We are sitting in a pew in Texarkana, and my mind is wandering.
For the last 2 years, my husband Justice, my son Wisdom and I have been traveling all over the continental US by RV, having one adventure after another. We’ve been to all of the lower 48, and camped in about two thirds of them.
And every Sunday, my husband pulls up his Christian Church/Church of Christ locator web site and chooses one of “our churches” for us to visit. This is very important to him; he’s a ministry graduate of one of their colleges. [Aside: I grew up in a very different flavor of Christianity.]
Wisdom is resting his head on my shoulder, waiting patiently for children’s church to begin so that all two of the children present can leave. He rarely enjoys children’s church, frequently complaining that “We just did a craft, Mom. We didn’t really learn anything.” He actually prefers the adult services and Sunday schools. But he loves being with other children, so he leaves the sanctuary anyway.
Justice is shifting restlessly beside me.
The shepherd of this particular establishment, to his credit and somewhat to my wonder, is a very talented speaker at eighty years old. But he is preaching to a congregation of nine, including our own little family of three. He’s a delightful, thoughtful man.
And this church will be dead in five years.
Along The Way 