For the first time in many years, I went to church this morning. God works in mysterious ways.
I’m trying to analyze why this all happened, because 24 hours ago, it was the furthest thing from my mind. But I’m beginning to see that it was the natural outcome of the past three years of seeking Truth about what the heck is going on. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that what we’re witnessing is a battle between good and evil, right and wrong. Unless, of course, you’re ok with raunchy nudity at pride parades or drag queen story hours for young children.
Over the past few months I’ve doubled down on the time I spend reading the Bible and my devotionals, one of them being The Upper Room. It’s a bimonthly magazine, and last week I disappointingly came to the end of the May/June issue. A friend here at the resort, a bonafide member of the Methodist church, had distributed them to us at our first Women of the Word praise and prayer group meeting in April, but she has since gone to Colorado for the summer. My mom always used to say that “God helps those who help themselves,” so I considered going to one of the two nearby Methodist churches to pick up a few copies of the magazine for our group. One church is in Blue Eye and the other in Kimberling City, each about 25 minutes away.
I decided on the latter after looking at each of the churches’ websites and discovering that the one in Kimberling City had a Sunday Front Porch Gospel service at 8 a.m. A few things about it appealed: Today’s would have a patriotic theme; there’d be bluegrass and country music pickers, something I discovered I loved listening to, thanks to spending winters in Texas; and the service was also going to be held outside in the parking lot–an ideal location if I wanted to escape. After all, once I snagged a few copies of the latest issue, my work would be done.
The pickers were singing Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” as I approached the folding chairs, neatly arranged in front of the mobile stage. Joggers and walkers stopped to listen, and people pumping gas at the Conaco strained to see what the crowd was all about. After all, it wasn’t yet 8 o’clock. Eight pickers were on stage, all dressed very patriotically. I’d barely gotten situated in my seat at the end of the row when a nice woman named Rosemary greeted me and began making small talk. The music began in earnest with one bluegrass gospel song after another; it was like being at a show in Branson or Silver Dollar City, minus the crowd. I loved every minute of it.
No one is more surprised than me that I went to church today, enjoyed it, and am already planning to go next week…although the two friends to whom I gave an Upper Room to were shocked when I told them. Previously they’d both asked me to go to church with them but respected my resolve to “find God my way.” I’m getting there. And as if I needed confirmation of being on the right path, I got it when I opened the magazine to today’s reading. God definitely works in mysterious ways.
And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near. ~Hebrews 10:24-25
