I attended the same church from the time I was born to the time I was married.
It is a small church in a rural area. It was, and is, the place I think of when I think of “church home.” Everyone knew everyone. I was very well aware as a child that I was to mind all my elders, as they were all surrogate parents who would absolutely tell my mother if I misbehaved.
The members of that church embraced my first “serious” high school boyfriend, a non-Christian, KISS-loving guitarist who once whipped out a Zippo lighter mid-service to light a candle that had gone out. And when he dumped me unceremoniously on my birthday after a year and a half of dating, puffy-eyed and sniffling me couldn’t walk down the halls of the church the next Sunday without being approached by a dozen and a half ladies reassuring…
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