A little note from the PK

Why is it that Sunday mornings are the most hectic mornings of the week? I can wake at 6am and still find myself rushing into Sunday morning service with two different earrings and a four year old covered in pop tart crumbs, sporting a fresh milk mustache. Somehow my less than quiet crew manages to find the only open seat in the house which just so happens to be closer to the front that I would like. If only this were a solitary event,, unfortunately I believe this rush to worship is somewhat of a Natalie trademark. At least as I tip toe along the side isle in hopes of a discreet entrance I know that my father is not awaiting me at the alter to point out the obvious- "Nat, honey, your late." That was the scene some 15 years ago at my beloved hometown church of First Baptist Newland. Its hard to go unnoticed when your the preachers kid. Speaking of,, what does it take to be a PK you might ask. Well there are a few things... but number one, lack of punctuality... I mean why set the standard high for the other members...if the preachers kid can be 20 minutes late why cant we all? Growing up as the PK offered pros and cons but for the most part I believe it to be positive, who else had 350 mothers watching out to ensure they did the right thing? Sorry I let some of you down, I am made in His image but still human you know. As I grow older in age and in faith I find that the church I grew up in has somewhat spoiled me. I have searched high and low for a church that has a Charlie B. but still no luck, and why is it so difficult to find a faith family with a Bet and Doran? I recall my very first encounter with the high pitched voice of Charlie B. My parents had left me in the car in front of what was now our home while they milled around inside, I woke terrified at four years old to a smiling mustached man whom I would later come to know as one of the most wonderful people in my life, side by side he and Marge took me by the hand and introduced me to my new home on Shady street. On any given Sunday I can take a trip down memory lane and almost taste the corn casserole on homecoming Sunday. There is a reason my trips are planned around my fathers anniversary,, the secret is out folks, I love your cookin'. I am sure as you read this you can quote my father as well as I, "Children let the older adults go through the line first." This request was then, and I imagine still is promptly followed by 25 nine year olds running full speed ahead to the fellowship hall where they successfully claim their spot at the front of the line. Aside from the decedent desserts as prepared by what I believe to be in close running with Paula Dean herself, my home town church is irreplaceable because of one simple word... l O V E. If ever I need a good dose of good ole fashion, feel good because God is good, love, I make my way back to those who love me most. I know that when I enter those double doors I will be embraced by the arms of a jolly Bob Garland who says "good to see ya, Nat" and I know he means it. I can look around and name each and everyone of my family members that have seen me grow and learn and who love me because like them I am a child of God. These are the people who work together to further Gods kingdom be it by singing a joyful song from the choir loft or dropping off enough home grown veggies to feed all of Avery County. There is a piece of me that never wants to find a replacement for what I call home and you know what? Maybe I am not suppose to, it is with gratitude and appreciation that I come home over and over again to see what God is doing with his church in Newland and the sweet little lady's kisses on my forehead as if I am still 5years old dont hurt either. Now as I make my way up the isle with my rowdy little boys I look around at all the eyes looking our way and wonder if these could be the ones who grow to love my little guys,as my church loved me, bad behavior and all.