We knew every corner of that church. As youth groups do, playing round after round of “sardines” and hide and seek in an empty church. Thrilling fun, opening closets and crawling under tables, hiding behind couches, trying not to make noise on the carpeted stairs. We knew and frequented every stairwell, buzzing around like happy bumble bees between the floors in the sacred few minutes between service and Sunday School. We checked the back room fridge for snacks, looped outside to get some sweet air before descending to the basement, and poked our heads into our siblings classroom to say hi before making our way to our own.
We left the world of our school lives to youth group, being with friends that we never would’ve had otherwise, learning the Word and socializing with a holy crowd. And yes, so many late nights looking for each other in the darkened building, laughing and running from one another in the massive space.
These memories are painful with the loss of such an awesome structure, a place the children of Grace knew so well inside and out. From humid themed days at VBS to Sunday School on a freezing January morning, there was a comfort of the familiarity of a place where everyone knows and loves you.
I am sure there are so many like me that looked at the images of our burnt structure and thought of each other, doing word searches before Sunday School, having snacks at youth group, getting too competitive at a game with made up rules, drinking lemonade out of the punch bowl. A gaggle of youth that did all these things together, generation upon generation, all grown and scattered now.
To us, our greatest memories in that building were not in the sanctuary. They were in the hallways, the classrooms, the stairwells, the Fellowship room. The parts of us that miss that comradery of our “church friends” will now miss those spaces greatly, too.
Dedicated in loving memory to Peter Hebberd.
(The writer has asked to remain anonymous.)