The Seed that Sprouts

There is safety in numbers, when you are walking at night, when you are feeling sleepy driving, when you are trying to avoid creepers at the mall, and especially when you are entering into a church. Because, unless it is a fairly large facility, you will be noticed…and greeted…and approached. Because, if the church is doing it right, they will do everything in their power to make you feel loved, appreciated and noticed.

But for a girl starting over in a new city, new state…there are conflicting emotions that rush at you as you slowly pull your car into the nearest parking spot…the yearning to be known, to be accepted…and the very, very strong feeling of wanting to slip into a corner spot in the back of a big church, go through the motions and slip away without anyone ever knowing your existence. Then, in the safety of your own home, you can feel out if the church is the right fit for you…and need never make awkward small talk. 

I set my gear to park, checked and double checked I had my keys, and locked my doors…(These are the necessary steps you take in a new state to make sure you aren’t locked out of your vehicle.)

Church on Mill

Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the main entrance of the church called The Church on Mill…why you ask? My best guess…it is located on a street called Mill. And by goodness, for some reason I could still never remember what street it was on. Thank you, thank you, my dear gps.

And so it began…Church…not the service…but the people…the church…It began the moment I walked in…there I was warmly greeted by a man by the door, handing out bulletins. He made sure to address me directly, took notice of the girl entering in…and I took that bulletin he handed me and made my way into the sanctuary where I was warmly greeted by smiles and nods.

A rush of elation hit as I felt I timed it out perfectly, the music began to play, and I needn’t have to try to make small talk but simply find a seat and sing.

I looked around for an unobtrusive spot and found one near the middle of the aisle, a few rows from the front. And the music rang out…people’s voices flowed together, deep tones, high-pitched sopranos, illustrious old men who bellowed out, and the off-key melody of those who just don’t care what they sound like, because they know who they are singing to. As we all didn’t care. Because, in worship, it is never about the voice…and here it was so evident…Church was happening.  The body was coming together, to praise and glorify God. These people, imperfect perhaps in voice understood what their purpose in worship was…the simple yet profound mystery of music as a way to express to God who He is and why He is so worthy of praise. And in this church on Mill…those voices, great and mellow, flowed together in unison, and the passion for God filled my spirit.

It didn’t matter now where I was, or who I wasn’t with…all that mattered was that here; I could unabashedly worship the God who created me. My voice joined in the throng and my anxiety melted away in the presence of people who were all hurting, lost sinners and yet exactly there in those broken hearts, God entered in, and connected his children together in joyful, poignant worship.

As we sang, a girl came in, and decided to sit next to me. And within that decision, her seemingly small choice to sit next to and acknowledge the new girl, allowed me to see God’s great provision…to see His minute detailing of a grand master weaver!

You see before leaving Wisconsin, my friends had been assuring me that God was providing for me even before I left. "Sondra!" they would say, "Even now, God is preparing for you so many things in Arizona!" They would be excited for me, and tell me He was doing work already, even before I stepped foot into my new state…and yet…and yet...

 I would love to say my faith is big…but the more I face even small adversities, the more I see that my faith is not so big at all…

It’s a tiny faith. It's a mustard seed faith.

Before moving, all I could see were blank spaces in this new life needing to be filled…"Where would I live?" "What would I do?" "Who could accept me into their community?" 

And in all these unanswered questions, these blank spaces, I couldn't how they could possibly be filled. How could all these questions be answered…and lovingly answered?

 No, my faith was a tiny, tiny seed, nothing to brag about. 

But herein was this truth, this lesson to be grasped…as God tells me: If you have faith as small as a mustard seed you can say to this mountain “Move from here to there,” and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

And so my little mustard seed faith met what seemed like a mountain that Sunday, and God moved the mountain…and my little seed started to sprout into the ground and took root and I could look at it and stare into the blank space and see a bright piercing light…and say “My faith may be small…but my God is BIG.”

….What was the mountain that was moved? …you’ll just have to wait and see what God provided…but for me, I’m smiling as my seed’s shell continues to break ground and spread its roots in the deepest parts of my soul…and I sit here and smile in joy at the infestation of this growing faith…roots reaching, stretching, diving deep into the fertile soil of God's future plans.