Mom and Dad started going to Calvin Christian Reformed Church in 1952 because all 3 of us (Mona, Larry and me-the straggler) were baptized in 1953. But Dad would be the first to tell you he didn’t give his life to Christ until late 1958, a few weeks after Larry died. That’s when his life was dramatically changed. Dad was quite vocal about the changes in his life after Jesus saved him. And soon the seeds God planted started to sprout. I believe Dad’s first fledgling good work’s ministry were his tracks in the early 60’s. Dad built little wooden shelf racks (track racks) which held an assortment of palm sized inspirational snippets of scripture on 10 tiny pages or less. Mom bought a rubber ink stamp pad with his name and address. He’d stamp every little booklet in case the recipient of one of these booklets wanted to talk to him and learn more about the Lord. He displayed the shelves in hospitals, nursing homes and both gospel missions in Sioux Falls and Sioux City. Every time he visited, he’d refill his track rack.

About the same time Dad felt obligated to share his compelling story with others, so he wrote his testimony. A short booklet on his life. How he found the Lord after losing Larry. By then Mom and Dad had transferred their membership to the First Reformed Church (At my insistence. I was 11). The transition was smooth for 2 of us. Mom, not so much. She really did better in a small church environment. First Reformed was at least 3 times as big. Dad dove right in, teaching Sunday school, getting elected to the consistory as an elder, visiting folks in hospitals and local nursing homes. He was busy and making a difference. And his lay ministries were morphing. Dad was insistent and precise when talking about his conversion. His good works should never be misinterpreted as a means into heaven. “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not of your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

It started small. Dad joined a group from church who made mission trips. Most were to gospel missions or prisons within a hundred mile radius of Rock Valley. Someone would play piano, a couple of people with great voices would sing, others had a prayer or read scripture. Then ‘Brother Rich’ would preach. Dad was a New Testament guy so his messages were about the life and times of Jesus. How to get your life in order so you could have eternal life, with a splash of fire and brimstone mixed in to hold your attention.

Maybe it was Dad’s tiny biblical tracks relaying the message that inspired him to construct billboard sized signs to reach a bigger audience. He asked local farmers for permission to erect a sign in their fields all over Sioux County. Dad spent countless nights out in the garage, hand painting a verse or thought provoking one liner to get people thinking while driving on highway 18 or 75.

Dad was drawn to those who didn’t have the freedoms the rest of us take for granted. That morphed into South Dakota’s M2 program. A one-on-one ministry with an inmate from the Sioux Falls penitentiary, which became the focal point of his good work’s ministry for decades. Weekly one hour visits, learning about the life of Jesus, plus listening to their concerns. Dad worked with an incredible number of guys over the course of 25 years, and many of those men stayed in contact with Dad long after they were released from prison with phone calls and letters.

Soon Dad started a weekly Bible study class at Sioux Falls prison. That’s when he realized the significance of each man having a Bible of their own. It wasn’t enough to study scripture with a dozen guys for an hour a week. If lives were going to be changed it was important for each man have a their own Bible. Giving them access to God’s word whenever they wanted. Which then launched his Bible outreach ministry.

Dad tithed but that wasn’t enough. Every single side job, (painting houses, tearing down buildings, shingling, small home repairs, usually for the widows around Rock Valley) the majority of the money was used for one of his missions. (He’d always treat Mom to a restaurant in Sioux Falls once he got paid from a job). With his once a year bonus from IPERS (the state retirement fund he paid into for decades) he’d use 10% to buy something he needed. And 90% of the time he used the money to buy Bibles. King James, NIV, New Testaments, The Psalms. He even found a company who offered a special Bible for the incarcerated. (Although during my life I literally saw this version of the Bible stacked up at Dad’s place hundreds of times, I never looked inside to compare how they differ).

When Mom passed away in 2004, Dad sold the house and moved to Michigan at age 88. I had spoken to the chaplain at Muskegon’s prison and given him multiple references for Dad, allowing him easy access as soon as he was settled. He preached once a month and taught a Bible study every week. It wasn’t long before I was proofreading his sermons and ordering Bibles for the masses. Those 3 years of teaching and preaching were probably the most meaningful years Dad ever had. He had purpose and was needed to fulfill God’s promise of eternal life for all who believed.

After Dad moved to Michigan, I ordered the Rock Valley Bee so we could keep up on what was happening in our not so little town anymore. The place he had called home for 88 years. In March it will be 12 years since Dad passed away and I’m still getting the Bee. When the paper arrived this week, one of the stories held a special meaning for me. I was crying by the second paragraph. It was just SO DAD! A chaplain working at a Recovery Center, asked a friend who’s a teacher at a Christian High School if they had any spare Bibles. Would they consider donating some to his facility? The teacher, in turn asked her 20 Church History Class students what could they do to help out the chaplain (but really help those who needed a copy of their own Good Book).

Endeavors like this either fizzle or snowball. This one blossomed big time. The class decided their goal was 125 Bibles, with each student promising to donate 2 Bibles. Then they asked their respective pastors if their congregation could help. An anonymous donor promised if the 125 Bibles from the school came to fruition, he would match that adding another 125. Last count was 565 Bibles, with more arriving every day. THIS would have been one of my Dad’s pet project 20 years ago. Achievable goals, looking at a successful outcome for the people receiving the Bibles.

Although we were never real close, when I read stories like this I really miss Dad. It warms my heart when others (and teens-which gives me so much hope) slide easily into replacing some of my Dad’s favorite ministries. I think he’s looking down, satisfied and very proud…

I never thought I’d be a collector, at least not of antique furniture. What little we could afford during our first years of marriage went specifically for necessities. By our first anniversary we were expecting Shannon and trying to set up her nursery on one thin dime. (though we didn’t know it was a her. The only baby whose sex we knew ahead of time was Adam and that was a couple hours before he was born) Hubs happened upon an old dresser at a garage sale on his way to Channel 4. Stripped, without drawer handles but the price was right for our tight budget, five dollars. We refinished it, set it in her room along with a 5 dollar used, brightly painted yellow crib. From that day on, I was hooked on antiques.

After that bargain buy, we actively sought out old furniture instead of new, though for a decade (minimum) the only pieces we could afford were the ones haphazardly placed in the back of the antique store. Most pieces were used for parts because they were in such bad shape. Lopsided, missing a leg, door, glass was broke (like us) or with 20 coats of paint were the ones we could afford to bring home. Might take us a couple months to make the piece suitable but we got pretty good at stripping, repairing and refinishing. We were both hung up on oak and it was rare if we bought another type of wood. At the time (mid 70’s through the 80’s) walnut was the premiere wood choice for antique furniture. We never got on walnut’s bandwagon though, always preferring the grain and color of oak.

By the mid-80’s we had a houseful of antique oak and all but a couple of pieces were refinished by the Hubs and yours truly. We loved working on them and every piece was not necessarily in the junk department of the store anymore. In 30 years of actively collecting, I’d have to say the majority of our antique explosion was while we were living in Davenport during the mid 80’s. And not very many came from antique stores, but garage sales with my bestie, Mary Ellen. She knew that metropolis like the back of her hand. Which streets had alleys, where to park, who had the best sales every year. We never went to Bettendorf or across the Mississippi to Illinois, just hit the garage sales in Davenport. She’d have her list written in her neat, tiny script. What time each sale opened and the route we’d take, eliminating backtracking. Damn she was good.

While I was always on the hunt for neat oak pieces, sometimes the oddest items caught my fancy and would soon be loaded up ready to go to their new home. Like the blue/gray pedal car called Kiddilac which weighed as much as I did. The boys were already too big to ride it but I had a real soft spot for old toys, especially if they were metal. Or the large box of old comic books all priced a nickel each. (I was trying to instill the love of reading Shannon was born with to our 2 boys who’d much rather play outside. But hey the comics did the trick-Hubs was right. That was in 1986. When the Hubs was right I mean). Cubs paraphernalia, kitchen gadgets, wooden boxes with advertising. I liked looking at everything, but nothing made my heart thump harder than when I spotted a gorgeous piece of oak, begging to be repurposed and find a home with me.

One day I spotted a small school desk with the lift up wood flap where you could store paper, pencils and crayons. Not oak, maybe birch. The desk part connected to a swivel chair made with enough iron to dent a floor. It was adorable. It was just the right size for Adam who was about 4. The price was right, only a couple of bucks but really needed work. The hinge which allowed the desktop to flip up was broke so John put on a new one. We stripped it and gave it several coats of polyethylene because well, he was a rough and tumble kid. John painted the ton of iron with a couple coats of black paint.

Adam loved that desk. Coloring, Matchbox storage, racetrack, watching TV and eating. Every breakfast/dinner/supper/snack he could eat at his little desk was a win for him. He did everything at that desk but sleep. After he was too big for the desk we put it by my old toy collection for a couple years, then stuck it in storage because I couldn’t get rid of something that was such a big part of his life.

Fast forward 20 years when Adam became a father to our 4th grandchild. We lugged the desk over for Graham to play with when he was about a year. Their house was quite small but I don’t think removing Adam’s/Graham’s desk has ever been an issue. G uses the desk even more than his daddy did, although the writing is on the wall. Graham’s legs no longer fit ‘under’ the desk but are splayed on each side. (Every time we leave their much bigger house, Hubs says, “I gotta adjust the chair and desk for Graham.” Because we’d like him to use it until he graduates ha-ha). We hope one day Graham’s son or daughter gets to play with our 3 generation desk.

It wasn’t long after my school desk find when I came across another small desk at an estate sale. It was on the landing of the staircase and I stopped dead in my tracks. This piece had my heart hammering like I was nearing the end of a marathon. A child’s size oak S-curve roll top desk (the S-curve is very rare, more common is the C-curve). With a matching chair. I was a goner. Had to have it.

It was more than I wanted to spend but if I ever wanted my pulse back to normal it had to come home with me. This was a piece the kids would not play with. It was too fragile and if the kids put the roll top up and down countless times it wouldn’t last. Adam already had a desk and Joshua and Shannon were too old to give 2 hoots about another antique I’d drug home while wearing a huge grin, bursting with pride.

One of the side boards of the desk was cracked all the way across and had been repaired, but otherwise it was in great shape. It had such dark patina you could barely see the oak grain. (Sorry folks, you’re not gonna win me over to “don’t touch the patina” mantra of antique die hards. Not the way I want my furniture to look. On the bright side, we refinished the desk about 35 years ago so it has some new-old patina forming).

I was thrilled to death with this little piece as the Hubs and I started to strip the old varnish off. John was unsure how to do the actual roll top and decided it had be taken apart so we could lay it flat and strip in between the slats. The chair and the body of the desk were stripped when Hubs made a fantastic discovery. When the roll top is all the way up, it’s hidden behind the pigeon hole compartments and the back of the desk. After Hubs got it apart, he found five recipe size cards and a pen in the seldom used hidey-hole.

Oh. My. Stars. My little desk had been used in school during the late 1920’s. The recipe cards were actually Davenport Public School enrollment cards. Can you just imagine a school room with 20 little roll top desks filled with 3rd graders sitting on the chairs, listening to their teacher and studying? Wouldn’t I love to have a picture of one of those class rooms?

The enrollees, Aubrey, Elmer and Roland (Roland had 2 enrollment cards going from 3rd to 4th, then on to fifth grade the following year) were all born in 1919. Over one hundred years ago. Amazing. Helen Mae was born in 1920. All list their birthday, address and whether or not they had been vaccinated. (None had any shots). Plus their father’s name and occupation. One farmer, one gardener, a city fire fighter and an employee of the Linograph Company (they manufactured typesetting machines. The building is now listed as a Davenport historic property.

The pen we found is a dip pen. It has no reservoir to hold ink so you had to keep dipping it in an ink well to keep writing. (A big thank you to all the kiddos who used drippy ink but never spilled a drop on my pristine desk). The pen was made by the Eagle Pencil Company, established in 1856. (I had to get out the magnifying glass) We noticed the end of the pen (wooden) has some teeth marks. Nice to know kids haven’t changed their habits of gnawing on pencils during school through the years.

One last gem about my little desk. Under the pigeon hole compartments is a handwritten price and number for the desk. # 40 $6.75. Guess Davenport School’s procurer ordered a minimum of at least 40 desks. With some wheeling and dealing managed to get them for the rock bottom price of $6.75 each. I’d say worth every penny…

I don’t know what it is about the women in our family. We’re just kinda bunched together. A few days before my Mom’s 24th birthday, I was born. Two days after I turned 20 Shannon was born. Three days after my granddaughter Ariana’s 26th birthday, her daughter Jovi was born. So Ari celebrated her own birthday spending the day getting ready for Jovi’s party.

I think a person’s birthday is really special. I’ve always felt we should do less gifty stuff on Christmas, instead going all out on their birthday. It’s the one day a year that’s truly theirs. A big deal. This hasn’t always been the case though after I became a mom. Much of my early birthday party qualms/fears when my kids were small revolved around money-or the lack of it. Parties were expensive. Cake, invitations, decorations, food, party favors, plus all the presents. And I wasn’t much of an event planner (it’s been rumored I might have bribed my own kids a time or 2 with cold hard cash-NOT have a party on their big day. Just a rumor, no need for a mutiny).

I can only remember having one birthday party when I was a kid. Don’t know if that had anything to do with my party reluctance after I had kids. Mom was an introvert and wasn’t comfortable with a bunch of noisy girls invading her space. Another reason was probably celebrating anything in our house after Larry’s death seemed disloyal and phony.

Family parties for your kids were different though. There weren’t games to plan or prizes needed. Both sets of grandparents showed up, plus a couple aunts and uncle’s and their kids, so a meal was in order. Something easy like cream chicken buns or Taverns with potato salad and a homemade cake. The kids played together, the adults visited until it was time to open presents. The presents were fawned over, thanks given and everyone left for home. Easy. Enjoyable and not too much work.

A kid’s party with peers was much more work. There had to be a theme, and face it, the kids either wanted tacos or pizza. Homemade food didn’t impress any of them. You were actually part referee/guard/chaperone and had to be involved every minute, defusing spats, judging games for potential prize winners and making sure no one got hurt. While parties were a lot of work, when you looked around at all your little guest’s faces you knew when their special day rolled around, all the responsibility was on their parent’s shoulders. And you’d breathe a big sigh of relief.

When I was a young mom my week, geez my whole month was MADE when one of our kids was invited to someone ELSE’S party. Celebrate good times-come on!! Because when they attended a party there was this feeling-something akin to euphoria. Fleeting but felt pretty awesome. You bought a present, drove to the party kid’s house, (always coming to a complete stop). If you weren’t pressed for time you might even walk them to the door. (These small allotments of freedom were scarce, but hey-safety first).

Several years ago kid’s birthday parties morphed into more than “just family” oriented. It seemed you no longer invited 10 of your six year olds best friends. Now the family from each invited kid comes along. Crazy right? I can tell you right now, 40 years ago when one of our elementary kids went to a birthday party there was no way John would contemplate attending that party for one solitary second. Hubs standing around watching a bunch of 7 year olds run around the house while he sipped a glass of wine. No. Way. Not even for a beer.

With 3 kids ranging 9 years apart, when one was invited somewhere, the remaining 4 of us celebrated just as hard as the kid going to the party. Once again there was an equal adult/kid ratio. It’s all about balance. You fit in a regular booth without adding a chair at the end. It’s not that we didn’t want 3 kids (and mattered even less which one of the kids was gone). In our parental minds there were several, solid, valid reasons to celebrate when our family shrunk for 3 mere hours. I know it sounds crazy, but lame or not, much of our entertainment system was based on when one of the rugrats was elsewhere. They were safe, having a good time and the magnitude of your parental responsibilities was a bit less.

(Does anyone else think it’s odd when guys are invited to a baby or bride to be shower? I know they’re a huge part of the equation in both celebrations-but. This is another recent addition in our ever changing society I just don’t understand. Part of the party allure for me was bringing the gifts, silly stories, embarrassing gaffes home and sharing them with Hubs-to-be/daddy-to-be. The last baby shower I attended included a game with the focus on a newborn pampers with “fake poop” inside and you had to figure out what the fake baby ate before dispensing fake poop. It wouldn’t have mattered what was inside, had that been passed around to John, he would have gagged and made a real mess for someone to clean up). Now where was I?

To (birthday) party or not. The way we celebrate one’s birthday is different for each of us. Some parents would feel remiss if their child’s birthday wasn’t celebrated as a lavish affair with all the trimmings, bouncy house, pony rides, splash park. Others grew up with having relatives only come over their birthday and want to continue that tradition with their own children.

Lately my birthday has been a big deal (internally/emotionally). As I grow older and reflect on those no longer here on earth. Just think of all the friends and family who will never celebrate another birthday. That alone is reason to pause, give thanks and be grateful. I love birthdays and hope to celebrate many more. I’m just not real big on the party part. Whether birthday parties are a huge deal in your life or you’re inclined to indulge in a fancy dessert and call it good. The important thing is to celebrate life. Even when it’s not your birthday…

We were young, financially strapped parents of a precocious toddler. We never wanted to deny her anything but we simply didn’t have very much money. During those first years I’d like to say we lacked nothing though at times we were barely squeaking by. We always had food (tuna, tuna, and more tuna) but I can’t remember a time we couldn’t go away because we were out of gas. We did however suffer a couple winters where we had no heat in the house for a week at a time. Shannon and I would go to Rock Valley for the week and stay with my parents. When Hubs got paid, he order a tank of fuel oil and come and get us. Good times. Most of us went through similar times in the beginning.

While it seems we were in dire straights, we actually were lacking very little. We were broke (bills and collectors of aforementioned was the biggest stressor in our young marriage) but we were happy and healthy. We had some great friends and lived within an hour of most of our relatives. My mom bought most of Shannon’s cute, ‘sometimes unnecessary clothes.’ I was responsible for, let’s hear it, white high tops (one of my favorite stories, High tops & Onesies, May, 2017) undershirts and play clothes, (Health-Tex) from Bellas Hess or K-Mart. Mom bought Shannon’s outfits (Carter’s or better) from Younkers and Shriver’s.

My parents weren’t big toy gifters. For all three of our kid’s first birthday, each got an oak rocking chair (the kind you buy at a furniture store). We bought the latest Fisher-Price toys we could afford. The little dome shaped push toy with small wooden balls inside that ‘popped’ when you walked it. Or the little telephone with the googily eyes she pulled along behind her. Her first little FP record player which included some original vinyl (as in hard, colorful plastic) which played nursery rhymes tunes. Most of the toys were geared towards keeping those toddlers moving.

We bought a more expensive/long lasting gift for Shannon’s birthday and Christmas. The first biggie was the rocking horse from hell. She LOVED it. Scared the snot out of me but neither she, her brothers or our grandchildren ever fell off or flew into another room while riding that wild stallion. The second biggie we bought was a small round, brown wooden table with 2 chairs. I can’t remember how much we paid, (30 bucks is rattling around my head which was exorbitant considering how little we had). Just assume it was more than we could afford at the time. For awhile it was in our dining room, then the living room or bedroom if her room was big enough. She’d play house, color, paint, serve tea and be a mommy to her dolls using the table and chairs. I’ll bet that table and chairs set has been moved to 20 different houses over the years.

Kerrie, Kelli and Shannon, Christmas 1971…

We bought Shannon’s table set right before we moved from Hinton back to Sioux City, Iowa in early 1973. It was where Shannon would have her first best friend, a little sweetie named Katie. Katie lived a couple houses west of us. At first I was insanely jealous of Katie’s mom, Randi. A stunning gal about my age who seemed to have it all. Soon after we moved in, Randi got a job at a western wear place near the Stockyards and asked me if I’d be interested in watching Katie while she worked? (That woman had at least a dozen pair of fancy cowboy boots, each paired with a different outfit. Probably the reason she never had money to pay Katie’s sitter-namely me). The girls played together everyday anyway and it was an easy way for me to earn a few dollars. Katie was absolutely no trouble and the girls spent hours playing house/kitchen/mommy with the new table set. Soon there were serious signs all was not ok at Randi’s house or her marriage and we had Katie at our house more than she was home. John and I both felt every hour Katie was with us was less stress for everyone (but I never got paid).

Josh played with the table and chairs a lot too. He’d zoom his Matchbox cars, plastic trucks, Star Wars action figures, racing them across the top, watching them fly through the air like Evel Knievel. With Adam a few years later it was castle Grayskull sitting on top of the now scratched, dented, nicked up table while his hero He-Man battled evil Skeletor.

As the kids got older and eventually quit using the table and chairs, it continued to make all the moves with us. I’m not sure why. So did the wild rocking horse and most of the big metal earth movers and farm equipment from Ertl toys. What is about certain possessions from our youth or our children’s childhood that are virtually impossible to get rid of? I tossed so many of their toys and never gave it much thought, but it was the first ‘big’ toys that cost us an arm and a leg which are the ones I’ve never been able to dispose of. Seems like we sacrificed so much to get those special toys for the kids it would hurt me to pitch them. Crazy.

Well the years flew by and it’s now 1992. Shannon is mom to our first granddaughter, one year old Ariana. Out comes the dilapidated table and chairs set. John clamps and glues some loose spindles and slaps on some Old English Scratch Cover on the table tops worst boo-boos. It’s a mainstay in Ari’s room for several years, only to be shoved in storage again. Shannon had just as much trouble throwing it out as we have all these years.

Three years ago our great granddaughter Jovi was born. What that perfect little girl needed was a beat up old table and chairs set her Gigi got 45 years ago when she was 2. Goodness. We now have toys that are tipping the scales in the direction of antiques or at very least, vintage. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought the wooden table set would be passed down through 3 generations of Van Berkum/Gerritson Dutch girls. How freaking neat is that?

Jovi had her 3rd birthday party this weekend. Of course sitting in the middle of the living room looking like it’s been rode hard and put away wet is the old table and chairs set. Yet somehow it looks just perfect and belongs right there. Where did Jovi’s little besties sit while they all were eating their birthday donuts? The sturdy little table and chairs set that refuses to be thrown out.

What seemed like an extravagant, over priced, unnecessary purchase 45 years ago has now touched the life of every kid in our family since 1972. Not a family heirloom by any means but Shannon’s little table and chairs set’s worth just seems to climb with every passing year. Positively the best 30 bucks the Hubs and I ever spent…

If you’re familiar with my blog, you’re aware I’ve had some issues with the church. I’m trying to remember when it started. Suffice it to say it’s been over 10 years. Good grief, time flies when you’re troubled. No reason to rehash, if you want more details, read some of my older stories.

I haven’t gone to church for years and didn’t think I missed it (or really even needed it) except when I reflect back to my blog posts. Although I let the church building/congregation (well, we did move but I have not looked for the last 4 years either) simply fade from my life, I’ve written about it quite often and thought about it even more. I’ve come to the conclusion that cutting ties with the church bothers me. A lot. Some of my friends are incredible Christians without entering a church. They say it’s not necessary to ‘go’ to a building every week to be saved. I believe them. They’re sincere and full of faith.

But I am a weak sinner. I talk to God in prayer and conversation while I putz around the house. This however, is insufficient and does not leave me feeling fulfilled. I’m running on empty. I need more than what I have to offer.

A few friends are concerned about my fruitless search for a church home and a closer relationship with God. (They know I need all the help I can get. I truly appreciate their empathy and compassion plus their steadfast faith that I will get turned around before it’s too late). In the past couple weeks I’ve gotten articles on the popularity of big screens used in churches, (ugh) and the drastic decline of hymnals, organs and bibles used during services. The hymnals are no longer needed because of the big screen (really, do any of us need more screen time in our lives these days? (double ugh) What’s a gray haired great-grandma’s supposed to do with that kind of depressing information? Still I prefer staying informed and current so thanks for that Allan. And much of it was already known, just denied or ignored.

Even more recently I got an article from Alma, written by Lisa Appelo on 5 reasons I (this was meant for anyone in general, though God clearly intended it for me) need to go to church-every Sunday. One of the reasons struck a chord when it implied I might not actually LIKE the church because I’ve been hurt (why yes I have) by staff who should have known better (bingo) so I’ve decided to keep Jesus but not the church. Sounds a lot like me.

But I need church. A church. Being around Christians who believe in the Lord and belong. Communion, baptism, Lord’s Prayer, Apostle’s Creed, a sermon from a God fearing preacher. And once again, at the top of my needy list are good old fashioned hymns. Seems petty and downright unchristian but to this Calvinist, hymns are gonna be a deal breaker. There I said it. I own that statement. Old-fashioned-church-hymns-matter.

I finally came to the realization months ago that I needed to find a home church. But actually walking into an unfamiliar sanctuary is daunting. I don’t want to be ignored nor do I want inquisitive folks asking too many questions. My goal is to stay on the down low. My first visit was a bust, so I waited a couple weeks until my courage returned. Sunday morning, ten minutes before the service starts and my Jeep is one of 7 cars in the lot. Lord help me. Why I felt compelled to get out of the car and walk in, I haven’t quite figured out yet. I could have just as easily started the car and drove away-but did not.

The parking lot was icy, sidewalks not much better and I was still using a cane from a recent fall on my brand new knee, so it was slow going. Though general lack of bubbling enthusiasm may have accounted for much of my hesitation. I walked in, saw less than 10 folks in the narthex and asked someone for a bulletin. He said, “we’re running them off now.” A kid hands me one and I walked into the sanctuary. A 4 piece band was playing music I didn’t recognize, loudly. (Are you there God? It’s me, Neese. Help). But God was busy with more important matters than my discomfort, which He believes is good for my soul occasionally.

Thirty worshippers were seated throughout a couple of dozen pews listening. Minister walks in sporting a chartreuse golf shirt. I’m really ok with casual clothes at worship. God doesn’t care how I’m dressed. He wants me to be a better Christian. (But chartreuse?) I didn’t know one song. Not a one. I was cornered when the service was over. Where did I live? How long have I been in Jackson? Married? Was I interested in going out for breakfast? My urge to fight or flee was strong. I chose flee as carefully as I could without taking another spill. Ah, that wasn’t so bad. (Yes, it was).

After I started my car (and locked the doors eliminating the background check, firstborn giveaway and fingerprinting) I spotted another church as I drove out. Lots more cars, bigger building. I literally stopped in the street to read their sign. Join us for worship. Two services: TRADITIONAL-9:30, Contemporary 11. My interest was piqued. I’m in.

I do better when I’m dedicated to an idea. I laid out my clothes on Saturday night and knew what time I had to be showered and out the door on Sunday morning. The traditional service would probably not be large but was hoping for more than 50. I was greeted warmly by Dawn as I walked in the back door, who gave me directions to the sanctuary. I was greeted again at the entrance to the sanctuary and handed a bulletin, (ink was already dry) a prayer concern sheet and a page of sermon notes for the message today.

Cindy walked up on the stage, greeted us and asked us to stand for a hymn sing. This was early December so the songs were all Christmas carols. I knew every song without looking at the big screen. (Choose your battles wisely Neese, the screen isn’t one of them). She told a short story, had a prayer and sat down. A man I assumed was the pastor got up and read the scripture lesson, had a short prayer and sat down.

A guy in his mid-30’s walked up to the lectern wearing blue jeans, shirt and tie with one of those wraparound microphones. Joseph was the subject for the sermon. Happily engaged, looking forward to marriage when Mary tells him she’s pregnant, yet never had sex with anyone. Right. Joseph, being a standup guy and faithful to the Lord, does the right thing. He and Mary get hitched then travel for their family’s head count in Bethlehem.

This is where I had an ‘aha’ moment. (I didn’t know the preacher’s name but have since learned it’s Devin. I’ll just call him Rev/Dev). Rev/Dev pointed out how uncomfortable Joseph must have felt. His engagement to Mary was like a year long but they were essentially already married, though not living together or having sex. (I hope I remembered that right). There would have been serious consequences (stoning) had he not manned up. Then Rev/Dev said, “I just went through an uncomfortable moment.” He flashed a picture up on the big screen. A selfie with lots of background. Behind him tons of U of M fans, milling around concession stands at Crisler Arena. On the top of Rev/Dev’s head perched an Iowa Hawkeye hat! Oh. My. Word. It’s a sign I tell ya.

As I’m walking out, Dawn handed me a Cornerstone introduction packet and thanked me for coming. I told her I was from Iowa too. “Oh, don’t mention that to him. He talks about Iowa ALL THE TIME and thinks he’s the only fan here in Jackson.”

So I’ve been back to the Iowa Hawkeye church, listening to Rev/Dev a couple times. No one’s applied any pressure and I’m enjoying the sermons and hymns tremendously. We shall see. I’ll leave you with a verse, not from a hymn but a band I really enjoy on my playlist when I walk called Train.

Just in time, I’m so glad You have a one-track mind like me.

You gave my life direction, a game show love connection, we can’t deny.

Hey, soul sister….