I have struggled with starting this post. Partially from emotion and partially from inward conflict.
I know that the Lord has a plan through this fire that is abundantly above all we could ever ask or even think.
Having said that, I am so emotionally attached to the building that was Tidewater Baptist Temple. I have spent at least 528 Sundays in that auditorium. I have wandered over the rafters in that room and sang squeaky solos on that platform. The platform is gone. The rafters are gone.
I have slept on the pews during lock-ins and hidden in the cry room after services for Julia/Amanda time. The pews are now gone. The cry room is gone.
I can't believe that I've been here, in this building, for more than half of my life. I was nine years old, sitting in that room in awe of the sheer size of it. I could barely see the pulpit from the pew we were in. I remember how high the "mission ledge" was. It has been recently used for presents and bulletins, but it used to be full of pictures of missionaries. I couldn't even see over the ledge the first time we visited. The ledge is gone.
This room is where I kissed the man who is now my husband, for the first time.
The church will be rebuilt, and God will use this greatly for the growth of our church and the furtherance of His Gospel, but my heart hurts for the loss of memories. Moments, that will almost be erased when they tear down the final bricks. Someday I will say to Matt, "Remember how it looked?" and then describe it to our children as they try to picture along with us.
I just realized everything I have is someday going to be gone. It's all just material, and yet it holds the essence of friendships, and new beginnings. Do not take this post as faithless. Instead indulge me in my nostalgia.
The church is not a building, but a group of believers who hold firmly to their head, the Lord Jesus. The building is in ashes, but the church is stronger than ever in the grace that is our Provider.