The following is a story of how we hang on to things that we learn as and how they carry over to adulthood.

I was about nine or ten, I guess.  We had just moved to the lowest level of a four-story apartment building.  My dad was now the custodian for the building we started in at the time of my baby sister’s birth.  That first apartment was on the top floor, and I have memories of the ice man coming to deliver ice for our refrigerator.  He’d start at floor One and by the time he reached us, the huge block of ice had dwindled down to half its size.  When we moved to the second floor, my sister locked me in the linen closet in our also locked bathroom.  A crew of Milwaukee’s finest firemen arrived to rescue us, but the only way in was a tiny window that led to the fire escape outside.  A gigantic fireman pushed the window open with his foot and managed to wiggle his way through, much to the chagrin of my sister who exploded into screams and tears.  He unlocked both doors and sent us out to our terrified mother who had nothing to say but, “Wait until your father gets home.”

During those years, we attended church services at an old Gothic German Lutheran Church.  German services were still held there in the 1950s, but we attended the service we could understand.  The edifice was magnificent.  The beauty of the inside of the sanctuary was as breath taking as the outside.  Pipes lined the wall in the choir loft to spread the joyful organ music to every inch of the place. At the front of the church was a statue of Christ ascending into heaven surrounded by cherubs.  The stained-glass windows each told a different story.  The ceiling had paintings on it as well.  There was so much eye candy for little eyes.  The pulpit was also beautifully crafted with stairs leading to the spot from which the pastor would deliver his sermon each week.  The pulpit was covered with more Gothic influence.  A canopy of sorts dwarfed the preacher as he spoke.  There was a particular Sunday when two little ones, sitting in the front row, were misbehaving.  The powerful voice of the pastor shouted for them to “STOP.”  It scared them into submission.

That incident set the stage for my life in that church.  Several years, and many Sundays went by and all that I heard from that little preacher with the big voice, was that I was doomed to a life in hell.  Fire and brimstone was the fare of the day.  For some reason, his final words were almost whispered as he said, “But, by the grace of God you are saved.”  I almost didn’t hear them.

It’s taken me years and years of struggling with my own self esteem issues and my feeling of my worthlessness to God, to overcome those words.  Today as I get closer to my 81^st birthday, I realize that I wasted those years on self-pity and unworthiness.  We recently heard a powerful sermon on things we wish we would’ve known sooner.  It made me think of all the time of grace I had missed out on over so many years.  I had a relationship with God, with my church, with my family, but it was incomplete.  I have always felt in the back of my mind that I’m not worthy of God’s grace.  So often we go through the motions of worshipping, the rote of the liturgy, the memorized prayers, without actually thinking about them.  All the glory and beauty of a church doesn’t make a difference to God.  He knows our hearts.  When we strive for larger numbers in our congregations, it really doesn’t matter to Him either.  When we share His message with others, it does matter.  Anything that WE try to do is going to fall short of the glory and honor He deserves.  He has it all mapped out for each of our lives.  He loves us more than we can ever love back.  That’s what grace is – unconditional love.

You’re never too old to learn something you wish you had learned sooner in life.  I’m getting there.  Maybe that’s why I’m still alive.  I’m making up for lost time.  Thank you, Jesus for waiting for me to catch up.