Church Kid: Little Eyes, Big Wonder

Some of my earliest memories aren't from school, baseball, or family vacations.

They're from church.

I can still remember lying on the front pew with my head resting in my mom's lap. She was the church pianist, so we sat in the front pew every Sunday. My dad worked a schedule that often kept him away, so it was usually just Mom and us kids.

I never minded going to church; I actually loved going. 

Before the worship service, we had Sunday school. For us younger kids, that usually meant a Bible story and, if we were lucky, a snack. I don't remember many of the lessons we were taught, but I do remember looking forward to being there.

I've always loved music, and I think that's because of my mom. At the first church I remember attending, she learned to play the organ while continuing to play the piano. During prayer time, I'd watch my mom and the organist quietly hurry across the sanctuary to switch places. For some reason, I thought that was the neatest thing. I would always peek to see if they were doing it each Sunday. 

Then there were the potluck dinners.

If you grew up in church, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about. Long tables covered with casseroles, fried chicken, homemade desserts, vegetables, rolls, and just about every other dish you could imagine. As a little kid, I just knew there was always plenty of food and a room full of people who were happy to be together.

One of my favorite childhood church mysteries happened every time someone was baptized.

The pastor would walk into the baptistry wearing a white robe, and then the person being baptized would step in beside him. I always laughed because air would get trapped inside their robes, making them both look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

The baptism would take place, they'd walk back behind the wall, we'd sing another verse of a hymn, and then everyone would bow their heads to pray.

Here's what completely puzzled me.

The next thing I knew, the preacher was already standing at the front of the church leading the prayer.

I was convinced the man had to be some kind of magician.

How in the world did he get from the baptistry to the pulpit that fast?

That mystery stayed with me for years.

Then one day, while I was doing what little boys do best—wandering where I probably wasn't supposed to be—I found myself in the baptistry room. Hanging upside down in a closet was the answer to my great mystery...

A pair of fishing hip waders. That was it. No magic. No secret passage.

Just a simple, practical solution to a question that had puzzled me for years.

Looking back now, I smile at those memories.

Church wasn't just a place we went on Sundays. It was where many of my earliest memories were made. It was filled with music, laughter, good food, and people who genuinely cared about one another.

I wasn't a perfect kid, and I certainly wouldn't grow up to be a perfect adult. But I sure am thankful that some of my first memories were made in a place where people loved the Lord and welcomed little kids like me.

"But Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.'"
Matthew 19:14 (NKJV)