That Little Red-Brick Church

The small red-brick Baptist church where I spent my childhood was filled with lovely people who loved the Lord. Revival was an annual occurrence and Billy Graham’s conferences in Houston’s Astrodome were an exciting adventure requiring chartered busses and untold amounts of my mother’s yummy tuna-fish sandwiches.

I’ll always remain attached to the special little church where I spent many happy years memorizing Scripture, singing in the youth choir and learning about the Lord. And I’ll always be grateful for the people who taught me to "love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” (Luke 10:27). Small in size, yet large in love for God, the church was a place where we were trained in the way we should go, so when we grew old, we wouldn’t “depart from it”(Proverbs 22:6).

Passing the half-century mark quite a few years ago, I don’t consider myself old; but I am five years older than my dad was when he died. So every day I live on this earth I’m more grateful than I was the day before. And many of the reasons why I am are because of what I learned in that little red-brick church where I was taught who God was and what he had done for me.