What Row Are You In?

Last Sunday in church I sat in the general area where I typically sit. I looked two rows over and spotted a friend of mine and waved hello. A few moments later two more ladies slid into the seats next to my friend, and I thought to myself, “That’s nice that they have each other. All of them are widows, they have created their own row. I’m sure it helps them not feel so alone on a Sunday".

And within moments the Holy Spirit impressed upon my heart, “Someday that might be your row too.”

Long pause.

Yes, He’s right. My husband and I are getting older. He is nine years my senior and has several medical conditions. Therefore, it’s very possible.

For the next ten minutes my mind swirled and reminisced over the various church rows I have sat in over the last sixty-eight years.

It was a journey of memories and seasons of my life

and each season brought a new church row.

The Beginning Row.

For the first twenty-four years, there were wooden rows of religion. I was very good at trying please God. I didn’t understand most of it, but I followed the rules, and I gave it my best effort.

Then I attended a church with my brother that was very different from my upbringing. People in my row sang with exuberance and passion, while raising hands high into the air. I didn’t know what was happening, and I was a bit scared, but my row seemed extremely happy about Jesus. I didn't know WHY, but they appeared to be thrilled to be in this row.

The Growth Row

Shortly thereafter I gave my heart and life to Jesus. I attended a less excitable church than my brother's and joined the choir. Everyone in my row carried a large Bible, and we sang old hymns that I had never heard before. For the first time I began to understand God’s Words, and I made wonderful friends in adult Sunday school classes.

The old life was fading, the new heart and mind were blooming. And I invited many friends, acquaintances, and coworkers to join my row. Some said yes, others rejected the offer. Regardless, I was like a dry sponge soaking in Gods wisdom.

The Weeping Row

In that familiar row I experienced an unwanted divorce. My once cozy row was flooded with tears.

As other happy families and children filled in around me, my once cozy row now felt cold, hard, and desolate.

A stark reminder that I was alone. What once was my happy place, became the weeping row. It was there that a good friend held my head above a tsunami of tears. When the devil tried to drown me with shame and grief, she was God's hands that lifted my head.

The Rebirth Row

After a remarriage, my row was filled with a new husband and his two sons. Stepfamily living had begun. My row started to warm up again as I launched a divorce recovery ministry and encouraged others who were divorced to come sit with me. The pain had a purpose. The scars served a higher calling. The tears of others then filled my row. God used the grief I experienced to provided arms of comfort into my row.

The Unfamiliar Row

Seventeen years later my husband and I went into full time ministry. Sounds wonderful, right? That's what I thought too. I left the intimacy, security, and comfort of my hometown row and we moved to a new city.

It was very difficult to leave my precious, familiar, and contented row. Suddenly, I didn’t have anyone to say hello to, no one to invite to sit beside me. I was the newcomer. I was outside the circle.

Moving was harder than I thought it would be. I longed for my established, cozy, memorable row. God was doing a new thing. I didn’t like it.

The Healing Row

I started leading divorce recovery ministry in our new very large church and suddenly I was meeting more weeping men and women than I could count.

They mentioned how Sunday was the hardest day of the week. They hated coming to church alone. I told them where I sit each Sunday, and invited them to sit in my row the following Sunday.

First, it was 3 people from the group. The following week it was 8 who joined our row. Withing a month we were filling the chairs for the entire section. It became known as “the divorce recovery section.” And suddently those men and women didnt dread Sunday anymore. The single parents brought their kids, and they became friends.

The Freedom Row

When that season ended God moved us to another city and ministry. My husband was on staff at a church, and making friends. But once again I knew no one, and I was the odd one out. I decided to lead a women’s Bible study.

There I met several women who had been in church their entire life, but no one had ever explained how to know for certain that they were going to heaven when they died.

They knew how to be good, but they didn’t know Jesus died for each one of them because He's crazy in love with them. I explained how there is a way to KNOW with absolute certainty that they will spend eternity with Him and that it had absolutely nothing to do with "being good enough."

This church would not have been my first choice to attend. But God knew what row was best for me. He knew I needed this row; it taught me to obey. My job is to stay hidden in Christ, nothing more—nothing less. I made some great friends in that row; they have remained close to my heart.

The Final Row

That brings me to my current row, where I looked over and saw my widowed friend and the ladies sitting beside her.

Will her row become my row one day? I don’t know.

What I do know is that none of those rows have been wasted. Whether I was crying or laughing, learning, or just having fun, God has used all of it.

And the rows taught me to trust Him, even the ones I didn’t want to sit in.

Not long ago I went back to my hometown and attended that first church that carries so many memories. I sat in my old, familiar row.

That particular day they were baptizing kids who had accepted Jesus as their Savior. I didn’t know any of them, but I love watching people get baptized so I was enjoying it. Then suddenly I recognized the family members of these drenched kids. I knew the parents and grandparents of those children. They had attended my first divorce recovery groups in that church. And now their children were walking into the waters of baptism. The harvest of that ministry had passed to the next generation.

As I began to understand the magnitude of what was occurring before my eyes, I started crying. I could barely control it. I’m sure the people sitting around me thought I was having a breakdown. They had no idea why I was suddenly a blubbering mess.

God’s miraculous, marvelous joy filled my heart and mind as the Holy Spirit revealed, before my own eyes, the fruit that God multiplied from my row.