Have you ever explored the attic of an old church? I recommend it. Find that church member who holds all the institutional history and ask them about the attic. I guarantee their eyes will light up. And then, as you follow them up the undoubtedly steep and pokey stairs, they will turn to you and ask, "So, when do you want to see the bell tower?"
I recently climbed up to the Plantsville Congregational Church attic (and yes, followed by the bell tower. Not for the faint-hearted, btw).
When I stepped through the door of the attic, I found myself at the center of a whimsical time capsule. The place is a delightful jumble of forgotten treasures, from dusty old Sunday School chairs that have supported countless squirming children to abandoned pews that have heard more sermons than anyone can count. The slightly crooked Christmas tree stands eternal guard over holiday decorations from every decade, a tinsel-draped sentinel of Christmases past.
But the real showstopper is the remnant of a 19th-century kitchen, complete with a dividing wall and pass-through windows. One can almost hear the clatter of dishes and the chatter of church ladies as they prepared feasts for generations of hungry parishioners.
This quirky collection isn't just a bunch of old junk - it's a three-dimensional scrapbook of our church's life, filled with laughter, love, and a few cobwebs.
As I rummaged through these relics, I was reminded that while our mission is timeless, our methods have changed. We've gone from passing potatoes through windows to designing websites and live streams, but the spirit of community remains. So next time you hear a mysterious creak from above, remember: it's just the ghosts of church plays past, putting on one last show in the attic.
With echoes of the past and dreams for the future,
Jane
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