As Daddy straightened the numbers on the attendance board, I picked up one of the offering plates. "Ok Debbie, let’s get started." Daddy and I were going to make sure that God’s house was ready for visitors on Sunday morning.
We walked down the aisle to the front of the sanctuary. After I set the offering plate on the altar, I joined Daddy in the second row. Taking my 4-year old hands, Daddy reminded me how to straighten the hymnals in their rack. After making sure that they were sitting upright, with their golden letters facing out, he pushed one to each side. Then placing my hands on either side of the center hymnal he told me to spread my fingers wide. That made the perfect space between the hymnals, and centered the middle one beautifully. Daddy reminded me to do the same for all of the racks. As I began to make my way from the front to the back, then across the aisle and from the back down to the front again, Daddy took care of readying the pulpit. He cleaned out any old papers, emptied the water glass and cleaned it out, then setting it back in it’s spot, he would reach up and adjust the microphone.
By then I was on my second round through the pews. I picked up little balls of wadded paper and gum wrappers, bits of threads and fuzz from the seats, racks and floor. Whenever my little hands got full, I would carry my findings down the aisle to the altar and place them into the offering plate that I had set there at the beginning of our night, then I would skip back to the place where I left off and begin my treasure hunt for trash again. On one of my trips down to the offering plate, I asked Daddy, "God doesn’t like messes does he." With a bit of a start, but in his gentle way, he met me by the altar. Why do you say that? We, work each week to make sure that everything is just right in God’s house, so there isn’t a mess. Yes, Debbie, that is right. My smile faded into a crinkled brow. So Jesus must not like messes, but Daddy, I get messy . . . Before I could say any more, Daddy took me into his arms and gave me a big squeeze. Then he began to explain . . . Jesus loves us just the way we are. Like we sing in church, "Just as I am . . ." God wants us to come to him no matter how messy we are. That’s easy for you, I replied, you always say that you never got dirty as a child. Daddy bowed his head with a grin and a chuckle then looking into my eyes, he said in a voice that he used when he was teasing, oh that’s true, just never ask Aunt Evelyn about it. Putting my hand over my mouth I tried to stop the giggle bubbling up inside me, but it escaped and Daddy and I both through our heads back and laughed.
Then Daddy continued, look at this offering plate here, it has all kinds of little bits of trash and stray strings in it. Our lives are kind of like that but if we place our lives and our hearts on God’s altar he takes our offering mess and all, and changes it into something more beautiful than we can even imagine. That’s good, I said with a smile of relief, and we started our next tasks for the night.
After straightening each chair into it’s proper place on the platform, we then went to the organ. There we cleaned off the music rack, and Daddy made sure that the new music was in its proper order in the black book. I used one of his clean hankies to dust off the keys and the bench. When the microphone was positioned, we crossed the platform and did the same for the piano. Daddy was whistling a familiar tune, as he worked and I couldn’t help but notice that there must be something more to our Saturday night ritual.
In the choir loft, I repeated my hymnal straightening while Daddy checked each music folder, and placed them just so on the seats.
Next we went into his office, and picked up the piles of bulletins that we had printed and folded earlier in the week. I carried all that I could hold and followed Daddy in the familiar path around the church where he placed bulletins in their proper spots for the choir, musicians, one on each platform seat and then two on the pulpit. Daddy never put his bible or his sermon notes out on Saturday night, but he left the space for them where they would be on Sunday morning.
I couldn’t stop thinking, and finally I asked, so if Jesus doesn’t mind messes, why do we clean his house each Saturday night? Though my questions were slowing our progress down, Daddy wasn’t cross, once again he sat down on the platform steps and taking me in his arm he explained.
It isn’t about messes; it is about preparing God’s house for his people. Do you remember that after Jesus was resurrected and then had spent some time with his followers, he went back into heaven? Yes. Well, Jesus told his deciples " I go to prepare a place for you, and if I go to prepare a place for you I will come again and receive you unto myself that where I am there ye may be also. After a pause, I asked, "what’s the zipcode?" Daddy laughed, as he had always preached that we not only need to memorize bible verses, but we had to remember their "zipcodes" so we could share them with others. He said smiling, John 14:2b-3. So our readying the church is like Jesus’ readying heaven.
He smiled and kissed my forehead, and we went on to the back of the church with the rest of the bulletins. He placed them neatly where the ushers could reach them and hand them out to everyone as they came in for Sunday morning worship.
One more trip back down the aisle took us to the choir room where the robes were hanging. I watched as Daddy made sure the robes were all facing the same way, and each had their collar. I picked up a few hangers that had found their way to the floor, and he hung them on the far end of the clothing bar. He stood back with a thoughtful look, then smiled down at me and we headed into his office. There Daddy straightened a few things on his desk and then placed the last bulletin he had been carrying on it in the middle of his writing area. I pushed in his chair, and with a flick of the light, we headed back into the sanctuary.
Our last task was to make sure that the flowers on the communion table were arranged just so. Daddy made sure that there was plenty of water in the vase, and then he picked little brown leaves, and petals off till the arrangement looked fresh and perfect. As I picked up the offering plate with it’s growing pile of trash, I told Daddy, this is a lot of work. With a chuckle, he agreed while his eyes were still going over the flowers.
Jesus works harder getting heaven ready . . . (I was thinking out loud.) He is knocking on doors, cleaning up heaven, placing a lot of bulletins around, getting the angels’ robes straight and he has to cook too! . . . Daddy turned with a puzzled look, cook? You know, like the funny song we sing, . . . "with angel food cake on the table, and heavenly alamode pie . . ." with a laugh and a smile Daddy joined in, "and all down the line we will sing shout and shine, at the homecoming feast in the sky". . . . So church is almost like heaven, right Daddy?
We eat a lot at church. Yes we do. I like to eat! I said with big eyes and a big smile, Daddy agreed with that familiar twinkle in his eyes, I do too!
Daddy took the offering plate in one hand and my hand in his other and as we walked back down the aisle I said, Daddy, I want to be with Jesus right now. Debbie, only God knows when we each can join him in heaven, and it will be a long time before . . . I cut him off, no Daddy, I don’t mean heaven, I mean in your heart. Everyone knows that Jesus lives in your heart. Daddy’s expression changed to one I had never seen before; he set the offering plate down and knelt down beside me in the back of the church.
Daddy swallowed hard, and taking me into his biggest hug, he said, Debbie you are already in my heart. You always will be. If you really want to be close to Jesus, we can pray together and Jesus will come into your heart too. How would you like that? I couldn’t speak, as I nodded my head, Daddy had me kneel down beside him at the end of the closest pew, and with my folded hands in his, I prayed after him, Dear Jesus, Please forgive me of my sins, please come into my heart, as I trust you to be my lord and savior, In Jesus’ name, amen. Daddy’s tear dropped into my hands as we looked up at each other.
Jesus is happy, Daddy. How do you know? Because he is smiling inside me. Daddy hugged me tight and said Jesus is smiling inside me too.
As we got up to leave, we took the offering plate and emptied the contents into a little trashcan. Daddy made sure that the plate was now clean, and he placed it with the others in the stack by the bulletins. We unlocked the door, daddy turned out the last light, and then he locked the door from the other side. As he gave the handle a jiggle to make sure the door was secure, I tugged on his pant leg,
Daddy? Yes Debbie, I know another reason why Jesus went back up to heaven . . . Why is that? He likes being with HIS Daddy, TOO!
