Shelley's Blog

Heart Matters

She was in 6th grade.

She wore a 70's halter top and shorts.

Her hair was not brushed.

There was dirt on her face.

She lived in the mobile home park nearby and had walked over.

And she met me at the entrance of the church.

I was 17 and taught the 4-6 grade Sunday School class at First Baptist Church, Reserve Louisiana.

I was happy to see her but fear ran through me.

What will everyone think if she goes into church looking like that? Maybe I should send her home to clean up, change clothes and put some shoes on.

She was so glad to be there.

Mr. Bill walked out and I hurried over to him.

"What should I do?" I said in a hushed voice. My back was to her and she couldn't hear me.

He was confused. "Do about what?"

"Her. What she's wearing. She's here for church."

He looked at me in a fatherly way and gently said, "God doesn't care what she's wearing. He cares about her heart. Invite her in."

A wave of relief washed over me, followed by shame. Relief to have permission to walk in with her. Shame that the truth  of the matter was I really cared more about what people would think of me than what they thought of her.

We walked in together and she attended Sunday School.

This is the church where I had given my heart to Jesus just a couple of short years earlier.  The church where God healed my spiritual blindness and allowed me to see my own sin and a beautiful glimpse of His perfect love. The church where our youth group was a family and our Sunday School teacher allowed us to be imperfect as we learned and grew. Mr. Ed laughed with us as he taught us.

 Not too many Sunday's after that memorable Sunday, I married the pastor of that small, precious church.

This is the church where I learned to serve God by giving the gifts He gave me back to Him to use as He saw fit.

This is the church where I learned more about His mercy, grace, love and presence through the loss of two babies through miscarriages.

This is the church where I began to learn the act of forgiveness as church folks aren't always the kindest people towards their pastor and his family.

This is the church where God planted the seeds of dreams in my heart and longings in my soul. The thought of seeing them become reality in my life scared me terribly.

This is the church where He laid a foundation on which He is building a memorial to His faithfulness through a lifetime of joys and sorrows.

Fast forward more than 35 years. I am still learning. I still have my judgmental moments; those times when I assume I know more than I do. You know, that instant shake of the head or click of the tongue over someone else's behavior.  Then comes the shame. Feeling so embarrassed over my own piety, or the true lack of it.

And I often hear Mr. Bill's words as God uses them even now, as if I heard them yesterday. I hear God remind me to be kind and unassuming towards others; He's still working on them. And He's still working on me.   

God really is concerned with the heart.