Why I Go To Church, Still

I go to church because they let Bill play baseball with his one arm and crooked leg. They let him play AND they cheer him on. When he swings, the weight of the bat and the force with which he swings spins his whole body. His misses his shot and wobbles to a stop. They hug him genuinely glad he is on their team. Bill smiles even when he misses. God’s love extends.

I go to church because old women dress up in their best clothes and put on their jewelry and voluntarily sit next to teenagers with ipods, blue jeans, and flip flops. God’s heart visible.

I go to church because Big B sits collectedly in a room of 5 year old boys calmly whispering the body of Christ with an orange crayon in his hand, modeling Christ’s heart for my son. Christ’s love shown.

I go to church because God shows up in his people, and his people show up ready to serve and love (most days).

I go to church because some days I need the love, and - some days - I am able to give it.

I go to church because God is there. I see him in wrinkled skin, and tattered jeans, the cracks, the hairnets, fancy jewelry, and the flip flops. God’s presence in crooked smiles and wobbly swings.