Six weeks, six Sunday mornings we walked into the large, beautiful church building hoping that someone other than just the greeter would smile, say hello or just make us feel welcome in some small way.

I had researched the churches in the area on the web. We had first narrowed down the ones we would visit to the three that struck a cord with us in some way. When push came to shove though there was only one we wanted to attend. And so we did, for six weeks.

Six weeks of feeling like we didn’t belong, like we weren’t part of this group. Six weeks of being lost among the 3000 or so hip, beautiful people that attended each Sunday. Six weeks of listening to the deafeningly loud worship music by the extremely talented band.

The preaching was good, really good. But something was wrong and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Everything looked perfect yet something just wasn’t right. Still we kept attending because we wanted this to be our church home.

It wasn’t until our oldest son was invited by a friend from work to attend a small church, that was actually closer to our home than this one, that we almost entertained the thought of visiting it too.

The first week Niko went to the small church we were treated to a video sermon at the big, perfect church. And when I say treated I’m not trying to give you the impression we liked it. Some people may not be bothered by a video sermon. I, on the other hand, found myself fidgeting like crazy in between bouts of dosing off. Not good.

And so the next week it didn’t take much cajoling from Niko to get us to say we’d go with him to the small church.

We walked in and a man walked up to introduce himself, shake our hands, and whole-heartedly welcome us. He remembered Niko’s name from the week before. He answered a few of our questions and in one fell swoop convinced me that my presence there mattered. He wasn’t the only one either, others did the same. After the service, which truly seemed Spirit-led, no one rushed out to their car. People talked and hugged and smiled kind of like family does when a celebration nears its end.

The second week proved that the first wasn’t a fluke. A sweet older woman invited me to her home for a Bible study the following Wednesday. She caught me by surprise and without thinking I said yes. I say without thinking because I’m not sure how I feel about woman’s Bible studies anymore.

Often the Bible isn’t really being studied but a Christian book instead. During the studies I’ve attended sin has run rampant. Gluttony and gossip are never confronted but “covered by grace.” Whatever that means?!

My yes means yes though so I went.

As I got out of my car I was pleasantly surprised to see the pastor getting out of his and he had his Bible in his hand, no book just his Bible. It turns out this was not a woman’s Bible study but instead it was attended by both men and women. The best part? They were all – um how can I say this without sounding bad – much older than me. They were saints who had known the Lord for 3, 4, maybe 5 times longer than me. What a delight!

The kids have made friends. The church even hosts a one-day-a-week homeschool academy.  It’s just been so easy to become involved.

I know that things will not always be perfect. No fellowhip is perfect. We weren’t looking for perfection. We were looking for a church home. And now that we’ve found it, it’s just one of things for which I’m thankful.