My association with Oakwood Baptist Church in Toronto began in 1967. I left home that year to begin studies at Central Baptist Seminary. Having never been in the big city before, moving to Toronto was scary stuff.

That first year I boarded with a family in what was then the northern edge of the city. Pat, the daughter of the house, was also beginning her first year at Seminary. She had been at Oakwood forever and since I had no idea where else to go, I went to Oakwood with her.

My home church was not touchy-feely in those days, so I was a little taken aback by the reception I received at Oakwood. Hugs and kisses were the order of the day and I confess that I wondered what I had gotten myself into. It turned out that I had fallen into the best of places with the best of people.

The Oakwoodites received me with open arms and open hearts, they gave a place to serve the Lord while away from home, and they never failed to look out for me. One particular episode stands out. Money was pretty tight during my Seminary years. Stretching our limited resources to pay the rent and buy groceries always presented a challenge—to the pocketbook and sometimes to our faith, especially after I moved away from Pat's and began to share accommodation with other girls from the school. One winter Wednesday night I went to prayer meeting, as was my custom. After the meeting, several of the ladies came up to me and asked me to go with them into the kitchen. I did. Once there, they explained to me that they were concerned that I wasn't getting enough Vitamin C to ward off those winter colds. Fruit was very expensive in the winter and it wasn't something that would always fit within our budget. I had never shared that need with anyone, but the Oakwoodites are a very discerning lot! After the explanation, the ladies presented me with a huge basket of fruit to take home. That was just one example of how they looked after me during my student years.

When I went overseas, the church took on a substantial amount of my support. Those early years in Colombia were not easy. In fact, I came very close to resigning before I had barely begun. That's a story for another blog. In the seventies, it still was rare for missionaries to be able to bear their souls and share their struggles with any of their churches. There still existed this belief that missionaries were somehow above it all, free from the spiritual stuggles of more mortal men. To suggest otherwise was to invite censure and perhaps even to be dropped from the church budget. But Oakwood was different. Their love and acceptance went beyond anything that I had experienced up until then, in any other place. I knew I was safe with them.

When I returned on Home Assignment, I was asked to speak to the congregation on a Sunday morning. I beared my soul, shared my struggles and told the church how God had dealt with me and saved me from making a huge mistake by throwing away the one thing that He had called me to do since my childhood—mission.

Love and acceptance was what I had expected, and that was exactly what I got from Oakwood.

This open heartedness and openhandedness has been characteristic of this church for all the years I have been associated with it. Though I have now spent many years physically separated from the congregation, they continue to hold a special place in my heart.

Finding a church like Oakwood is like finding a treasure. Sometimes we look in the wrong place for the right things. Oakwood is not a big church with the fanciest and most modern programs. It is not what some might consider a "high-class" church. It is an smallish, inner-city church, very blue-collar, which many people would walk past looking for something with more glitter and glitz. But while you might find more glitter and glitz in other places, you will never find a church with more heart than Oakwood, and for that I thank God continually.