Saturday Afternoon - "The Footstool"

Sometimes I cry when I come to the church - not from sadness but from joy.  I love walking its halls when they are quiet - like today, a Saturday afternoon - and sensing the shadow that is cast by our city as it drives by.  I relish coming into my study, to linger in my room and behind the desk where I've sat since 1994.  But mostly, I pine for walking into our darkened worship center and up the west baptistry stairs to my 'closet', where I pray. There, in this humble room with little decoration at all, I spend time with God.  It is a room 'found' for me by maintenance - an empty closet, really -  and decorated/painted by my friend, Janie Zimmerman. It is simply furnished, and in all this time it has not changed.  I could barely tell you what rests upon its walls - save two pictures of John Wesley and Dwight Moody. But... I can tell you of the stool.  

The stool is an old footstool from my grandparents living room.  I sat on it as a boy, and remember it as a piece of furniture nestled between the chairs of my Mama May and PaPa.  It always held their Bibles, until they sat down, then it would hold me.  I'd sit with them, quietly, listening to their soft, almost muted voices commenting upon scripture and the ways of God, enthralled by the mystery of their faith.  A faith so personal, so close, and so intimate that you could - yes - smell and feel it.  

An impression was made upon me from that old footstool - an impression lasting more than 50 years. So that when I go up to my closet to pray today, I remember.  I remember a faith - first seen in my grandfather and mother, then passed on to my Mom, my Dad, and to me.  And with head bowed and body prone over that same stool, I pray... God move this church by first moving me.  Change me. Make me. Cleanse me from my sin. Let Jesus be seen in me.  And, may Your glory be magnified in this place!  Tomorrow and forever, Amen! 

Pastor Sam 

15 August, 2009