01/11/2026
A cute story to share...
I grew up Baptist. It was the kind of upbringing that smells like casseroles, sounds like hymn 130 from the red book (Power in The Blood!!), and feels like shaking hands with every person in the building before you’re allowed to leave.
I learned early on that the sound of a piano and the rustle of thin Bible pages can calm any storm. A good potluck is its own kind of worship, and that the same hands that pass you the cornbread will pray for you when needed. Somewhere between VBS crafts and Sunday night services, something holy happened… I accepted Christ as my Savior.
It was in that brick church down the road where I learned that faith isn’t about being perfect, it’s about being forgiven, and baptism doesn’t save you, but obedience sure does bless you!! When two or three are gathered, God shows up.
I’m thankful for the roots that taught me how to stand firm when the world shakes, for preachers who still say “turn in your Bibles,” for ladies who pray loud enough to make Heaven move, and for youth groups that turned into lifelong friendships.
Being Baptist taught me to love Scripture, serve humbly, sing like I mean it, and to know that when we say “pray for rain,” somebody’s garden really depends on it.
I’m thankful for the faith that was planted deep in those pews, watered with gospel truth, and still growing today.
Long before I knew theology, I knew the simple, steady truth that still carries me: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.
-Abbi Underwood