I never imagined church would be a haven.
Funny, isn’t it?
Church should be, right? It should be the place we turn when we have nothing else. Heck, it should be the place we turn first. But my church history isn’t that warm and fuzzy. It’s full of great people, but also heartache, judgment, and struggles. Haven? No, that wasn’t what I found church to be.
Now though, it’s where I go to be built up. It’s full of those 2am people. You know, the ones you can call at 2am when life is in crisis and know they’ll be with you in a minute. They’ll be praying for you, speaking words of love and truth, holding you.
These people, this church…it’s become my haven.
Each Sunday when I park my car at 7:25am, preparing for the 7:30am Bridge Kids volunteer meeting before the 8am service, I can’t help buy smile as I see “my people” walking across the parking lot and into the building. Coffee, donuts, good people…that’s my Sunday morning ritual (oh yeah, plus about 100 1st-5th grade kids).
And I feel safe. I feel welcome. I feel known.
Because I’ve found my haven. And I walk with people who journey together through the crazy thing we call life.