To Bear Witness

“Church. Yep, That Word Again.”

Church.

Just saying the word out loud makes me pause. Time to go to church…

Back in the day—especially when my daughters were younger—and this Mom saying “Time to get up! We’re going to church!” would earn me synchronized groans, Olympic-level eye rolls, and full-blown preteen melodrama. Once they hit middle school? Oh, honey, I might as well have said, “We’re going to shovel manure barefoot in January.”

Fast forward to 2025 …somewhere along the way, church became… something else.

Now, it’s a home of sorts. It is a place where people from all walks of life gather. They may be tattooed, pierced, pressed, polished, or pajama’d. They come together for at least one sacred hour to say, “Hey… I see you. We’re still here. We made it.”

You might get a hug. A handshake. A fist bump. A wave. Or maybe just a sleepy nod that says, “Yeah, I’m still recovering from Saturday too.” But we’re there. And that’s something. Because, let’s face it—just getting up and showing up is holy work.

Then, we all cram into the same room, facing a worship team that hopefully had more coffee than we did. We shake off the brain cobwebs. We discard the headlines and the weird dreams. We remove the leftover mascara and the baby spit-up. We also manage the husband who still thinks “helping” means supervising.

And then… the music starts.

You don’t have to sing. You can just stand there and let it wash over you. You can ugly cry. Or air drum. Or stare at the lyrics until something in you clicks. And sometimes, just sometimes, your soul remembers—God is still good. And worthy of all this praise.

But let’s not pretend I always felt this way.

Church used to feel… complicated. Sometimes beautiful. Sometimes terrifying. I felt a mix of awe and guilt. There was confusion and a deep fear. I worried that I might spontaneously combust if I walked through the sanctuary doors. (Note to self: never attend back-to-back tent revivals featuring Hell, Fire, and Brimstone down south without a proper debrief.)

There were years church felt more like a courtroom than a sanctuary. One wrong look, one loud laugh, one extra wiggle in the pew? You’d get The Look. Maybe even The Pinch. The whispered threat of “Do it again and see what happens.”

And then… there was the bathroom incident.

Let’s just say, getting your bare bottom whooped for the sake of “correction” sends a mixed message. This happens right before being marched back into church to learn about God’s unconditional love. Just a bit.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not sharing this for sympathy. Honestly, I’m grateful for the mess and the mercy. But I do wonder how many kids receive a version of Jesus. This version feels more like a list of violations. It feels less like a loving invitation.

Sometimes it’s not Jesus that drives people away from church.

It’s the Christians. (Yup, I said it.)

Because somewhere along the way, fear-based faith became normal. “God loves you, BUT…” sermons became routine. And instead of being led to Love, we were guilted into performance. Do the right things. Say the right prayer. Get dunked. Earn your spiritual Girl Scout badges.

But here’s the thing: kids don’t need fear to find Jesus.

They need to be loved well. Led gently. Modeled grace.

Your first memory of church might be punishment, shame, or silent pew warfare. If so, you will likely associate God with a belt. You won’t think of a blessing.

Now, at 50 years old, I can say I’ve been to more churches than I’ve owned shoes. I’ve read Bible translations with words I still can’t pronounce. I’ve opened my mind. Then I closed it. I have reopened it again as I try to understand how faith fits into the mess of real life.

And what I’ve learned is this:

Jesus never asked us to scare people into Heaven.

He asked us to love them toward it.

So when I look around my church now—this one I call home—I see people who get that.

The reason I call “The Bridge” my church home… is this… There I see laughter and tears. Kids being kids. Adults being honest. No performative perfection, just community. Worship that doesn’t demand… it invites.

There’s no chart to fill, no spiritual gold stars to collect. Just hearts trying to heal. Souls trying to sing. People trying to remember who they are and whose they are.

So, to all the parents dragging groaning kids to church, wondering if it’s even worth it—keep showing them love. Not just rules. Not just rituals. Real, messy, holy, hilarious, healing LOVE.

That’s where Jesus shows up.

And hey, if your kid learns to love the donuts in the lobby first? That’s okay. So did I.

https://www.thebridgegulfcoast.org/

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

— Matthew 19:14