PART FOUR — A Frigid Morning, Open Doors, and Quiet Questions

A Morning That Didn’t Ease Into Sunday

The morning didn’t ease into Sunday.

It arrived sharp and unapologetic.

Twenty-two degrees.
The kind of cold that stings your face, stiffens your hands, and makes the inside of your truck feel like a temporary refuge before stepping back into reality.

I remember pausing for just a moment before opening the door, asking myself — not dramatically, just honestly — am I really doing this today?

But I was.

This wasn’t just about attending a service.
It was about continuing a journey — one that doesn’t come with a map or directions clearly marked in advance.

Trying to Find a Church

Before I ever turned the key, I did what most people do now: I opened Google.

That alone became its own lesson.

Searching for a church — Baptist, Missionary Baptist, non-denominational — produced vague and often misleading results. Zoomed out, the map showed very few churches. Zoomed in, suddenly they appeared everywhere. Some were sponsored listings, clearly paid placements, while others felt buried unless you already knew their name.

It made me realize something important:

Finding a church today isn’t as simple as typing “church near me.”

If you don’t already know where you’re going, the process can feel confusing, incomplete, and even discouraging. That’s a conversation worth exploring later — but it stayed with me as I finally chose a destination and headed out into the cold.

The First Welcome

Before I ever stepped inside the building, something happened that mattered.

Guest parking was clearly marked.
Not overwhelming.
Not flashy.
Just clear. Easy to understand. Plenty of room.

And as soon as I stepped out of my truck, a man standing a short distance away called out, “Welcome.”

Not loudly.
Not rehearsed.
Just genuine.

His name was Greg.

We joked about the cold — twenty-two degrees is no small thing — and he laughed, saying something about his wife making him stand out there. He asked if it was my first time. I told him yes. Without hesitation, he said, “Let me show you around.”

He didn’t point.
He walked.

Coffee bar.
Welcome desk.
Restrooms.
Sanctuary.

“If you need anything at all,” he said, “don’t hesitate to ask. Make yourself at home.”

Then he introduced himself again, asked my name, and said, “Glad to have you here, John.”

That interaction alone mattered more than he probably realized.

Coffee and Casual Moments

I told Greg I was going to grab some coffee — I needed it.

The coffee bar was small and simple. No line. No pressure. Just help yourself.

Young people were gathered there making drinks. An older gentleman sat quietly in a chair against the wall. I joked out loud, asking where the good coffee was, and someone smiled and pointed me in the right direction.

It was casual.
Normal.
Comfortable.

And then I made my way into the sanctuary.

Taking It All In

I intentionally entered from the opposite side of the building so I could walk the full length of the room. I wanted to see it, feel it, notice the details.

The sanctuary wasn’t large. It felt warm and inviting. Chairs instead of pews. Carpet. Soft ceiling lighting mixed with stage lights. Christmas décor still present. A screen at the front cycling through announcements.

People were everywhere — standing, talking, laughing, moving toward their seats.

I walked toward the back and sat second row from the back, on the far left side, right next to the wall. It wasn’t the best spot — there wasn’t much room, and when people needed to move in and out, it felt tight. Next time, I won’t sit there.

But that wasn’t the thing I noticed most.

What I noticed was this:

No one acknowledged me.

No nod.
No handshake.
No “good morning.”

I don’t say that with frustration or resentment. The room was busy. It felt like people were transitioning between services. Folks were catching up with friends. Some were leaving, others arriving.

But the reality was clear — if you’re not already known, it’s very easy to feel invisible.

As the Room Filled

At first, it felt like attendance might be small — maybe under 100. But as 10:30 approached, people began arriving steadily. By the time worship started, the room was nearly full — around 150 to 200 people.

Not a megachurch.
Not small.
Comfortably in between.

The flow into worship was smooth, even with a few technical hiccups. Some lights flickered. At one point, the sanctuary went completely dark for a moment. It wasn’t disruptive — just one of those things that happens.

And then worship began.

Worship That Connected

The worship was excellent.

The band was solid. The transitions between songs were seamless. The sound, reverb, instruments balanced, and pacing were well done. People worshiped freely — hands raised, clapping, engaged.

The keys were a bit high for me to sing along comfortably, but that didn’t take away from the experience. The energy was real. The atmosphere was alive.

As worship continued, one thing stood out to me — the makeup of the congregation.

There were many young adults, a lot of teenagers, and a handful of older couples scattered throughout the sanctuary. It wasn’t dominated by one age group, but it definitely leaned younger than what I’ve been used to in the past.

What stood out wasn’t just attendance — it was engagement. People were present, participating, and clearly comfortable in the space. It felt active and alive, not routine or disconnected.

A Sacred Moment Interrupted

Shortly after worship began, children’s church was announced — and it felt like half the sanctuary emptied at once. Kids and volunteers streamed out, filling the aisles with motion and noise.

As the children were still leaving, the trays for the Lord’s Supper were passed.

The speaker explained that you didn’t have to be a church member to participate — that anyone who had been baptized was welcome. I appreciated the openness of that invitation.

But the timing made it difficult.

The room never fully settled. People were still moving, conversations lingered, and there wasn’t a clear pause to prepare our hearts. Scripture wasn’t read, and the moment felt rushed.

And in that moment, I chose not to take part.

Not because I felt excluded.
Not because I disagreed.
But because my heart wasn’t in the right place at that moment.

The Lord’s Supper is sacred to me. It’s something I want to approach with reflection and intention — not casually or distracted. With so much happening around me and so much still processing internally, it felt more respectful to sit quietly and let the moment pass.

That choice wasn’t judgment.
It was reverence.

Baptisms and Celebration

The service included baptisms — Annabella and Giuliano — each sharing their desire to follow Jesus. Annabella’s words stood out: her desire to know Jesus more deeply and take a leap of faith.

It was meaningful.

Physically, though, the baptism was difficult to see. It took place on the far right side of the sanctuary at floor level, with no camera feed on the screen. The family could see it — and that’s what mattered most — but from my seat, it was largely out of view.

Still, the celebration was real.

Announcements followed — Christmas Fest with nearly 500 attendees, a live nativity involving 380 participants, a candlelight service on Christmas Eve, and an opening for a Belize mission trip.

Clearly, this church is active. Engaged. Reaching people.

The Sermon

The sermon focused on Genesis 35 — Jacob’s return to Bethel.

God’s mercy.
Forgiveness.
Repentance.
Purification.

The message was strong, but fast. Scripture was read quickly — too quickly for me to follow easily in my Bible. Still, the heart of the message came through:

God is faithful, even when we’ve failed.
Repentance matters.
Grace is real.

And then it was over.

Leaving Quietly

No one spoke to me as I left.
No handshake.
No conversation.

Again — not a complaint. Just an observation.

This church does many things well. Very well.
But it also reminded me of something important:

You can do everything right and still miss people.

What I’m Taking With Me

I didn’t leave discouraged.

I left thoughtful.

Finding a church family isn’t about checking a box or attending one service. It’s about returning. Observing. Listening. Giving space for relationships to grow.

I plan to go back — maybe on a Sunday night, maybe a Wednesday, maybe another Sunday morning. And I plan to visit other churches too.

Because this journey isn’t about finding the perfect church.

It’s about finding a place where faith, connection, and community meet — consistently.



On a frigid morning, with warm coffee in hand, I was reminded that sometimes the doors are open…

…but the journey is still unfolding.