My children believe, without question, they were made by God. God made the leaves on the trees, the stars in the sky, and the ice cream in the freezer. Every good and perfect gift comes from above. They know that. 
They believe in Noah’s ark, that Joshua fought the battle of Jericho and the walls came a tumblin’ down, and that Jesus rose from the dead. They’ve spent Sunday mornings coloring handouts, vacations at VBS, and down-time parked in front of VeggieTales so I can unload the dishwasher without help.
But it won’t always be this way. Some day each of them will ask “do I really believe all this?” Maybe somebody will say something to them that will raise the question. Maybe they will read something. Maybe logic will make them stop in their tracks and wonder how the entire world could be covered by a flood so great it wiped everything out but a Godly man, his family, and two of every kind. This will be the moment they will have to reach back and pull childlike faith up and over their shoulders like a warm wooly blanket and hang on.
Thinking back on my childhood, I realize I do not remember The Moment when I chose to follow God down the narrow road. It was a process that began when I was born. I remember forming impressions of church and Sunday School that weren’t very positive. Once, when I was about four years old, I was in a classroom and noticed cookies. I ate one. The scolding I received was so severe I still remember it and think unkind thoughts toward the woman who directed it at me. So I began to think of Sunday School as The Place Where You Get Yelled at By Complete Strangers.
Unfortunately, that is how a lot of unchurched people view church.
They think if they go to church, they will be yelled at, judged, scrutinized, and told they aren’t good enough. Why bother? And even if they aren’t singled out somehow, they will not understand the secret language of Christianese some like to speak. Churches that preach to the choir are nice for the choir. I am interested in those sitting in the back row, looking like they would rather be anywhere else in the universe.
Despite being raised in the church, having been to hundreds of services, Sunday School classes, VBS, church camp, MOPS meetings, marriage group studies, etc, etc, etc, I still feel the sting of judgment from other Christians. I still roll my eyes at Christianese and the word “verily”. I still seek, I still question, I admit I don’t have all the answers. I know what I believe, however. Jesus died and rose so that I will live. It is that simple.
If you come to my Sunday School and eat a cookie, I won’t yell at you.
