Church on the Patio

My friend Debbie has a chapel in her back yard. Really. Her husband shepherds a small congregation that meets in a dedicated building behind their house. It's where Debbie goes to pray. She loves having a quiet, sacred place so close by. Lately, Debbie's been in prayer more than usual. About -- well -- you know -- stuff. She's about worn a trail in the grass from her back door to that little chapel out back.

Almost every Sunday, my behind's parked in a pew inside the beautiful brick building that is my church. I love it there. I love the music and the prayers and messages that I hear. Most Sundays I am brought to quiet tears. Doing the work that I do, I need my spiritual tank filled on a regular basis. Having some place to go at a certain time brings a clarity and a focus to my life. My time there is like an hour-long pause in my week, one that allows me to breath deeply, and to start yet again.

Recently some friends and I passed two hours together outside on a concrete patio. We sat on plastic chairs under a blue Texas sky and talked about God and faith, sin and grace, love and loss. No one sang a song -- except the song of real life. No one preached, but the presence of a child spoke powerful words to our hearts. No one even said a prayer.

But God was there.