December is a difficult month to Steeple Chase. There's something about the holidays that just makes you want to be with your family and your friends; the ones you know and love. We toyed with just quitting, but to be honest, not finishing what I started is a trait I know and dislike about myself, and I've been determined to complete this year long commitment (even if I am a little late getting the writing part done). So, it was with a little bit of sadness and resentment that we allowed our girls to spend the night at their grandparents' and go to church with the family, while Jason and I checked off another church on our list of those we wanted to visit this year, and by the time our morning turned into noon, we'd discovered once again that God knows best and there really is SOMEPLACE like home after all.
It was frigidly cold as we drove across through the Gloss Mountains and across the barren landscape of the Cheyenne Valley to the little Methodist Church tucked just off the highway and hidden behind what was once the Cheyenne Valley School gymnasium. I was a little irritable and huffy as I urged my darling husband to drive just a bit faster, as I was absolutely SURE that without kids at home, we'd easily make it to church on time, and it now seemed that I was wrong. In an unlikely twist, I discovered that morning, contrary to my husbands beliefs, that HE is the one that makes us late each Sunday, and as I cast covert glances at the speedometer, I quickly sent off a text to our friend (and past extension agent) Jim, who had invited us to attend, letting him know we would be late if we EVER made it at all.
We made it, but it turned out many others did not. Between the bone-chilling temperatures keeping some in and the holiday season beckoning others out of town, we walked into a close to empty church despite our practically late arrival. We slipped into a pew next to Jim, and someone said, "Oh, good! Cinnamon can lead the singing." And just like that we found ourselves at home for worship once again.
We shared in the lighting of the advent candles, caught up on community information and prayer requests, and as requested, I made my way up front to lead the small but loyal gathering in singing some traditional Christmas hymns like Oh Come, All Ye Faithful and Joy to the World, and feeling thankful that no one seemed to mind as I muddled my way through the less familiar one Be Still, My Soul that was particularly important to the morning's message.
Pastor Barbara Fyffe, who is also pastor at the Mooreland UMC, shared a beautiful and thought inspiring message wherein she used the visits of the angel Gabriel in the Christmas story to bring hope and direction during a very troubling time in the history of the world. She pointed out the words of Gabriel at the onset of each visit, "Do not be afraid," and encouraged us to take courage in God's consistency. She showed us where each visit from Gabriel followed an outline that told the listener what to expect, what we need to do, and an encouragement that the Holy Spirit will be with you. She also noted the various responses of those key characters in the story and asked each of us how we would respond to a visit from Gabriel, and how we are currently responding to what God is currently asking in our own lives. We were very impressed with the eloquence of Pastor Fyffe and the excellent message she shared that morning, and we were both very glad that we stayed the course and continued our Steeple Chase despite our momentary desire to abandon the idea entirely.
After the service was over, no one was in any hurry to rush back out into the cold and we all stood together in the sanctuary sharing stories of the week and laughing over the pastor's most recent run in with the highway patrol. I asked questions about the church and one or the other attempted to answer. Thinking back to the last celebration they'd had and deciding that the church must be over a hundred years old at least. They recalled the original building burning and the current one being build sometime around the 1950s perhaps and the fact that there used to be another church across the way and another something here and something else the other way. I was enjoying the fellowship and conversation so much, I forgot to write a single thing down, and the fact is, it isn't the history of the church that matters so much as its presence in the present. It's the security it provides to the people of the community, a place to worship, a place to share family and friendship and food. It's a place that lacks pretense but provides the promise of support and encouragement and laughter and prayer. Cheyenne Valley United Methodist Church is a little dot in the midst of a giant backdrop and to the few but faithful that worship there, it is most surely home.
