Spiritual Editorial: The Legacy of the Father | Faith


The day from the first spring buds to the fall leaves was the only season my dad and I spent together. The medical community at the time could neither diagnose his illness nor find a cure. He remained in the hospital for 28 days. As a believer, I think he had to pray to live. But in the meantime, Dad also confirmed that if the Lord called him home, he would leave me something of value.

“Take your baby to church,” he told my 16-year-old sister. For his honor, he did not specify a name. He was brought up by Swedish Lutherans, but later became a member of the Baptist congregation. And in one of those mysterious ways of life, he and my mother bought a house right next to the Methodist Church just before I was born.

My father knew and was convinced that he knew the importance of Luke 18:16.

As I grew, I felt the church provided me with what I needed, when I needed it. It has become the anchor, the comfort, the place of peace and the foundation of my religious life.

My sister enrolled me in “Little Kids” Sunday School and she volunteered to teach. I made some of my first real friends there.

One Christmas when I was 10 years old, an amazing Sunday School teacher challenged the class to memorize Luke’s Christmas story. Chapter 2: 1-20. Every week I whistled, eager to recite what I had learned. At the end of the weeks, I was presented with the first Bible with my name, the name of the teacher and the date. Despite switching to a more modern version, I still cherish it. And every time I read beautiful words from Luke during the Christmas service, I go back to where I first heard them.

The church next door was where I learned to sing as part of the choir. My father was a singer and the hymns I learned were among his favorites. When the music of “In The Garden” and “The Old Rugged Cross” echoed through the shrine, I felt a special connection with my father.

The pastor and his family coming in and out of my growing season were more than neighbors to the minister’s house. They asked me to babysit, became friends who brought us produce from their garden, and one year I had the opportunity to attend a Christian camp for a week. I saw

I walked down the aisle as a church bride and took my first two sons to another location for baptism. When my mother died, I was comforted by the pastor and his wonderful wife. God especially for me at that time.

The church next door was above a building, sect, or congregation of people close to us. It was a lifelong inheritance from my father. As I tell my sister to take me to church, my earthly Father expects me to find a Heavenly Father who can teach me all the life lessons He cannot teach me. was doing. And today I am full of gratitude.

Nancy Baumgartner, White Pine Church, Cogan House Township

The opinions, beliefs and views expressed in this editorial do not necessarily reflect those opinions, beliefs and views. NorthcentralPa.com ..

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