If you know me well, you know I love my church family. This is where I met the people who challenge and encourage me in my walk with Christ. The Little White Church as we call it.
This morning a friend and I ventured to the Little White Church to see the the dirty, ladybug covered, old, and rickety floors and the cob web covered walls but yet experience God on a personal level. Even though it was not a Sunday, it still felt like church from all those years ago.
Yes, the Little White Church is only a building but it holds a special place in my heart. Ten years and two months ago that this place has meant something to me... My church only met in this church building for a year and half, the shortest of all the buildings we have met in. But I can guarantee that for most of us, this was our favorite.
If someone were to ask me what is home, I would have to say Heaven but here on earth, the Little White Church is home. Maybe it's because I have many memories there or maybe it's because I found a family that I belong to there.
There is a saying that says, "It takes a village to raise a child." I have often heard my mom say, "It takes a church to raise a child." From the time I was six years old and first stepped in this church family until now, they have helped raise me.
It had been seven years since I had been there. As soon as I walked in the door, the memories flood back. The feeling of being home filled my soul. A friend played David Crowder Band, "How He loves" on the old piano. Being able to sing to my Jesus in my old church did my heart so good. To be reminded that it's not a building that describes church but it's the people inside. And on that cold January morning that Mom, Ellen, and I went on an adventure to find this church, while Dad and Eric were at a football game, changed my life.
