Another Change, A New Perspective

I don't like change. Until recently, I couldn't deal with it. Well, I could deal with it, because I didn't have a choice, but it really threw me for a loop. And the wonderful people who live with me go through torment every time a major change occurs in my life. I'm really hard to live with when things change. And, of course, the more sentimental the area, the worse I deal with the change. But, I'm working on it... I've gotten better at letting go of things, letting God be in control, and going with the flow. A certain year of struggling made me face changes head-on, and I learned a little about letting God guide me through it. It takes a lot of work on my part, sometimes, but it's worth it, and I'm improving. And He's doing a great job of leading the way.

I'm glad I've been working on dealing with change, because my Uncle Butch called the other night to let us know that their church, Twelfth Street Baptist, is moving. They are moving from a beautiful building in downtown Gadsden to a location in Rainbow City. The building is in need of renovations, and the church body decided it would be better to relocate than to put more money into the current facility. I think the church is choking where it is now... the neighborhood has changed since the church started so many years ago, and the church isn't thriving now. This move is a fabulous opportunity for the church to grow; it's a definitely a good thing. But for a second, my heart was sad, because something sacred in my life will be changing. The comforting sanctuary at Twelfth Street will be home to another church.

My family has been a part of Twelfth Street since... forever. Well, maybe not forever, but as long as I can remember and then some. My grandmother was the financial secretary for many, many years (I should remember how many, but I just can't say exactly, at least 20). My grandfather was the Treasurer for many, many years, too (again, I can't remember - maybe 30 years? My memory is terrible!). Anyway, when I was a little girl, I thought they owned the church. Does that tell you anything? My grandmother was a member of the church her whole life, as far as I know. My uncle and aunt, and Dad's cousins are still members. Most of my cousins have been married in that church, and Grandaddy's funeral was in that church. That beautiful, old building holds LOTS of memories.

When I was growing up, I loved going to church with my grandparents. I loved the smell of the church building. In the sanctuary, the beautiful stained glass windows framed by stately dark wood, and the familiar blue carpet and cushions were comforting to me. I loved the nursery, where my grandmother taught Sunday School for most of her adult life, and I loved the people. Oh, the people were the BEST! The sweetest, most cheerful people go to that church. I know they were kind to me because I was Jeff and Juanita's granddaughter, but mostly they were caring because that's how they were, and still are. When my grandparents died, the people of that church reached out to our family in ways I will never forget. They prayed, they brought food, they sent cards, they came to the funeral, and they made us lunch and served it after we went to the graveside service. Angels. Those people are God's angels. I didn't have a lot of friends to show up at my grandparents' funerals because it was so far from my home, but my grandparents' church family took us under their wings and made sure that we were comforted, fed, and loved. I still feel drawn to Twelfth Street, and the precious people.

See, it's the PEOPLE that make Twelfth Street so special. And it doesn't matter if the church PEOPLE leave the building where I made lots of memories, because the building doesn't make the church. The PEOPLE are the church. And wherever the people of Twelfth Street go, there go my memories of all the good times (and the sad) at Twelfth Street's beautiful old building. With such sweet, caring people holding my memories, my heart's not so sad after all!