I'm in my home town - the town we lived in when I was born - this weekend. We moved away when I was 5 but returned for a number of years for vacations until my mother died when I was ten. But my father owned a piece of property here and about 15 years ago he built a home here. I visit when I can which is not as often as I would like. It takes between 6 and 7 hours to get here. The house my Dad built was built from plans that I grew up seeing so I feel as though the house has always been here even though I was well into my adult years when it was actually built. The house we lived in when I was born is a very short walk for here BTW. I haven't been in it in 40 years but I sure would like to see inside again.
My father is a retired Methodist minister and was the pastor of the church here for those early years. Today he was the guest pastor as the regular pastor is on vacation. So I got to hear my Dad preach again. He's still the standard that I judge all sermons by. It is something to watch him in the pulpit. He is 81 now and his health is not the best. He has heart troubles and is slow to move around and has to take lots of rest. But you don't see much of that, or at least I don't, while he is leading the service and preaching. It really helps me to believe in the power of the Holy Spirit just to watch him lead a service again. And of course he still preaches a great sermon.
Some of the people at church were here when I was an infant. Some are my age cohort and others are older. My old Sunday School teacher is now a ancient woman who laughs when she remembers when she towered over me as I tower over her today. Another women tells me that if I was the first child my father baptised then she was probably the second. It's really great to be back. Sometimes, in some ways, you can go home again.