Jason and I had attended UU Arlington for a few years, although we never felt connected there, and neither did the kids. We found ourselves becoming holiday-only churchgoers, which disappointed me because I really wanted my kids to learn the beauty of church, its rhythms and sounds, and to feel at home there. We were driving home one day when Jason saw a big sign on a church just across the street from the Arlington UU (and thus within walking distance of our house). It said: Strawberry Festival!

Now, Poteet, Texas, where my dad is from, is (you may not know) the Strawberry Capital of Texas, and has an awesome strawberry festival. Jason said: “Just like Poteet! Let’s go!” So, one Saturday, we set off. Once there, we were completely enraptured, entranced, embraced by a strawberry festival entirely unlike any we had expected. It was tiny: Maybe 50 people, and the children, who had so disliked the UU church that we had to teach nursery just so they wouldn’t scream, immediately ran off and started playing with the (very simple) toys they had out.

A woman, Donna, was blowing bubbles with string that the children could actually walk through (which popped them, of course), and they had a race track set up off a couple of folding chairs that Oliver took to immediately. Hot dogs were $1, and they had strawberry shortcake for sale.

I started talking with a man, Art, and a very young woman holding a teensy, tiny baby (I was three months pregnant with Eleanor at the time) named Kristen. When Kristen moved on to chat with others, Art said, “she’s our new head pastor — she started two months ago, just before her daughter was born.” He kept talking, and I could tell he wasn’t trying to recruit me — he was just making a genuine connection.

Judy and the kids from Allyson’s class still send her cards in the mail. Aren’t they fabulous?

After I expressed interest, he did invite us to church, telling us that it was a small congregation, about 20 people. We felt so inspired by the fun and warmth at the Saturday festival that we went back the very next day. Not only was the church filled with warmth, when Jason walked Oliver and Allyson downstairs and said, “I think I might head back up,” Allyson said, without even looking at him, “I think you should, Dad.”

Furthermore, at the (wonderful, welcoming) coffee hour after the service, I met Judy, Art’s wife. Quiet and … real … my highest compliment, she was warm and tender without being overly either. She asked about our children, and I asked about hers. She talked about the two with her that day (one, Janna, has become a close friend), and the one in North Carolina. Then I said, “so you have three children? We will, too!” and she said, quietly and with great love and heartache, “no, I have four children, my daughter Erica died three years ago.”

All three of our children were baptized at Bethel, when Eleanor was just days old.

Trying to write about Art and Judy, about their love for us and our family, for Bethel and the entire church there, is like trying to capture the very best of what Christianity is. Trying to express their dignity and grace at living fully after losing part of their heart and soul — well, words fail.

Art and Judy welcomed our entire family so warmly to Bethel that first weekend, and continued as spiritual and heartfelt guides to us in the years to come. Judy was Oliver and Allyson’s first real teacher. Art’s inspired photographs lit up the children (Art isn’t in any photos I have, because he was always behind the camera).

I am so overwhelmed with tenderness just thinking of all that I have to thank Art and Judy for. They helped us transform our family and our lives, and we are forever in their debt. I am infinitely richer for knowing you.