Disclaimer
– Very personal blog entry here.
Confession. 2014 was a very difficult year for me. While there were some good things I definitely
celebrated over the course of 2014, I experienced some significant setbacks
that left me reeling. So when 2015
rolled around, I’m not sure if anyone was happier to see 2014 go away than I
was.
For
as long as I can remember, I have always gone to church. Always.
When I was growing up, there was no question where I was going to be
every Sunday morning … first Sunday school and then at 11am worship
service. Mama and Daddy made sure of
that. I went to church sporadically
during my college years (ie. when I was home from school). But when I ventured out on my own and settled
down in my current hometown, I found a church, and I faithfully attended. Every Sunday.
Without fail.
For
the first several months of 2014, I still regularly attended church. Even with every disappointment and difficulty
I was going through, I still got up and made my way to weekly worship service
because I enjoyed it. There was always a
good word. There was always a good song
that ministered to me in some way. There
was always something good I could get from service that kept me wanting to come
back the following week. Well … one
Sunday morning, I woke up and decided that I would stay home and relax that day. The next thing I knew, one missed Sunday
morning turned into nearly a year of missed Sunday morning services. Before I knew it, I had become a faithful and
devoted member and president of the deaconess board at Bedside Baptist Church …
which was just around the corner from St. Mattress Cathedral.
During
these months of my self-imposed sabbatical from worship service, several
thoughts ran through my mind over and over again. How much of my previous church attendance was
just plain old habit … 40+ years of habit?
Was I going to church simply because it’s what I had always done? While I missed seeing the people and friends who
attended the church I was going to, why didn’t I miss going to worship service? Why was it so easy to stop going and why
didn’t I feel bad about not going? And
more importantly, had my faith been so shaken and had my heart become so hardened
over things that had happened and were happening that I no longer saw or felt
any need or benefit to keep going to church?
Even
with all those questions, I still had a couple more. I’m old enough to know that the storms we go
through in life are just temporary and how important it is to hold fast to your
faith, stay in prayer, and just keep pressing your way through. So then, what kind of Christian was I to fall
out of fellowship with my church? There
had been no scandal at my church.
Nothing out-of-the-ordinary was going on. No one hurt me or made me angry enough to
want to leave. My pastor wasn’t making
any crazy requests to the congregation for a luxury plane to fly on mission
trips. (Ok. Lemme just go on ahead and stick my hand out
for somebody to pop. Lol.) And sure … there were things that happened
and didn’t happen at my church that I wasn’t pleased about, but it is a great
church with good people. I just had no
desire to be there anymore.
And
… who was I to question and be mad at God for placing all these obstacles in my
path? After all, He’s God, and I’m just
little ol’ me. But that’s exactly what I
was doing. I was angry at God because it
seemed like every time I turned around, there was something happening. Disappointment after disappointment. Bad news on top of bad news I was already
dealing with. Health issues. Folks that I had to give mental funerals for. It was too much. And why the heck was God picking on ME? Couldn’t He see a sistah was going through
some things and give me a break? He’s
seen me struggle. He’s heard my prayers,
but my prayers were falling on deaf ears because He’s still not helping a
sistah out. What gives, God?
The
first Sunday I didn’t go to church was really no big deal. The next Sunday rolled around, and I decided
to take another week off. After a few
weeks had passed, I concluded that maybe I just won’t go to church anymore. When I go to church, life is hard. When I don’t go to church, life’s still
hard. So, what does it matter,
right? What’s the difference?
Even
though I haven’t regularly attended church and even though I called myself
being angry at God for this seemingly continuous and unrelenting storm I’m in,
I found that I must have picked up something from all those 40+ years of going
to church. (If not, I’m an extremely
slow learner, but I digress.)
Admittedly,
I don’t pray as often as I should, but I still pray. I mostly pray for others, and I still pray
that God will reveal whatever lesson He’s trying to show me (and I really pray
He does it quickly).
I
don’t pick up my Bible as much as I should, but He still puts people in my path
that can give me a word, and oftentimes it comes when I least expect it. Several days ago, a coworker posted
something on Facebook that was EXACTLY what I needed to hear on that very
day. A few weeks ago, it was from a man
who recognized me from my church. I was
in the checkout line at the grocery store when I looked up and saw him staring
at me. I smiled and went on about my
business. When I turned to walk out of
the store, he’s waiting on me and tells me he needs to see me back at
church. He told me no matter what I’m
dealing with, it wasn’t too big for God.
Although he looked familiar to me, to this day I have no clue who this
man is, what his name is, or what he thinks he knows about me. All I know is that it was meant for our paths
to cross at Food Lion that day.
And
yes, I feel like I’m still in my storm, but I have found when things go well, I
catch myself telling God “thank you”. I
thanked Him for sparing my job recently when others around me were let go. I thanked Him for the good report my daughter
recently received after having to undergo testing at the pediatric cardiology department
at Duke Children’s Hospital. I guess
somewhere deep down in all my hurt and anger, I know all the good things that
happen are also a part of God’s plan for me.
(But again,
though. God … can we push this big
reveal along? Please and thank you.)
So
then, my question becomes is it possible to still have faith even without
seeing the inside of a church in months?
To answer my own question, I guess it’s a yes. My faith has been shaken. My faith has been tested. My faith has been tucked away on my mental
shelf … but it’s still there. If it
wasn’t there, I wouldn’t have been able to pray at all even though I don’t pray
(or praise) like I should. If it wasn’t
there, I wouldn’t be able to tell God “thank you” even though I’m angry, hurt,
and don’t understand why things are as they are. If it wasn’t there, I wouldn’t read the
countless scriptures my sister emails, texts, or quotes to me on a near daily
basis … and I do mean countless. It’s
still there. I just need to get all out
of my feelings and tend to my mustard seed.
Will
I go back to church? Eventually. When?
Who knows? But what I have
learned about myself over these past few months is that I am far from being a
perfect person, let alone the perfect Christian … if there is such a
thing. I am still a work in progress.
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