Come to the Church in the Wildwood!

Oh, come, come, come, come
          Come to the church in the Wildwood,
          Come to the church in the vale,
          No spot is so dear to my childhood,
           As the little brown church in the vale.



          I couldn't stop singing it, or humming it, or teaching it to my girls, or googling it to make sure I had the lyrics right. I had come across Wildwood Community Church while searching for churches in Norman, Oklahoma that we might visit on our Steeple Chase. We had planned to be in Norman Saturday night anyway for a gymnastics meet that our middle daughter was competing in, so it made perfect sense to stay the night and experience worship somewhere in Norman the next morning. Having absolutely no knowledge of churches in that area, I hit up my trusty Google pal to search for possible candidates, and my eye (and musical mind) was caught by the word "wildwood." I knew absolutely nothing about the church, but I just couldn't seem to get it off my mind, so I was totally thrilled when at least three of my Facebook friends recommended WCC in response to my cry for suggestions and recommendations. I mean, really, this HAD to be a God thing, right? I checked with my girls, and they agreed, so off we went to Norman, looking forward to visiting "the little brown church in the vale."

        Now, before we get to the church, let me give you just a little background on the Saturday before (Which really does have something vital to do with our experience at Wildwood). We have three busy, active daughters, and on this particular Saturday, two out of three happened to have activities on the same day. Fortunately, they were not at the same time, so first we loaded up the family and drove the 40 miles to Enid for our oldest to play basketball. She had two games, but in order for us to get to our middle daughter's aforementioned gymnastics meet in time, we had to leave between games, forcing her to miss her second game and resulting in many tears and at least two hours of petulant pouting as only a preteen can truly portray. (Can you tell I really like alliteration? Sorry, I just couldn't resist.) Anyway, regardless of her protests (Oops, there's another one.), we explained that we were doing the best we could, and headed to our next event, two hours away.

Our oldest is the one in white with her arms out.

Middle daughter is the tall one with the sweet smile.

 

          In retrospect, I recall, that our youngest daughter, who is five, may or may not have had to visit the restroom a little more often than usual during her sisters' activities, and she may have had that particular panicked look on her face a couple times when I sent her with this sister or that to find the potty, while I cheered and took pictures and did the proper mother things, and looking back, I remember her getting out of the motel pool to sit on the side because her tummy hurt, and she may have been a little more subdued than usual that next morning and have eaten very little of her breakfast, AND as I'm writing this, I'm realizing that what you are witnessing is an example of an extreme mothering FAIL on my part, and I can only plead insanity and distraction and wild imperfectionism because regardless of how my little one was feeling, I packed us all up and headed to Wildwood Community Church on Sunday morning.

          Now, as I mentioned before, we knew absolutely nothing about Wildwood except for it's name and location, so we were a little surprised when we drove up by the sheer size of the place. It was certainly not the "little brown church" we were somewhat expecting. In fact, it was so large, that an actual map was handed out with the bulletins.




          We were running a little later than we'd wanted, due to what was supposed to be a quick stop at Target for socks (Need I say more?), and arrived just as a wave of members from the 9:30 service were leaving and the last minute 11:00 attendees were arriving. We walked in and went straight to the Welcome Desk where a lovely lady greeted us warmly and lead us past the Coffee Bar to the Children's Help Desk. Here our daughters were welcomed enthusiastically as two beautiful volunteers asked them their names and ages and told them how happy they were to have them, and the proficient young man behind the desk got all our information, checked the girls into the computer system, and handed us a barcode card for each of the younger two. Our oldest, at eleven, turned up her nose at the idea of children's church and chose to remain with her father and I, our middle child couldn't wait to get in there and meet new friends, and our youngest, whose health I had finally began to be suspicious of, declared that she was feeling better and wanted to go to her class.
  
      We sent them on their way, and headed back towards the sanctuary, aka Worship Center. This was a large modern space with chairs in lieu of pews and a stage occupied by really cool color changing light boxes and a worship band. A large screen with the words to the praise songs hung front and center, and to the right was simple brown cross that actually brought to mind the crooked brown cross that hangs in the dear church of my childhood. Near the cross, was a small electric sign posted to indicate a number of a child whose parents are needed in the children's area. For the next hour, I looked at this sign a lot.

      The seats were quite full, and I was pleased to see a nice generational mix. The music was beautiful, and I quickly slipped into worship, feeling my soul reach out and up as I gave myself over to the words and music and to lifting my voice in reverence to my King. Soon, the singing came to an end, (We had missed most of it due to our tardy arrival.) and they began to take offering as a video played and two new members told their salvation stories and their baptisms were televised for the congregation.

       It was during this time, that I noticed Beth from the children's area making her way down the aisle towards us, and I knew there was trouble in paradise. Sure enough, Baby Girl had a tummy ache and needed her mama, but when we got to the Children's Theatre where they were singing praise songs and having a Bible story, one of the other workers assured me that she was now okay. She had told her about the story coming up, and not wanting to miss it, she'd gone back in and was singing with the rest of the kids.

         Now, normally and probably with the majority of kids who come to a church for the first time and are nervous and want their mama and say they have a tummy ache, this would have been right on target and exactly the perfect thing to do, but this particular kid doesn't really get nervous and she really likes children's churches, and she seldom needs her mama when there are other things to keep her occupied and she never tells me her tummy hurts unless it really does. I knew this. They didn't. It was my fault entirely that I left her there and headed back to church. Once again, I plead insanity, because sure enough, about half way through the sermon, poor Beth was back (I promise I was watching the sign for her number. Did it not work, or did I just miss it? Either way, I'm so sorry, Beth.), catching my eye and motioning me back towards the back.

         I sent Jason. He was sitting on the outside and it was his turn and he didn't have on heels. Makes perfect sense, right? But in a few minutes, he was back with Sickly by his side, and I was thinking, "Why are you bringing her in here?!" as she gave me "the look" and I whispered frantically, "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" and she nodded equally frantically, and I gave Jason "the look" and he whispered, " I'll take her." (He was on the outside and not wearing heels, remember?) And he whisked her back down the aisle. (Really people, I'm sorry my family is a spectacle, and I hope you heard at least some of the sermon because it was really fantastic and exactly what I needed to hear.) Not long after, I received the following text from the best daddy and husband in the world:

           "Pooked?!" I thought, "What does that mean? Pooped or puked? Either way, this CAN'T be good!" Turns out, it wasn't. And it was puke. While they sat on a couch in the foyer, and while they were in the men's bathroom, but not yet in front of an actual toilet. I'll spare you the details, but it warrants the "best daddy and husband" title, and makes me very glad it was his turn...sort of.  Anyway, luckily, I guess, most of it was caught in her dress, and Jason got things cleaned up and rushed her to the car, changed her clothes, and let her rest. Poor girl was not at her best.

My poor sick baby.

          In the meantime, I was blissfully listening to the end of the sermon, which as I said before, was exactly what I had needed to hear. You see, Saturday before leaving home, while getting everyone ready and packed and making sure we had basketball stuff and gym leotards, and church clothes for everyone and hair supplies, etc, etc, I had something of an ugly breakdown, and began questioning the logic of this Steeple Chase journey. Did it really make sense to haul our family all over the state to worship with virtual strangers? Was it worth the stress and preparation? Maybe I had misinterpreted what God wanted from me, or maybe I just wasn't cut out for this kind of commitment? I wasn't tidy enough, organized enough, worthy enough, smart enough, thin enough....blah, blah, blah.....to handle this chaos Sunday after Sunday.

        But in my head, in my heart, I continued to hear that old familiar tune, "Come, come, come, come...." and I knew, at least for this weekend, we would be continuing our journey at Wildwood.

         So as sweet children's ministers and the love of my life, dealt with my poor sick child, I hung on the words of World Outreach Director, Kevin Bradford, as he spoke of  God's directions to Abram in Genesis 12: 1-3. Words that encouraged Abram to leave his country (our community?), his people (our familiar congregation?), his father's household (our church?) and to GO. To go so that "all peoples on earth will be blessed through you." Mr. Bradford went on to encourage us to ask, "Lord, where do you want me?" and to go through the doors that God will open when we ask.

 

         This past Sunday, the door God opened was to Wildwood Community Church, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have walked through. Despite breakdowns and throw ups, and all the doubt that Satan orchestrated to keep us from this experience, we obeyed our calling and were rewarded with so many blessings. From the music, to the fantastic children's ministry, to the friendly welcoming committee, to the sermon that was so relevant for us that day, and finally to the sweet call we received from one of the children's workers saying she just wanted to tell us how happy they were to have us visit and to say she was sorry that our little girl wasn't able to stay the whole time, we feel so very blessed by our adventure at Wildwood and pray that this beautiful family of God will continue to touch lives, to reach out, to bless others and to promote the Kingdom, and that through our weekly Steeple Chase, our little family will be able to do the same.






      

Binger Baptist: Bring on the Bones!

     Uh-oh, it was Saturday again, and we still hadn't decided where to attend Sunday services this week. We'd tossed around a few ideas and prayed for guidance, but hadn't come to any real decisions, until during a celebratory meal for my grandmother's 85th birthday, my cousin started telling me about how excited her middle son was about what was happening at their church the next morning, and I knew we had to go!

     So Sunday morning, we packed up the kids and went on a little hour and a half road trip to Binger, Oklahoma: land of baseball, birthplace of Johnny Bench, and home to the Binger Baptist Church. Even without directions, we found our location in this small town easily, turning right at the light because it just felt right, and coming along side it on the south side of Main Street (Or what appeared to be THE main street, although I'm not certain of its actual title.)

    I really wasn't sure what to expect and was surprised and pleased when I saw that the church was a combination of the old and the new. Originally established in 1916 by Baptist missionaries, the older part of the church connected to a beautiful new sanctuary by a covered portico. According to my sweet cousin the congregation had simply outgrown the old sanctuary and a new one was completed in 2010. The original worship area now houses their youth ministry, amply providing for the needs of all 165 regularly attending members.

    The new sanctuary is open and airy and inviting. We were greeted at the door by a friendly gentleman welcoming us to church and handing us a bulletin, swept through the lovely foyer, and entered the sanctuary, where we took in the spacious seating which faced a large stage with a stain-glass bedecked baptismal behind, and a number of giant dinosaur skeletons. Yes, dinosaurs! This is where things become a little out of the ordinary.

                                            

      For you see, my cousin and I's conversation the night before had revealed that rather than their regular Sunday service, where my cousin's husband and pastor of BBC, Mark Price, would be conducting the service and providing the message, this Sunday they were hosting a representative from the Creation Truth Foundation. Dr. Charles Jackson was there to share about God's word and creation and to show some of  the science behind Creationism, dinosaurs in the Bible, and the fallacy behind Darwin's Theory of Evolution. In addition, the Creation Truth Foundation had provided a mobile museum, and the entire stage area was taken up with what I'm assuming are replicas of dinosaur fossils, full bodies both large and small, heads, and eggs, and footprints. It was a dinosaur-lovers dream come true, and the kids were ecstatic!

                                  

   

      Now I have to admit, I feel a little guilty that in the 15 or so years Kandy and Mark have been married, and especially in the past 5 years that Mark has served as pastor at Binger Baptist, we've never made an effort to hear Mark preach, and when we FINALLY do make an appearance for Sunday worship it's on a day when there's a guest speaker, but I promise it's nothing personal, and after our journey is over, we'll definitely be back for a "normal" worship service.

    But in the meantime, you can't even imagine how excited my two youngest daughters (and my husband) were about these dinosaurs.  Before the service began, Dr. Jackson encouraged them to get up close and personal with the fossils, take pictures, read the educational plaques, etc, and boy did they! I think every mother in the room was holding their breathe and praying it wouldn't be their child who knocked the Albertosauras Libratus skeleton to the floor and smashed it to smithereens. There was a collective maternal sigh of relief when we were asked to take our seats and worship service began.

    Worship service began as I assume it traditionally does, with a prelude and welcome, followed by a couple of lovely old hymns. Unlike many small town churches I've attended, this church accompanied their hymns with not only a piano and organ, but also an electric keyboard, played by none other than my talented cousin and friend, Kandy Price. The three instruments sounded lovely together, and as we lifted our voices in song, lead by the talented Kenny Violette, I felt content, at ease, and touched by the spiritual knowledge that God was at home in this house of worship. It's hard to explain, but everything just. felt. right.    

     Following the music, Dr. Jackson took the floor, and for the next bit of time (30 minutes? 3 hours? I really couldn't tell you because we were all so engrossed), we were both entertained and educated beyond any possible expectations. Do not make the mistake of combining images of scientist and the dry eye guy in this particular case, but imagine a more handsome but equally passionate version of Jeff Goldbloom from Jurassic Park and Independence Day with the brain of a true scientific genious, and the ability to keep the attention of both young and old alike. Truly it was astonishing. In a matter of minutes he had rattled off more information about creation, Noah's flood, and dinosaurs described in the book of Job than I ever thought to comprehend. He effectively urged the church to take heart because science and our faith do not contradict one another, but in reality every scientific fact (not theory- that's an important distinction) can be backed by the Word of God. (If you're interested in learning more, I highly recommend checking out their website at www.creationtruth.com).

       He ended his session with a question and answer time that could have gone on and on but eventually had to come to a close, much to the disgust of our 5 year old, who did not get her very important question about whether or not the T-Rex was actually the King of the Dinosaurs answered. The worship service concluded with a final song, offering, and prayer. Afterwards, Dr. Jackson took time to visit with the children (and my husband), answering many questions, such as "Do dogs go to heaven?" and the difference between evolution and survival of the fittest. Eventually, I had to drag my family away, as we had been asked to lunch at the home of the pastor and wife, and I knew the kids would want some time to play with their cousins before we hit the trail.



Our middle daughter is obviously mesmerized, as indicated by her glowing eyes.
(Sorry, I need to get a phone with a better camera, or work on my editing skills.
It's a process, people. I'm getting there.) 

       Our journey to Binger Baptist was an experience we will not soon forget. We met some lovely fellow believers, felt truly welcome and at home, and enjoyed the guest speaker immensely. Thanks so much to Mark and Kandy Price for the invitation to attend your church. What a blessing this experience has been so far! Thank you for joining us on our Steeple Chase this week. Your interest and support mean the world to us. God bless you!



Middle Daughter's Steeple Chase Journal Entry.

   

    
 

And We're Off!

    I grew up attending a tiny little country church in the ghost town of Lenora, Oklahoma. The pews numbered 12-ish and were seldom completely full. The congregation teetered on the edge of 35 on a good day, and the people were family- both literally and figuratively. So you can imagine my awe as we approached Boston Avenue United Methodist Church, and found ourselves gazing up into this:

  Built in the 1920's when Tulsa oil was king and Art Deco was the modern design of choice, the 14 story bell tower alone is a massive departure from the church of my childhood, whose entirety could fit in the front entryway! We sat in the parking lot for a few minutes feeling overwhelmed and watching to see where other parishoners were choosing to enter. We noticed most were walking past the gracious front steps and entering a less strenuous doorway beneath the stairs, but we decided to brave the climb and enter the gorgeous arched doorways as surely God and the architect must have intended. Above the doors carved stone statues of Charles, John, and Susanna Wesley looked at us solemnly, and I have to admit that I felt a little out of my league and was very relieved to have my stalwart husband by my side.

     Fortunately, the church was prepared for members and visitors alike with strategically placed beribboned volunteers to welcome and help us along the way. We were given directions to the restrooms and library, where a tour would begin after the service, offered coffee and snacks, handed an impressively thick bulletin, and shown into a magnificent round sanctuary.

                                                             It. Was. Incredible.


     Pinks and mauves and purples and whimsical, cheerful stained glass windows and a high vaulted ceiling that made me want to throw back my head and arms and do full spinning circles in the center of the room. I didn't. I wanted to, but I didn't. I might have, but fortunately, before I lost complete control of myself, I realized there was a BALCONY! I definitely wanted to sit in the balcony, so we climbed the steps with their lovely old fashioned iron handrails, and chose seats in the very front and center where we could take it all in.

   













     We took our places in the decades old, theatre-style seats and then giggled and adjusted, leaving a seat between us, as the chairs groaned and we realized they were created in a different time, for a people who were likely much smaller than my husband's 6'2", 280 pound frame.

      His knees settled against the balcony railing as an invisible choir began to sing from somewhere beneath us. Moments later they came into view, robed regally in a heathery kind of purple, and led by boys and girls in white, carrying a pair of crosses and the acolyte wands (sticks? candle lighting thingies?). The music was sweet and harmonies and echoed beautifully around us. They sang so lovely in fact, that my husband wanted to ask for a pillow and blanket and for them to please not stop singing for at least an hour. I wouldn't let him; although, to be honest, I did catch him snoozing a couple times even without a pillow. (In his defense, we did have a very late night prior to our visit, and they were oh, so soothing.)

     The service that followed was traditional Methodism at it's finest. Choral calls to prayer, congregational responses, hymns dating back to the 16th century, and something new to us, a Psalter, where a gray-bearded man with a majestic sounding voice would sing a pair of  verses from Psalm 29 and we would sing the next few verses in response.  All seemed to connect me with believers of the past as I'd never experienced before. I could almost picture them filling the surprising number of empty seats around us in their pin-striped suits and fancy Sunday hats. I can't claim to have had a major encounter with the Holy Spirit during the service (perhaps because I was so busy taking in all the sights and sounds), but I definitely felt blessed to be part of such a long line of believers and to worship God in the same method as so many before us.

     After an enjoyable and thought-provoking sermon by Senior Minister Reverend David Wiggs and one final choral response, we made our way to the library for the promised tour. Our tour guide was lovely and very knowledgeable, and I'm kicking myself right now for not getting her name. She walked us throughout the building, pointing out fascinating tidbits such as the repetition of angled arches throughout the church which symbolize God's blessing on all who pass through and the incredible 3,000 pound art deco style mosaics which were added in 1993 when the congregation celebrated their 100th anniversary. Every window, every statue, every color, shape, and light had spiritual and/or historical significance, which is exactly as architectural designer and art teacher, Dr. Adah Robinson had planned. (Personally, I think it's very cool that the structure was designed by a woman in the 1920's. More research on her is definitely in my future! And if you're interested in finding out more about Boston Ave UMC take a look at http://www.bostonavenue.org/ for more information.)

    All in all, our awe did not diminish in the least from our first glimpse to our final farewells. The building alone made me want to praise God for the glory of His house of worship and the creativity of His creation, and the sweet congregational members, lovely, distinguished worship service and friendly, well-spoken pastor were just icing on the cake. We would happily return and bring our daughters along, but our next visit will have to wait, as we continue Chasing Steeples in the Sundays to come.

Steeple Chase 2015: Where do you want to go to church tomorrow?

     It started with a question, "Where do you want to go to church tomorrow?" It was a question I didn't want to ask, but after weeks (months? years?) of feeling restless in our current church home, I found myself asking it weekly as we settled into bed on Saturday nights. It wasn't as if our church family had done anything wrong, and the service was basically what we'd experienced our entire lives, but we just couldn't shake the feeling that God was pushing us to ....Something else? Someplace different? Something more? We just didn't know.
    We'd discussed changing churches but weren't sure where to go, and we had no desire to hurt those we would leave behind. It was a conundrum we prayed about often, and as I lay down each Saturday night, I hoped God had revealed an answer to my husband that I had not been privy to, but each Sunday morning, we would return to our home church, or attend our childhood churches with our parents, or even occasionally conduct our own service at home with our children in leadership positions, and we continued to wonder what God had in mind for us, until recently.
     As the new year made it's debut, an idea began to tickle the back of my mind. I began to think of all the beautiful, historic churches I've noticed through the years and how I've always said that someday I'd like to go to church there. I thought about the architecture and historical significance, and I wondered about the congregations within. Who are they and how do they worship? Can you feel the presence of the Lord within those walls? What kind of service is held, and would the people welcome a visiting family into their fold?
     At first, I thought it would be an interesting research project that I could do during the week while my kids were in school. I could visit the churches, take pictures and study them, and maybe even end up with a nice Shutterfly book in the end, but the night before the first Sunday of the year, as I asked the same old question as I climbed into bed, my sweet husband gave his patented, oh-so-informational answer of, "I don't know. Where ever you want, " and the words began to tumble out.
     "I think I want to go EVERYWHERE," I spilled excitedly, "I have this idea to research churches and I think we should go to a different church every Sunday for a year. I want to see and experience worship in all different ways and see what God has to show us through the body of Christ."
     As I spoke words I hadn't even realized I was thinking, I felt a spark of excitement and fear arise, and as a plan took shape in my mind, I felt God's presence in my heart and truly felt that at long last, our weekly question had been answered, only to be asked again and again and again (but in a completely different way) as the year progresses.
     So the next morning, our family said farewell for now to our home church in order to set out on an adventure, a journey into the body of Christ, and an answer to that weekly query, "Where do you want to go to church tomorrow?"
     The possibilities are endless and our expectations are high. We're looking for a place to worship, a place full of believers, a place different from where we've been, or a place of comfortable familiarity. We're looking to belong to the extended body of Christ and learn more about the who, where, whys and hows of our fellow believers, and we're willing to go on a crazy sort of Steeple Chase to find it.