Every Sunday evening, this is where we’d be. One of the two international churches in the city.
We loved the community of families that gathered together. We were always greeted at the gate. We were always welcomed. We felt at home.
I loved the indoor/outdoor set up of the building. Until a dust storm came. Then I didn’t love it so much.
We regularly put on children’s programs, which were so wonderful. It was a simple church and that’s one of the things that was beautiful about it.
Here’s my little man in a Christmas Program. Be still my heart.
Girlie used to sit on the ground at our feet and throw fits, which actually look pretty dang cute in this photo.
When she grew up a little she spent many-a-sermon carefully cleaning the dust off her feet. That’s a sad, unending occupation for a little girl who lives in the desert.
So many memories. Time spent in the nursery with wee ones. Teaching Sunday School lessons. Eating finger-food fellowship meals. Setting up a coffee refreshment table. ALWAYS carrying things to church to pass on to someone else to carry on with The Great Stuff Trade. Sweating. Strategically choosing a seat under the fan. Still sweating. Meeting new friends and catching up with the old.
Soon after we left, the property was confiscated. We don’t believe the body of Christ gathers here anymore.
It’s devastating.
Goodbye dear church.
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