All of my life I wanted to please God. But it seemed like I was failing miserably. It was my second marriage. I was bound and determined to get it right, but it was going all wrong. Mothers and guardian mothers don't seem to teach their daughters the truth of marrying a man who will love you the way that he loves the church. The key unspoken truth we have forsaken; if a man neglects the church he will neglect his family.

I thought “if only I could get him in a church to his liking” everything would then be “howdy-howdy, glory-glory, spiffy-keeno-groovy.” This was my criteria:

Criteria 1: a church that taught the Bible, both the Old and the New Testament. My daughters must know the difference between Moses and Noah, Daniel and Sampson, Miriam and Mary.

Criteria 2: a Pastor who could bury men and my family.

Criteria 3: a Pastor who could comfort me in the event that I had to bury a loved one.

Criteria 4: a Pastor who could comfort my loved ones in the event they had to bury me.

Criteria 5: a Church with “in-reach” taking care of her own flock.

Criteria 6: a Church with “community outreach” serving the neighborhood.

Criteria 7; a Church with “global outreach” ministering over and beyond the red, white and blue shores of America.

So I church hopped until I found 2 that were to my liking and that might be to my husbands liking. I took him worship shopping. He picked First Baptist Danville, “the White one” as it was often referred to so as not to be mistaken for Fist Baptist Church, Danville, “the Black one”.

First Baptist Church on the by-pass, shepherded by Brother Tim Mathis, is a gorgeous churchy church with high angelic vaulted ceilings. A church lavishly embellished with a stained glass Jesus holding a stain glassed little lamb whose eyes follow you no matter where you sat in the sanctuary. The walls are flanked with traditional Christian emblems standing at attention on the walls. A majestic steepled edifice adorned with unobtrusive screens, for modernized videos proclaiming the word. There are conservatively camouflaged speakers with invisible face mikes, the latest in religious techno-savvy for proclaiming “thus saith the Lord.” And for any who might be in doubt every pew has a bird's eye view of a table that fascinated me in every church that I have ever attended, even as a child. The table that without shame testifies, "This Do In Remembrance Of Me".

The day we joined, I was accosted by a tall distinguished looking member of the church who said, “Ya wanna come to Haiti with me? We have our next meeting on Thursday,” My immediate response was “yes!!!” The man stumbled back utterly shocked at my seemingly spur of the moment response. “You pray about it,” he stammered. “I already have.” I beamed. Criteria 7: a church with global outreach. Ecstatic, I looked around to high-5 my husband. In all of my excitement I had not noticed that he had slipped out of the sanctuary. I found him waiting for me in the car.

Before I could even get the car door closed I bubbled, “God called me to go to Haiti and be a missionary. You have got to go with me. Oh I'm so nervous, this is beyond beyond. Just imagine you and me serving God together!”

“God called you, he didn't call me.” It wouldn't have hurt so badly if he would have followed that statement with, “But I support you 100%, you'll do just fine.” My bubble exploded with his gunning of the engine causing the wheels to spin on the parking lot black top. In silence we drove home. My husband never stepped foot into church with me again. I painstakingly learned if he didn't love the church, how could he love me?

Perhaps that's why I'm addicted to Haiti. I love Haiti, and Haiti loves me back. Haiti tells me thank you, we appreciate you, we miss you, we can't wait to see you. Haiti brings me papayas, and oranges and pineapples. Haiti looks me eye to eye and says, “Hurry back!” Haiti gathers a crowd as we all, together, walk to Church. Haiti loves the church. Maybe that's why it is a no brainer that Haiti loves me.



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