I came from a tradition where church meant stained glass and polished wood, beautiful paintings touched with gold and ceilings arched so high above that you could imagine they brushed heaven itself. I will forever be able to call to mind the feeling of sitting in the quiet of those places, the way the light filters through colored glass, the smell of incense and daylillies.

And then God took us by the hand and led us to a new place, a new field, a new beginning. He led us to a church where the windows were cracked, where the carpet was threadbare and the walls were scuffed. The ceilings were low, acoustic tiles stained with water because, yes, the roof leaked like it wasn’t even there at times. This church was ugly, it was run down. You would not recognize it as a church, in fact it looked like it was abandoned most of the week.

Except on Sunday. On Sunday, it was beautiful. It was beautiful because it was full of Jesus, it was filled with His people, it was filled with His praises and joy and love and there amidst the trash cans collecting rainwater and the beat-up folding chairs I learned what is true about church:

Church is not a building. Church is a family. {Tweet this}

Church is people becoming the hands and feet of God, church is praying with someone whose heart is hurting, church is bringing a meal and sharing your resources and church is telling the story of how Jesus has changed your life. Church is singing together about the wonders of God and meeting with others to read His word and church is holding someone’s hand as they weep and knowing that they’ll be there to hold yours. Church is a family, a safe haven, a home you come to where you feel safe in the care of your Father…

Posting at The Lulu Tree today, where you will find the rest of this post. Join me there?