Unexpected Healing

In January, Mr. Snark and I walked away from our church home. This place has been a significant part of our lives since our 2013 return to SMALLtown, GA. We've never just walked away from a church. Our membership has changed because we made major relocations. While there are so many wonderful people in that particular church family...folks whom I love and hold in high esteem, our church home no longer felt like home. The place that had been a refuge and solace became a place that felt starkly unfamiliar and hostile. The first Sunday we worshipped elsewhere...I cried. Not unusual for me...Sunday worship often tugs at the tender places in my heart. But that day, I let loose tears of grief and pain as I fully came to grips with the decision we had made. Those tears that I cried came when I realized we were church homeless.

The last time I was without a church home had to have been a short stint during the middle school years...and so short that I can't quantify it. For some, it would have been easy to just completely cut ties with church. I never understood that until January. The weight of church hurt is crushing. When you have been bloodied and battered (metaphorically speaking) by the ones who are supposed to know better, confusion and turmoil are unleashed. When the ones responsible for the figurative bloodletting are not held to the proper standard of accountability, it begins to overwrite the trust you have for the church. By saying nothing, silent approval is given and the abuse continues. Turning my back on church... it wasn't something I could do, but I had a better understanding of why many make that choice. For me, it would be like cutting off my legs because church has always been a foundation for my life. It feeds my soul with the things that are so desperately needed for me to be the best version of myself. It points me to truths that help me make my way through the labyrinth of daily life. It reminds me that I am loved, known, invited, accepted, valued, and seen by the Creator of the universe. It feeds the social butterfly (which is the size of a pterodactyl) side of my personality. It connects me to my community. It provides a sense of identity. Read the previous sentence, again. Because of my church related wounds, my identity felt like it had been stolen and changed to something I didn't recognize. Some of that shift is due to actual words spoken to me and then the mind games that The Enemy loves to play. I came very close to forgetting who I was and (as my sweet, little Mama likes to say) WHOSE I was. As much as I love my friends that are still part of that faith family, losing myself to the brokenness and giving in to the bitterness that kept knocking at the door of my heart was a price I wasn't willing to pay. Walking away was an act of self preservation and as formidable as it was, I was at peace. No regrets, no hesitation.

Hesitation came when planning our next move. In fact, Hesitation brought a friend...Trepidation...and they kept me company for a few days. Our community is blessed to have many churches, so we weren't without choices. We have friends scattered amongst the various churches...we would find familiar faces just about anywhere we went. But would folks ask why we left our previous church...how would we respond? Could I keep my emotions in check and not default to tears any time I had to address the subject? Most folks aren't as curious as I am. Let's speak plainly...most folks just aren't as nosy as I am and have the good sense to keep their questions to themselves. 

On a bit of a whim, we decided to visit the church where a dear friend leads worship. Outside of the denomination that I have known and loved all my life...the one that gave me my roots and my heritage. Just for something different. A place to be. A place to worship and leave when the service ended...no strings, no expectations. My friend's mother was waiting for us in the church foyer with a warm, welcoming embrace that landed on my soul with both feet, kicking Hesitation and Trepidation to the curb. I felt peace...peace that I hadn't felt for so long at our former church. There was joy in worship...congregational joy! So much so, that I felt like I was drinking from a firehose! I didn't realize how parched my soul was. In our first visit, little bits of me revived with the presence of that peace and joy...little bits that were damaged beyond my ability to comprehend. The words of the sermons settled in other places of my soul that were just as thirsty. This was not what I expected. I didn't expect to feel so at home in a place that was unknown to me. Isn't that just how God works, dear ones? I mean,

Isaiah 55: 8-9 says as much:

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

    neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.

9 

For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

    so are my ways higher than your ways

    and my thoughts than your thoughts.

 

I have been fiddling with this entry since January. The words were stubborn in coming together. I think they were waiting for the time when I could write from a place of restoration. I think they were waiting for me to be able to see to the other side of the hurt that I have carried for a year. It's been a whole year since my tie to something so precious was severed in a manner that was emotionally violent and  completely bewildering. When I think about all that happened, it's still shocking. There's still a sense of stupefied awe. What isn't there is the megaton weight of torment. It still hurts and to be quite honest, I think it might always hurt. Kind of like a remodeled bone that reminds you of the original injury every time it rains. As it turns out, my broken heart and weary spirit needed love from an unexpected place...an unexpected place that gave me a great gift of unexpected healing.