Being able to go back to Atlanta in order to celebrate (er…worship) was an awesome experience. As I kneeled on the floor in front of the communion table of FPC-Atlanta, I was taken back to my Junior year of high school when I knelt on the same floor. The tile was just as uncomfortable then as it was now.
I recalled standing behind the pulpit by Senior of year of high school to preach my first sermon…about Peter getting out of the boat and taking a risk by walking on water.
As my father and mother came forward to present me with the robe and stole (yes, I have been called to place where robes are required, God has a good sense of humor), I was thinking about how much I loathed sitting on the front row of the balcony. As much as I laugh about my lack of involvement in the church growing up, I realized that this place had a tremendous impact on my faith. I was baptized there (though at 8 years old), I attended Sunday School (though only on the Sundays I had to bring Donuts and juice), I was involved with the youth fellowship and multiple mission trips. My freshman year I was invited by a blonde sophmore girl to help serve the homeless breakfast…how could I say no.
To then be able to stand before these people in order to express my calling into the ministry was a tremendous blessing. It was much more a recognition of how these people had prepared the way for me.