Saturday… A little more (a miracle, did I make it up? I do not think so, )

 

So, for today:

I was raised in a Pastor’s home.  My beliefs and standards were set by what I saw at home and what I took time to listen to in church, which was as little as possible as a boy. Let me say here, I think Children’s Church is a great idea, but I also think children should be in ‘big people’s church’ at least once a month.

  Since I came along long before Children’s church, I sat thru ALL big people’s church services. Singing was okay however I, and my buddies, tried many ways to pass time during sermons.

One of us had a watch, we passed time seeing who could hold their breath the longest.  If I remember right it was seldom over a minute; the average was about 45 seconds.

But away from church services, my mama and daddy were just as humble, honest and true behind scenes in our home as they were in church. Since I was raised around church, I heard many pastors, VERY FEW had anything bad to say about church members. To my dad, his church was his family.

My present pastor has no qualms of speaking of ‘terrible members he had at previous churches’.  The pain church members caused his family and wife, etc. I wonder to myself. “If he would go to pastor another church, would he have the same statements about us, his present members?”

When I hear those or similar statements, my mind goes to my upbringing, I NEVER ONCE heard my parents say in private at home or at church, ANYTHING bad about the church members, past or present. Over the years I have had many people come to me and tell me of good things my parents did for them during his pastorates.

Something from my childhood set the stage for my misgivings about my role in life to be a ‘Preacher’ and the same thing set my life up for loss of faith. You ask, how could that be?

I was 4 years old, my sister was 6 or 7. The parsonage was beside the church. WE were playing on the church steps, she fell and screamed so loud it brought dad out of the house. I looked and Shirley’s arm was broken. Even to a kid I knew the arm should not bend between the elbow and wrist.

Dad took Shirley into the church, she was screaming and crying, he was praying. I and friends followed. He placed Shirely on the alter, kneeling beside her he straighten her arm and continued to pray and Shirley quit crying. I had witnessed what my dad had preached about, MIRACLES. It wasn’t more than 10-15 minutes, and we were playing again after daddy told us to be more careful.

WE all went on about our lives as if all was normal, and to us it was.

 

Nite Shipslog

PS: AS far as I remember, I NEVER heard dad say a thing about that, it was as if it was just normal. That was my one and only miracle. I have heard of many, but that is my only one.

Sorry this is too long I will continue..