Still Here, Still Faithful by Sharon McPhee

Three generations of Grace

 

A Heritage of Harmony

When I look back on my life, I see that the church has always been part of my story. It wasn't just something we did on Sundays; it was who we were. My mother was the organist at our church for fifty years. Fifty years—that still amazes me. She was quiet, steady, and faithful. She also taught music to fifth graders. In our house, if you could sing, you were in the choir. That was just how it worked.

The Fullness of the Sanctuary

When I was in high school, the choir loft was full. So many people sang that we had to sit up there for the whole service because there were no seats left in the pews. If you didn’t get to church early, you didn’t get a good seat. In those days, everybody went to church. It wasn’t unusual; it was life. My mother received a plaque for her fifty years of service. She retired in the late 1990s but kept playing almost until she passed away. Music was her gift, and she gave it wholeheartedly to God and the church.

Commitment in the Choir Loft

I grew up singing. I was usually placed as a second soprano because that was where I was needed. It wasn’t about what part I liked; it was about what helped the choir. We practiced every Thursday night for a couple of hours. If you didn’t come to practice, you didn’t sing on Sunday—unless you had a very good excuse. That was the standard. We took it seriously. Back then, the whole back row of the choir loft was filled with men. We wore robes and processed in from the back, walking down the center aisle. It was formal, and it felt truly special.

From Family Tradition to Personal Faith

My grandmother on my father’s side also attended this church. Many of our family members stayed in this area. Faith was passed down quietly—not with big speeches, but with a steady presence. For me, faith was never just my parents’ faith. There came a time when it became my own. It wasn’t a dramatic moment, but a growing realization: This wasn’t just my father’s God or my mother’s God. This was my God.

 

 

Held Together through Loss

There have been losses in my life. I lost my parents when they were in their nineties. That was hard, even though they lived long lives. I lost my husband when he was in his sixties; that felt too soon. Grief changes you. But I kept coming to church. I didn’t always have big answers; I just kept showing up. Somehow, being in God’s house, with God’s people, held me together.

Hands of Service, Heart of Community

I have served the church in many small ways—decorating, tending to altar cloths, and hanging wreaths. I don’t even remember how some of those tasks started; I just began doing them. Sometimes a tall neighbor boy would help me hang decorations because I couldn’t reach. It didn’t matter that he didn’t attend our church; he helped. That is how community works.

Dignity at the Food Pantry

For many years now, I have helped with the food pantry. It began in an upstairs classroom, but later we renovated the space through a grant. There is more paperwork than people would imagine—so much paperwork!—but the work matters. The food pantry is not only about food; it is about dignity and listening. Some who came for groceries eventually came to church. They needed more than food; they needed kindness.

A Changing World, An Unchanging Heart

Our church is a wonderful community. It is not perfect, and after COVID, things changed. Some people never came back. We used to know everyone in the grocery store, and now we don’t. Times change, but the heart of the church is still here. I often think about my mother not liking “Amazing Grace.” She said it was overdone and didn’t want it at her funeral. That makes me smile. She had strong opinions, but she loved the Lord in her own steady way.

Still Part of the Story

When I look back, I see that faith has been woven through every stage of my life—childhood, marriage, motherhood, and widowhood. I have sung, decorated, served, grieved, and prayed. God has been faithful through all of it. I may not play the piano well anymore, and I may not sing as strongly as I once did, but I am still here. Still part of this church. Still part of this story. This is my home. This is my family of faith. And this is my God.