Hollyhocks and Holy Moments
A VBS Reflection Dedicated to Those Ladies Who Minister Christ to Children
This article first appeared as part of my weekly pastoral communication at First Presbyterian Church of Chattanooga. It was later included in the P&R Publishing book (and, later, Wipf and Stock Publishers), Small Things, Big Things: Inspiring Stories of Everyday Grace
I offer it again today because—well, because I looked out my window and saw the blooming hollyhocks I’ve posted here.
Alas, there’s no outhouse nearby to accompany them, a quaint subtext you’ll understand as you read on.
I had reached the end of the driveway, bending over to retrieve the newspaper, when it happened—one of those quiet epiphanies that arrives not in thunder or flash, but on the wings of grace.
A morning breeze appeared ex nihilo, brushing past me with a whisper of cool air. In that moment—still crouched down, hand extended toward the paper—I was suddenly paused. Not by pinched nerves in my L-4 or L-5 (though they’ve been known to do it), but by the Spirit of the Lord drawing me out of distraction and into attention. It was not a voice, but a presence—a holy summons to look up and remember.
My gaze fell upon the hollyhock I had planted by our mailbox. I had seen it in passing, noticed a bloom or two earlier in the week, but now—bathed in early light—it had unfurled into glory. Deep maroon bled into buttery yellow. Creamy whites reached heavenward. A gentle breeze coaxed the tall stalks to sway, each petal catching the morning light as if giving thanks.
And with that breeze came a memory.
Hollyhocks always take me back to Vacation Bible School. At New Bethlehem Baptist Church, just down the red clay road from my boyhood home, there were hollyhocks growing right beside the outhouse. And yes, if you’ve never had the joy of experiencing an outhouse at a country church during VBS week, I’d be glad to tell you about it sometime.
For me, going to the outhouse was an adventure (please don’t stop reading with this sentence). First, the hollyhocks were taller than I was—towering marvels of beauty and mystery. Second, they reminded me of Miss Dot, my teacher. Why? I have no idea. Well, she was pretty and not mean. But I was seven years old and certain she was destined to be my wife. She, of course, was probably about thirty-five, already married to a banker, but that hardly seemed relevant at the time. Third, the bees loved those hollyhocks. Which meant, to my boyish imagination, that every trip to the outhouse was a daring expedition.
But beyond the bees and the blossoms, there was the Spirit of God.
Each summer, VBS was not just fun—it was holy. It was at VBS that I first carried the American flag and then the Christian flag in the morning procession. It was there I tasted cold Kool-Aid and those iconic generic cookies that seemed to multiply like loaves and fishes. And it was there—after the final song and before waiting for my ride—I would slip into the sanctuary alone and stand behind the pulpit, imagining what it would be like to preach. I felt God there. I didn’t know exactly what He wanted from me, but I sensed He was calling.
Years later, as a church planter and pastor, I watched Vacation Bible School work the same wonders. From Redeemer Presbyterian in Overland Park, Kansas, to Kirk O’ the Isles PCA in Savannah, to First Presbyterian Church of Chattanooga, where I believe I first wrote this reflection, I saw it again and again: God using VBS to reach little hearts and call young lives.
I remember the awe I felt watching our historic downtown church fill with children—some from the suburbs, some from the country—all gathering for crafts and songs, snacks and stories. But more than that, I remember the women: faithful, tireless, Spirit-filled women who planned and led and loved. They were not merely volunteers—they were ministers of grace.
So today, this simple hollyhock has called me to remember. And to pray.
I am praying for the covenant children—those raised in the nurture and admonition of the Lord—that they might be strengthened and stirred to follow Christ anew. I am praying for children who have never truly heard the Gospel—that they might, perhaps for the first time, understand God’s love in Jesus and receive Him with joy. And I am praying that God, who loves to prepare tender hearts for future ministry, will be doing just that across churches in our land.
Would you join me in that prayer?
Pray for VBS this summer. Pray for the pastors and parents, the teachers and teenagers, the churches and classrooms. But above all, pray for the children. Behind the glue sticks and the cookies, the flags and the crafts, there is Christ—welcoming the little ones and saying, “Let the children come to Me.”
And if you happen to walk through your church in the days to come and see a child alone in the sanctuary, perhaps standing in the pulpit—don’t interrupt. Just pause. Pray. God may be up to something.
No, we don’t have hollyhocks growing at our church. And there’s no outhouse out back. But I believe the Lord will be there with the children anyway.
Because I believe the Lord loves VBS.
And I know Jesus loves the little children.
“Let the Children Come”
Words and Music © 2021 by Michael Anthony Milton (Bethesda Music Group, BMI).
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Small Things, Big Things
