Like coming home

"It typically takes about seven to eight months of church-hopping to find a church you're happy with". The pastor was right. I've been here eight months and although I've liked things about each church I've visited, none have felt like home. Like a place to settle, to plug in, to embrace the people around me as my church family. Sunday, I found that place.

I had already decided to consistently attend a mega-church about 20 minutes away. It reminded me the most of home . . yet not completely. I was comfortable getting lost amongst the hundreds of people in each service. I knew most of the songs they sang, and loved learning the new ones. The messages were good . . often wimpy, but good . . like drinking milk - delicious milk, when I was craving steak or at least some chicken, something to chew on. Every person I'd met there so far loved God . . as long as He didn't ask them to give up too much, as long as He didn't interfere with how they lived their life. I'm not saying that every member of that church felt that way, because I'm completely certain that's not the case - only my experience. I could've made an effort to meet more people and get involved, but something was holding me back.

Then, I heard about another church. Solid pastor. Challenging messages. I learned it met right next door to my apartment. "Please let this be it," I prayed. I listened to the sermons online and my hope that this would be home only grew. I met a friendly face at the door, filled out a nametag, and walked into an auditorium filled with music played not as a performance, but an invitation to the Lord. I didn't have to shake any hands or make any small talk to sense that the people in the room knew Him and wanted to know Him more. And I knew this was it. The search was over. This was where I belonged.