Moving on

                  A few things have been going wrong for me in the last few months. One of the hardest was having to change churches. Church is very important to me. It has been since I became a Christian over fifty years ago. And since I gave my life to the Lord whilst I was on holiday, even choosing that first place to attend wasn’t very straight forward.

                  I got saved at a beach mission. I was born and raised in the UK where there are a lot of beaches, and they are popular places to evangelise. Looking back now I know that the Lord was drawing me to himself, and I will be forever grateful to those who organised the beach mission, where I was able to learn how much God loved me. The Lord wanted me to be a part of his family, and I said yes.

                  Then I returned to my hometown, and had no idea where to find that place I should regularly attend. My biggest need, my biggest want, in a church, has not changed over all these years. I wanted to belong. Consequently I remember nothing about what was preached in the various congregations that I attended, all I remember was whether I felt wanted. At one church a little old lady came up to me after the service and grabbed my hand with her gloved hand. She looked at me and told me that the Lord had looked after her all her life, and he had never let her down, and he wouldn’t let me down either. All these years later I still remember that incident. It touched me deeply. Unfortunately no one else from that church spoke to me, including the pastor, and I never went back.

                  In another church the first thing I saw was a huge painting of a man smoking a cigar. It seemed inappropriate for a church, and distracted me at the time. Yet in that church there was a young family that invited me back to their home for tea after the service, and that quickly became a church I wanted to return to. I learned later that the painting was of Charles Spurgeon, a famous Christian preacher, who had become a Christian in that very church. Of course I had never heard of Spurgeon, and I only returned there because this family was so friendly, and kept inviting me into their home.

                  Unfortunately I had to catch a bus to get to this church, and I looked for something within walking distance to where I lived. I eventually settled at a congregation where the pastor and his wife had a young family, and they were keen to invite me into their home. I wanted to belong, and this family included me. They discipled me, they loved me, they helped me. I thought my church was the best one ever, even if there were less than twenty people in the congregation.

                  When I moved away from home to attend university several hundred miles away, I looked for the same thing in a church – I wanted to belong. I made several new Christian friends, and most of them chose to attend the local Baptist church. There was a lot of emphasise on good teaching in this church, and the pastor had quite a following, beyond the local congregation. That was not a priority for me, however. I tried a Pentecostal church, again of about twenty or so members. Several of these lovely people invited me into their homes, and I quickly chose to make that my church for the duration of my time studying at university.

                  Over the years I have moved locations several times, and one of my first priorities when I arrived in a new place was to find a church. I was never particularly concerned about the denomination, although they did have to recognise Jesus as having come in the flesh, died for our sins, and rose again to bring us into relationship with the Father. I also began to realise how important it was to me that the church was open to the Holy Spirit, and would allow him freedom to move. I attended an Anglican church for a while where they would first go through the liturgy, and then they invited the Holy Spirit to take over the meeting. Some of the congregation left after the first part, but most stayed to enjoy the free worship and testimonies.

                  Most of the time I have moved from a church because I was moving away. This last time was not like that. The pastors wanted to take the church in a direction that I was not happy with. I shared my heart at a time when I was frustrated, and it didn’t go over well. I felt obliged to move on.

                  There was a congregation I had heard some exciting stories about, so that was going to be my first port of call. When my husband and I arrived in the car park we heard a scream. I recognised a family we knew, and walked over to them. A young lady had just said to her mother:

                  “You know who would like this church – the Foulgers.”

                  And then they looked up and saw us in the parking lot. Hence the scream. They hadn’t seen nor heard from us in months, and yet as that comment was made, we turned up. We took that as a sign that perhaps the Lord had something for us in this new church.

                  What do you do when something is hard? I don’t feel like I belong yet. I don’t feel completely healed from the painful way we left the last church – although I know healing has begun. I do believe I am in the right place though. I long to feel like I belong – that will come. For now, I will worship the Lord, I will give him thanks, and I will continue to trust that he cares about me. And I will wait on the Lord for the rest.