I loved the apartments, to be honest, but I knew that my dad did not share the same feelings. As the provider of the family, he felt defeated each time we had to move back to the apartment complex. Deciding to move into a house was a choice that was made with the hopes of the better life that both of my parents wanted. Boxes were packed in anticipation. The decision to move back to the apartments, on the other hand, was harder because it was usually made in discouragement, after the reality hit that we couldn't afford the house or duplex we were living in.
For me, though, the apartments were way more fun than any house ever was. Mostly because there were endless friends in the apartment complex. There were tons of other kids to play with, and a playground for us all to play at. The tire swing on the playground was my favorite. I was never bored! We were outside all day until it was dark, playing and using our imagination. All of my friends were in close proximity, and were connected by a "courtyard".
The kids in those apartments taught me all kinds of things, good and bad. It was far from ideal, from a parent's standpoint, I understand that now. But as a kid, I just loved it. Let's just say that somehow, by the grace of God, I was saved from many things, and all I can think is that when I wasn't praying (and I did pray a lot) my momma was!
At a very young age, I was hanging out with other kids who smoked. I was offered my first cigarette by a slightly older child when I was just 6 or 7 years old. I didn't know what to say at the time and I was relieved when another child spoke up for me, "Don't ask her that! She is too young!" It was dropped and I was never asked again.
At one point, my brother and I were taught how to go across the street my mom told us not to cross and steal candy. This went great until an older boy ratted us out to our parents and we got in really big trouble. For some kids, getting in trouble meant being grounded for a week. Not us, though. For us, it meant our parents calling a policeman to talk to me and my brother, and all of us walking into the store we stole from to apologize to the workers there. Let's just say I never did that again.
The kids around me in the apartments didn't all go to church. I knew words to songs I shouldn't have known, and I had crushes on boys twice my age that my dad would not have approved of.
Through it all, though, the ups and the downs, the constant in my life was church. No matter what living situation we found ourselves in, or where we laid our heads each night, on Sunday mornings we went to the same old familiar building... Lansing First Church of the Nazarene in my younger years and Lansing South Church of the Nazarene up until the time I graduated high school and went on to college.
I learned that no matter where I was mentally, socially, and physically, the church would always be there.
Church was a mix of every kind of person you could think of. I loved Sunday nights when people would share their testimonies, because it gave me (and all of us) insight into what each person went through. I especially got a feel for just how different everyone was, though, once a month when they would do their "Singspiration" night. The whole "Singspiration" service was dedicated to people coming up and singing or playing their instruments for the congregation. The sweet older couple on their banjos, literally slapping their legs every time they sang was followed by the young flutist just learning to play a new song, and then the beautiful lady who nailed every note perfectly, with the most angelic voice EVER. The whole thing would just make you smile, really.
Walking the halls of the church was as comfortable as walking the halls of our old apartment buildings. The super duper sweet older man with a round body that matched his round face would show up every single Sunday with candy in his pockets to share with the children. You could see how much his grandchildren adored him and every kid wished he was their grandpa. His heart was as big as his smile, and you just couldn't help but love him.
Being involved in the teen group meant that I got to go on great vacations (mission trips) with some of my closest friends too -- something that would have been an impossibility for our family otherwise. Some of my greatest childhood memories were created because of the church. I could sense the love and devotion of those who worked with the youth and it made going to church a joy. The congregation felt like extended family to us. They wanted good things for our family, and they encouraged and inspired us each time we went. Church was always a happy place for me.
When the going got REAL tough, and my parents were bogged down with too many medical bills to count, it was the other adults in the congregation who encouraged them, prayed with them, listened to them, and then offered advice along with bags of groceries. "South Church" was good to us. It wasn't perfect, because people went there and people weren't perfect, but it was good.
Today, I find myself wanting other young people to feel just as welcomed at the church as I was growing up. I want them to walk the familiar halls and sense that they are loved there... that no matter where they come from, and how the world around them changes, a church that loves them will be a constant for them that they can keep coming back to.
What a treasure we offer our children when we bring them to a church once a week for their whole childhood. When they experience, for themselves. the love of other believers in the church, they are learning that the church is a place to go for comfort, direction, encouragement, and community. This piece of knowledge offers an extra sense of stability in their lives, both in the present and in the future. What a blessing. Thank you, mom and dad, for the priceless gift of taking me to church every Sunday and the "breadcrumb trail" that was left because of it. Love you both, and love you, "South Church"!
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