My Last Church Service at The School House
“I’ll admit my steps are growing wearier each day,
But still I’ve got a journey on my mind.
Lures of this old world have ceased to make me want to stay;
My one regret is leaving you behind.”
(first verse of “The Far Side Banks Of Jordan” - by: Terry Smith)
As I sang those words, it finally occurred to me how I felt about these church services at this schoolhouse. It was Sunday, January 27th, 2008 at 11:00 A.M. when I stood before my loved ones to lead them in worship. My mouth did more singing than talking that morning. Everyone knew that I felt like this season of my life had come to an end. Earlier that week I had told of how I longed to go into different venues, churches, cities, and states --- wherever the Lord would let me go --- all the while, to sing, play, and proclaim His good news. I had worried and cried enough that week, but I had also sensed the support and love of my friends. That gave me hope. As the week drew nearer to Sunday, God’s peace increased in my soul. That Sabbath morning, I was ready to get off the roller coaster ride of emotions and just worship God!
I walked into the schoolhouse wearing what I call “My Audrey Hepburn, New York City, Cafe Pierre Dress.” All of us ladies complimented each other’s fashions as we usually do, and that’s just how I was feeling...usual. But as my melodies filled the air and landed on our ears, I began to realize why I had cried when I made my decision to move on. As I looked upon those faces, I was looking upon the reason for my tears. Something stirred inside of my heart that I hadn’t felt for five-years, since my grandfather passed away...
...It’s a conviction that your life is changing and you can actually see the moment of transition. It’s an event that suddenly makes you seem older even if you haven’t had another birthday. It’s feeling that bang of the door as it closes and there you are standing in the uncertain silence as you wait for the next door to swing open your way. All of this flooded my heart as I sang “The Far Side Banks of Jordan.”
These people and these church services we led in this schoolhouse are woven into my life. I recall the day when that dress of mine was brand new and I was going to wear it proudly in New York City. It was this Southern girl’s first time going to a city like that, and I came back to church with tales of Manhattan. The congregation was just as giddy as I was that I had gone to the Cafe Pierre and “eaten in a place that was just like being in the middle of a Renaissance painting...Oh, I felt like Audrey Hepburn!”
It was before these people that I broke denominational rules at the age of sixteen and preached in a Primitive Baptist Church. It was this congregation that gave me a church home when I felt like I had lost one at the age of seventeen. It was after a church service in this place that my Opa from Wyoming told me that he wasn’t going to worry about me anymore, because he knew that there was a calling upon my life and God was going to see to it that I would be all right. Here in this schoolhouse, I had led church services in a wheelchair after I had broken my knee and gone through my first surgery. This loving congregation cared for me and prayed me into a full recovery. At these church services, Harry said that we made him “feel closer to God;” Mary shared with me that for the first time in a long time, she wanted to go to church; and Keith told me that he no longer feared death.
That January Sunday, my eyes looked to the back row where Sister Ida Leen McGowan was sitting. I sure could have used some of the Kleenex from the box she always brought with her to church. Tears were welling up in my eyes, and I just knew that I wasn’t going to make it out of that service without them falling down my cheeks.
Pastor Sam’s sermon was based on Acts 1. Verses 7 and 8 struck a chord within me. “Jesus said to them, ‘It is not for you to know the times or the seasons that the Father has fixed by His own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’" My life isn’t mapped out. I couldn’t even begin to plot my hopes in a scheduled agenda. My season is changing, though. I didn’t know that it would. Earlier that morning before I left for church, I prayed to the Lord that He would let me be His witness in my Jerusalem, my Judea, my Samaria, and even unto the ends of the earth. I choose to believe that God was showing me that He would answer my prayer.
“While the world looks upon me as I struggle along; they say I have nothing, but they are so wrong. In my heart, I’m rejoicing, and how I wish they could see. Thank You, Lord, for Your blessings on me!”
That song by the Easter Brothers is what I chose to close out our church service on Sunday, January 27th, 2008. I cried as the last note left my lips. I hugged everyone there and told them all how much I loved and appreciated them. I looked around the schoolhouse and upon every face before I walked out that door. I also took a long look at myself. It was in this place and with these people that I had lived out the latter part of my teen years. Here I had rejoiced and mourned, been strong and broken, been confident and unsure. This season of my life was ordained by God and I don’t believe I’ll see the fulness of it until I myself reach the far side banks of Jordan.
As I stepped out that door, I tasted what it must feel like to leave home. Right now, I am on the verge of being twenty-years-old, and for many months now I have had an unction that I am at the threshold of something greater than I have known before. Is that God or this wild heart of mine? Will this be the time that I go beyond my comfort zone of home? Is it true what I sensed in my soul this afternoon as that door closed behind me...Have I really grown up?
I can’t answer these questions now, but I can sing the last lines of that chorus confidently. “You gave me Your love, Lord, and a fine family. Thank You, Lord, for Your blessings on me!”