd window to the right looks like. And that leaves me wondering about my “childhood home.” What is it like now? Of course, I am still there, but so much has changed.
Recently, God called the pastor of my church to a position in Georgia. I was not personally close with him, or his family, although I wish I had been. However, the announcement of his resignation filled a lot with tears. A couple weeks ago, I heard a message from a guest speaker on the state of the church. It was a great message and it completely answers my question about my “childhood home.” I learned that the church was weak, because Christians are weak. The church is weak, because I am weak.
I’m not doing what I should to draw nearer to God. My relationship with Jesus is full of peaks and valleys—and it shouldn’t be. It should be constantly growing. I'm not engaging in my church. I'm not glorifying God with the ones who have watched me grow up or with the ones I am watching grow up. I don’t want to look back 10 years from now and wonder about my childhood home. One day, it could be someone else’s childhood home, if not already, and it’s my job to make sure the foundation of it doesn’t crumble. No one is going to buy a house if the inspection doesn’t come back clean. Right?
Often times, church members leave everything up to the pastor, or deacons, or somebody. I’m guilty of this. We think, “oh someone else will take care of the trash,” or “someone else will volunteer for nursery.” No. God doesn’t call us to do something only to hear us say no. Even if we say no, he doesn’t respond with “OK, how about this?” He waits.
There is a purpose for every single member of my church. Everyone has something they could be doing to strengthen their church and their relationship with Christ. I am in control of what happens to my “childhood home.” I definitely don’t want to sit back and watch it fall by financial issues, or lack of attendance, or even persecution. I’ve been honest about my failings in my church, now it is time to be honest with yours.
