Sometimes it’s hard to not occasionally be discouraged as a small town church family.
Big churches have huge youth groups.
They take lots of big overseas mission trips.
The young adults go on retreats.
There are plenty of women to teach children’s class so the young moms might never have to do it.
If you’re in an unsocial mood one Sunday, you can sneak in and sneak out without your presence ever being noticed.
Sometimes it’s hard to go to church in a small town. So many families leave for the big city churches.
But all that being said . . . I love going to church and watching the high school boy lead singing or serve the Lord’s Supper.
I love going to a church where every person knows me and my family by name. They notice our presence or our absence.
I love going to church with sweet older people that we know personally, who set strong examples for our family.
I love going to church where the middle-aged adults try to get my shy boys to speak to them.
I love going to a church where my husband has plenty of opportunities to serve. To lead. He led singing this morning.
My spirit was completely renewed today.
I watched my husband lead singing. But more importantly, my boys watched him lead singing.
After church, we adults were standing around talking and we heard some screeching/screaming sounds coming from the nursery.
We realized it was just my son, Beau. Singing.
He had pulled up a chair in front of his brother, Brock. Pulled out his little Bible and was singing his little heart out. For at least five minutes.
I watched my son watching my husband this morning. He noticed.
Being a part of a small church has made me realize God can use “small” people. He doesn’t just use “special” people.
He doesn’t just use the PhD Bible students. He doesn’t just use the choir voice singers.
He uses people like my husband. He uses regular people.
Small churches aren’t better than big churches and big churches aren’t better than small churches.
But today, I am so very thankful to be raising my kids right now in a small church. Where their own daddy has opportunities to serve and lead.
They’re watching. I know they are.
And I know that growing up, my son will have watched his own daddy, in his small town church. Leading both inside and outside of those walls.
And I am so thankful for that.
Originally published on the author’s page