bittersweet

My husband and I are blessed to be given a season in our life right now where we are able to be at our home church. I must say, it's good to be home!

Home to the church where I I finally connected to the God who created me and pursued me. Where I finally accepted His gift of salvation. Where I stood and announced to the world my commitment to live for Him. Where I was baptized. Where I learned and grew in my knowledge and love for the scriptures.

Home to the church where I experienced my first heart break. Where I made friends, so near and dear, that I still talk to them today. Where I spent my weekends laughing, talking, serving, playing, learning, growing.

Home to the church where I met and fell in love with the man I wake to every morning. Where we were introduced. Where we became friends. Where we exchanged letters. Where we held hands for the first time. Where he asked me to be his girlfriend. Where he married me. Where we began our life together.

Home to the church where people love me and hug my neck. Even though they haven't seen me in ages. Even though they know about the mistakes I've made.

Home.

Sunday night I sat in our 'old pew.' {Of course it's technically not "ours" nor was it ever - but there was a time that we so regularly sat there - it felt like home.} It has been three years since I sat in that row and on that corner. Even now, after all this time, it was comfortable. {Like putting on your favorite oversized sweatshirt.} It still fit. It was like coming home all over again.

As voices filled the air around me with worship I was transported back in time. Back to a time when I could breathe in the comforting scent of Dad's cologne and feel his baby soft skin patting my hand. Oh, how sweet of a moment! The onslaught of memories that rushed over me where as unexpected as they were vivid. Big soft mints and chewing gum passed my way at the beginning of the sermon. Dad's worn Bible, so stuffed with bulletins they always spilled into the floor. His deep rumbly voice singing praises to Jesus. His shiny bald head bowed in prayer. Borrowing his ink pen to take notes. Watching him rock Kayli to sleep, her little bitty fingers wrapped around one of his, and around his heart. I could have lived in those memories forever.

Reality Beckoned.
Those simple sweet moments are long gone.
Things have changed.
{The realization of this cut deep into my soul.}
Such sweet memories slightly bitter.

Looking around me I see that Dad's absence is not all that has changed. The sweet older couple who always sat behind us are still there, but their grandson is missing. Such a sweet little boy who used to kick the back of our pew, play with my long hair, and melt my heart when he sang sweet praises to our savior - off key and from his heart (not the hymnal the rest of us sang from.) I wonder where he is.

The row of older lades who oohed and ahhed over my babies were still there {perhaps fewer by one or two, it is hard to remember} the difference I can not deny is that my little babies are big girls now. Babies no more.

I wonder where the young woman with the infectious smile and laugh is. She had a son who loved Dad and always begged to sit beside him. Did they find a new pew, or have they moved on?

So many reminders that time does not stand still. The minutes of my life are numbered and are slipping by... Such bittersweet memories of a time gone by, transformed into a gentle reminder {perhaps a warning} time is running out. No matter how much we may wish it... Time does not stand still... It keeps on passing.... We keep on changing... Nothing stays the same... Yesterday is gone... Tomorrow may never come...