At R&P, I wrote about my journey back to church, motivated by my daughter, my father, and Donald Trump.
I was late to my own baptism.
This past Easter Sunday, my two-year-old daughter and I were scheduled to be baptized at Grace Chapel, a Presbyterian church (PCA) in our adopted hometown of Lincoln, Nebraska. Anxious to make it to church on time, my wife and I skipped breakfast, filled our daughter’s snack cup with cheerios, and loaded her into the car.
Pulling into the church’s parking lot, I knew instantly that I had messed up. Ben Loos, Grace Chapel’s tall, gregarious, 30-something pastor, was standing at the church’s side entrance. Lovingly, but a bit frantically, he waved at us to dash into the sanctuary.
My face went to my palm. I forgot that the service on Easter started at 8 a.m., not 8:30. Pastor Ben recognized that I was a bit frazzled. “Don’t fret,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder and giving my daughter’s knee a squeeze. We had just missed the scheduled slot for baptisms. But he’d fit us in after the sermon.
Read the rest here.