It was our first time there.
It was big.
We had to park a block away and climb a long flight of stairs just to get in.
But it was good. Really good preaching.
Then the baby needed whatever babies seem always to need when you really want to stay seated in church.
And I made the trek to the nursery, aided by the aides in the hallways. You see, this church really was big. Several stories high and took up a whole block. Just the building.
However, after going down two hallways, down the elevator, and down two more hallways, nursing the baby, and changing the baby, with my geographically challenged mind–I could not find my way back to the sanctuary.
I also could not find any of the illustrious hallway aides I had used to get so far away from my family. Although I knew not where I was, nor where I needed to go, I could sort of tell where I was going: in circles.
Finally I spied an aide and gave him that sad-puppy look. He asked me if I needed help.
“I’m lost,” I told him.
He raised one eyebrow and shifted his posture.
Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. Not in a Baptist church. Not that kind of lost!
“I mean–I’m saved!–but I can’t find my way back from the nursery to the sanctuary.”
Practically a slide show of faces slid over his face: relief, disappointment, trying-not-to-laugh, sureness.
And he led me, personally, to the place I needed to be, which I was very much farther from than I thought.
And we decided that although it was an extremely pleasant church, we really were more the little church type.