On Wednesday I loaded up the kids and we drove two and a half hours to my grandma's church. I haven't been there since her funeral but I wanted to see it again. I have lots of great memories tied to this building, like the time we all walked out of the church after my cousin Joanna's wedding and saw an escaped cow calmly walking down the street. Or when I spoke at my cousin Sarah's wedding shower in the church basement, using barbies as my props for the whole talk. We have had family reunions on the lawn, and attended a few pointed funerals. I'll never forget watching my grandma weep in the basement just before her best friend Minnie's funeral.
And there was the Good Friday service when my grandpa read the story of the crucifixion. He was older, the church was only lit with candle light and he was having a hard time seeing the words in his Bible. And I remember realizing in that moment that he was getting older and that this whole death and resurrection story meant something very real in my own life. As he read the words of Jesus' journey on the cross, I pieced together that Grandpa would die one day. But that he actually would live forever because of the very words he was struggling to read.
And then there is the story tied to the very bricks themselves. My grandpa's dad was a part of the group of men who mixed the bricks for the foundation of this church. You can see the original bricks in the picture below, the ones on the very lower level. Way back in 1903, after farming his own land, he would drive his team of horses four miles into town and helped mix and lay the bricks for the original church. And those bricks are still there.
I went back to Immanuel because this church speaks so loudly to me of the firm foundation I have been given in Jesus Christ. I have ancestors that I have never met who literally built a foundation for me to build my own faith. And I am so grateful.
I was lonesome for Grandma and Grandpa when I was there. I was homesick for my childhood and all of the people that filled my life with love who are now gone.
We walked down the sidewalk and played at the Dunnell park for a while and then met my Aunt Annie and Uncle Ed for lunch at the Dunnell cafe. Ivar excitedly told me, "Mom! I get to sit next to Uncle Ed!" And I was happy that he is surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses too.
And then we drove to find the combine in a field where my cousin Sarah and uncle Jake are farming together. Sarah is seven months pregnant with her fourth baby and still full time farming, coaching volleyball and being a mom. She is exceptional.
Uncle Jake came up the row and we got to go for a ride while watching the combine tumble over the soybeans below and pour the beans in the bin behind our heads.
It was a great day trip that left me filled up with gratitude. I want my kids to know the foundation of faithfulness they have been born into. I want them to know the people who have built that foundation for our family. I want them to feel the same responsibility that I do to one day raise their own kids to recognize this firm foundation we have been given through Jesus Christ.
It was a glorious day. The kids slept on the way home until the last half an hour when they woke up in terrible moods. So twenty minutes from our house we stopped at the A&W and remedied their exhaustion with root beer floats. Which was just enough sugar to get us home and tucked into bed, grateful for an awesome five hours of driving for four worthwhile and wonderful hours of family.
