By Hayley Larson
When I was six, my parents forgot me at church. Mom thought I was with Dad. Dad thought I was with Mom. Classic mistake. Most six-year-olds would have panicked at the thought of being left behind. But actually, I was excited.
I spent the next thirty minutes making myself totally at home. I remember finding leftover chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen, playing the piano in the sanctuary, and resting on the mint green couches in the lounge. My mother’s frantic pace slowed as she walked through the front doors and saw me chatting with the children’s choir director. I was safe.
Maybe you may have early fond memories of feeling at home in the church. Or perhaps those experiences came later in life. The Companion wants to know when you first felt like the church was home.
Tell us your story of feeling at home in the church by commenting below or by emailing firstname.lastname@example.org.