My earliest childhood memories of church took place inside a big white building in Yankton, South Dakota. My sister and I sat ever so quietly on a wooden pew, since Dad had a great view from the pulpit to observe our best behavior during his sermons. The song leader knew of my affection for hymn number 31, Be With Me, Lord, so sent a smile in my direction each of the numerous times he led it just for me. After services, we happily soaked up attention from everyone around us. One man used to love to tug on my pigtails, while another teased us by calling my sister and me "boys" every chance he got. We enjoyed potluck dinners downstairs, and grew to expect tater tot casserole and taco salad. Before leaving for home, the adults would chat inside while we escaped to the front steps and lawn to play with our friends. During these years, not only did I learn that Zacchaeus was a wee little man, but also the meaning of growing in love one toward another.
Although years and miles separate us now, I still strongly associate this congregation with the word "home". They have continually prayed for our family over the years as we faced various trials, and reached out to us over and over again. Today we received a tremendous gift from them to help with our recent struggles. We are immensely grateful.
I dare not try to take one step alone,
I cannot bear the loads of life, unaided,
I need Thy strength to lean myself upon."
While I've since learned her first name was Ella, as a child I only knew her as Sister Craig. I've still never tasted homemade bread as good as hers.
One of my first friends at church.
Close buddies.
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