Marathon Writing: #3 At Indian Burial Mounds

Things I know about:

I know about church, well at least the Bible and Baptist kind.  As 
my pastor says, I was carried to church, and then dragged to 
church, and finally I came on my own accord.  In some ways that is
probably true for me.  I don't like to think of myself as 
religious although I probably am.  I'd like to of beliefs as more 
personal.  But regardless, church is a big part of my life.  

Each week, for 46 years, I have attended at least two services if not 
three, Sunday School, church, evening church, and Wednesday
night prayer service.  Many weeks there are other events to, so 
church is a familiar place for me.  

I try to remember it as a hospital and not a museum or a military 
battleground, where the wounded are shot.  People from all kinds 
of backgrounds and of all ages form a family of types, sometimes 
closer than one's biological or nuclear family.  

No only is it a place of religious instruction and correction, but
a place of friendships.  My husband and I have been members 
at our church since the Sunday we returned from our honeymoon, 
over twenty five years ago.  We have had the same pastor all that 
time too.  Over two and half decades I could recount to you tens 
of family and hundreds of people who have passes through our 
simple country doors.  Some stopping in only for a visit briefly, 
others for weeks, and some for years, but few for decades.  I 
wonder why that is?  Is it like the parable of the seeds planted 
in different ground?  Some taking root and others choked out?

For me, it has been a saving grace, beside the obvious salvation 
from hell and damnation, (was that too strong?), I have
expanded my family.  I have friends I can call upon in the middle 
of night when the bleeding hasn't stop, and I've already been
to two ERs who have sent me home.  But I give too.  I come when my
friend's two daughters need me as she is being put on a gunnery
and placed in an ambulance for her late-term miscarriage.

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