I haven't written about my faith. I grew up going to Sunday School and church. My Dad taught a Sunday School class for young marrieds. I can remember him sitting on the sofa working on his Sunday School lesson with his Bible open on the sofa arm. My Mother didn't attend church. I think, sometime in the early years of living in Ness City, someone criticized her clothes and offended her so she never went back. She did, however, see that I was up and ready to go every Sunday.
A new Free Methodist preacher and his family moved in to the basement church next door to our house when I was in fourth grade. Half of the building was the church and the other half was the family's living quarters. Their daughter, Shirley, was one day older than I. We because fast friends and still are. She invited me to come to their Wednesday evening services.
So I began attending the Wednesday evening services. It was here that Jesus touched my heart the first time. I was like the rocky soil where the seeds fell and couldn't take root. Somehow there was no one to help me learn more.
When I went to Kansas State College, I attended church occasionally - usually when a group of us gals would all go together. I know I missed out on getting acquainted with some neat people because I didn't attend the fellowship meetings on campus.
Fast forward to the early '60s. We were married and living in Cedar Rapids. We checked out several churches but didn't find one we wanted to attend. Both of us grew up attending church. It is so easy to fall away when one doesn't attend church for a while.
There wasn't much "growing into a faithful Christian" during this time.
No comments:
Post a Comment