After a tornado rips through your neighborhood and very gingerly leaves an entire tree tipped onto your house, things change a little. You realize how little control you actually have over...anything. The word "value" instantly takes on a new meaning. The people you love are brought to the forefront and suddenly, you are forced to accept that life is fragile. So fragile.
This past weekend while I was with my family at Kabekona, we went to church on Sunday morning in LaPorte. Imagine the smallest town you've ever been in and then divide that in half twice over - that will give you a pretty accurate image of this town. There is a school, a grocery store, a gas station, and a church. A little white church that I have been attending as long as I can remember. We always sit about four rows back on the left hand side, surrounded by aging giants of the Lutheran church and their wives and families. The phrase "stand as you are able" rings out over the congregation as we rise (or sit) for hymns and pray responsively. I can't help but look at my 85 year old grandfather during the sermon - his expression radiates with a warm understanding, a kind of peace and assurance that I can't really put into words or fully understand. I can feel this warmth stretch down the pew to my grandmother - a quiet anchor.
That little white church in LaPorte has managed to thrive for years and years and continues to be an unlikely source of inspiration to me. I like how out-of-the-way and almost secret that little congregation of people is to the rest of the world. I like singing those hymns and reciting the creeds and prayers that have been burned into my brain. Somewhere, in-between that age-old language of worship, my skepticism of the institution, and my struggle to have faith in the world, hope has found a way to usher itself into my heart, even when unknown forces surface, so suddenly.
