Second Church Steps

I really like orange safety cones. The color is awesome; they provide a safe zone for workers on streets and highways; they mean that Children’s Circle Preschool is BACK.  The quiet halls of planning and projects become vibrant with teacher greetings and children’s voices. Parents fill the building with prayers, hopes, worries and a few tears. The children sleep, play, sing, and sometimes cry. Earlier this summer I was told, “We can get kind of loud.”   Also, I was warned “You might want to shut your door.”  Finally, I was cautioned “Do not play heavy metal loud music during nap time!” However, I could not know the void the children would fill. I am reminded of the adage “You don’t know what you don’t know.” How could I know that the church was missing all of this exuberance? After day one of preschool, I pulled into the parking lot. I walked up to the majestic building that is a testament to the glorious worship and service we do in the name of God. Then I saw t

St. Julien the poor A month before I arrived in Indianapolis I found myself sitting in a dark old church. St. Julian the Poor Church is in Paris. It rests in the shadows of the great Notre Dame Cathedral, but it stands with a quiet calm garden of persistent presence. In that church I prayed for a word with which to focus my coming months of transition. The word I got was “thank you.” I explained to my inner voice that this was not one word but two words. A still small nudge reminded me that in the church in which I sat it is one word, “merci.” July is a “thank you” month. We thank the VBS helpers, attendees, and parents. We thank the Sunday School teachers, shepherds and volunteers who stand with the children of our church to walk through important faith moments in the Bible. Some of us are thankful for no school and abbreviated/expanded schedules, depending on the situation. Saying “thank you” is an important part of being a Christian. It is how we stand before God and walk th

I have moved a lot in my life.  I have moved from Western Tennessee to Eastern Tennesee then back to the Mississippi River banks.  I have moved to Indiana, to Tennessee, to Texas, to Houston (not really Texas--ask a Texan or a Houstonian), to Kentucky, and to Missouri.  Now I find myself between houses in Indiana again. Although it may seem like an aimless life, I prefer to think of it as being in the wilderness.  It's a site longer than 40 days and 40 nights, but I am as ever looking for "Home." "Home is where the heart is." "Home is where you lay your head." "Home is..." All of the above moves have been to a particular church--even the college move. There has been a movement towards being at home in a church community.  After enough moves and enough times explaining where I am from--where is "home"-- I have come up with a great answer.  Borrowing from a children's book by Carol Wehrheim, "God is my home." It is