Grace made a way this day, and my heart is so thankful. I grew up knowing the Lord and was raised in church. We went to a little church and that was part of what we did every Sunday. We also had home cooked southern Sunday dinners (Sunday lunch was always called dinner for some reason.) Even when we went camping, we went to a little one-room wooden floored church where my mother grew up. Today that little white church still stands about a mile down the road from where our farm is.

We went to church every Sunday until something happened between my dad and the preacher when I was about eight and we didn’t go for many years. About twice a year the preacher would come by and my dad would say, “Well, I wrote him a check so he won’t bother us for another while.” I’m not sure what happened, but somehow, my parents got disenfranchised with the whole thing and we didn’t go any more. When I was about 11, I started going to church with my friends, and, a year later, was about to be confirmed. My sister and I were going to a service on Good Friday at another church as part of that confirmation process, but we never made it. We had just finished a choir Easter program at school that day, and we got home early since it was a holiday and we found my dad. He had a heart attack and had died. He was 42. It didn’t take long to realize what an honor it was for my father to die on the same day that the Lord did. For a twelve year old, it helped to picture her own dad resurrected with Jesus that Easter Sunday. For a middle aged woman, it still brings comfort. It wasn’t about going to church. It wasn’t about what all we did in church. It was about a cross and a God who bridged heaven and earth with the greatest plan of love the world will ever know.

Due to most of our kids not being home, we won’t worship at our local church this year. Sunday, we will go to church in the same town near our farm where we did so long ago. We won’t go to that same little white church, but we will be very near where my parents, my grandparents, and my great-grandparents worshipped. We’ll have country cooking on the grounds after the service, and I’m bringing the best chocolate cake ever. I can’t wait to celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord and, somewhere inside me, a twelve-year old girl still smiles at God’s goodness in His perfect plan.


8 thoughts on “Grace

  1. Happy Easter sweet friend! God is simply perfect and wonderful in every detail isn’t He??

    Much love to you on Easter morning. Enjoy your time and day with family and with Him.

    Hugs and blessings~

  2. What a beautiful testimony. thank you for sharing your memories. May you have a blessed day and may He meet you and lift you up and be your glory and a shield about you and the lifter of your head, Blessings, Mary Lou

  3. Oh, Annette. I didn’t realize it was on Good Friday! What a special day for you. I think you showed me the little church. I will worship with you tomorrow and Praise Him for His perfect plan. I pray you feel His comfort and His arms wrapped around you when you reflect on your dad.
    Now, for that chocolate cake…
    Love you,
    Angie xoxo

  4. This is a beautiful picture of Gods love and Grace that he gives to us… This is a time that I use to refelect on m life and where I am…

    Thank you

  5. “that what He’d have me be is who I am…”

    There’s a prayer for my heart.

    What a beautiful song. The words touched my heart. I’m praying that you have a peaceful Easter.
    love, karen

  6. I am so sad that you and your sister found your father. That breaks my heart. But you have such a great testimony of faith about what the Resurrection means to you and of Christ, our hope of glory. This is beautifully, poignantly written. Have a blessed Easter.

Share your thoughts on this!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.