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Knocking on the door…


Our oldest child leaves for college on Tuesday, for any parents that have sent their child off to college or to serve our great nation you know the bittersweet feelings of the last week before departure.  There have been lots of laughs and many tears shed in the Brobston household these past couple of weeks.

What has been the most exciting has been that our front door has been opening and closing non-stop as friends stop by to see him, or just to hang out for awhile.  Our house has always been “that house.”  Many times I have had to have kids move cars so I could get in or out of the driveway.  Our front lawn has tire marks in it where kids have parked if there is no place on the street, our walls are dented, glasses have been broken, we often step over sleeping teenagers somewhere in our house.

I have one rule that is non-negotiable.  If you’ve been here more than once, DONT KNOCK – COME IN.  I know it’s supposed to be polite, but I would prefer friends to just come in and announce, “Hey, it’s _____, I’m here, ok?”  I wish our churches were more like that, where people just walked in and felt at home.

For awhile now I haven’t felt that at home in and around the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church – I’ve had some stuff going on in my personal life, had some issues with ecclesiology and theology among other things.  I know it sounds horrible, but I’ve had some serious faith issues these past few months – haven’t felt at home, felt grace, felt much of God’s love at all.

Last week I walked into a conference for a group that I am not a member of, heard sermons from an Anglican Bishop that made tears flood my face.  I was welcomed warmly by old friends and made new ones.  I was prayed for and prayed over.  I was embraced by my spiritual papa who was a visitor there as well.  I engaged in discussions, dialogs, and debates with people I agreed with, and with some I didn’t agree with and I felt HOME.  I felt like I didn’t have to knock on the door, it was okay to just come in.

It was in that home that something in me was rekindled – a faith that had become little more than an ember began to glow and then flicker.  Pain that had wreaked havoc in my heart and spirit began to lessen.  Grief that had dragged me to the bottom of a pit like a pair of cement shoes began to give way and I felt myself beginning to become buoyant.  When over a thousand voices joined together singing “A Mighty Fortress” my soul must have felt like Lazarus hearing Jesus call him out of the tomb.  The tears would not stop.

A former Bishop sat behind me and he reached out his hand and touched my shoulder, friends beside me stopped singing to pray, and the tears fell – HOME.  Isn’t that what we all wished our Church homes were like – doors open so others can come in and join the prayer, the worship, the singing, the laughter, and the tears.  As I type this a crescendo of laughter fills our house and reminds me of a heavenly home.  “In my Fathers house… ”  If you’ve been away for awhile – do your spirit a favor and go home…

Thanks Be to God.


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