Not Just A Chance Hour

   The Background:

   Our son and daughter in law from VA had asked us to come to Orlando, to Disney World, to stay with their kids (3) and their foster kids (2) one night while they ran a 10 mile race inside the theme park. We went, we visited, we slept and we left the villa early on Sunday morning, when they went back to the airport to fly home.

   I had decided that we might take an extra day or two in that area, before going home, just to look around in some places I had not visited in a long time. So I booked a night in a B&B in Mt. Dora, just up the road a few miles, a place that I had not spent any time in for at least 60 years.

   My grandparents on my father's side had spent their last days in Eustis, FL, a somewhat sleepy town, a few short miles north of Mt. Dora, and I had played golf at the Mt. Dora Country Club with my uncle Charles when I was a teen.

   Why did I choose Mt. Dora? Looking online for a good small town to hang out in for a day or so, I came across a listing of the 10 best small towns in Florida, and there was Mt. Dora. Seemed like a great spot to explore, not only my roots, but also the revival of a place that had been a bustling citrus shipping point, but now had changed its character to a tourist destination. Might be some good pictures waiting there also.

   A scenario from last Sunday:

   Driving from Orlando through such towns as Apopka, Zellwood, Plymouth and Tangerine, place names I recognized from my produce days, we came into Mt. Dora, and, since we could not check into our B&B until 3PM, we drove around. It was about 10AM when we passed the First Presbyterian Church, and the sign out front said "Worship at 10AM". Even though we were hardly dressed for church, we decided to slip in.

   Finding a seat in the back, we looked around and sure enough, we were definitely underdressed. It was also, as we heard from the pulpit, World Communion Sunday, a day that we did not have on our church calendar at home, and we wondered what would that bring? Would we just be fulfilling a felt need to be in a church on a Sunday morning, or what?

   The service was filled with hymns from around the world, with the music of the countries of origin. There were references to Christians all over our globe that would be worshipping on this particular day, and we could be in communion with them, regardless of race, or denomination, or language, or style of service.

   I needed to be reminded of all of these others, people unknown to me, but known to God. Men and women, boys and girls, bowing down to the same Lord, maybe in much different ways, but still included in the Family of God.

   When the communion bread and the cup were passed, I took the time to thank God for allowing me to be in this family, this church family on this particular Sunday morning, and His family of believers around the world, and for the reminder that all worship is not individual, but takes place in the whole community of Christians, wherever and however and whenever they are.

   It was a sweet time.

   And a reminder that I needed.

   And not just a chance encounter for an hour in a town that we did not know.

   God knew, and we were blessed…

   Not just a chance hour on a Sunny Sunday in Mt. Dora, Florida...