Crying in Church

Church hopping is the worst.

It’s like dating churches.

What does this one have that the other doesn’t?

You’re always new and showing up in hopes that someone notices that you’re the lost puppy in need of a good home. But also, please don’t put a leash on me, I’m not ready.

We moved almost 2 years ago and the church struggle has been real in a sense of starting and changing and starting and changing and starting and changing again all while still being new at every single dang thing. Even Walmart is new. Because it’s not your Walmart. Like where does this town put the dang q-tips??

While being new has its advantages, especially in a small town, I found myself crying every Sunday.

Ever heard of the Sunday Scaries?

Cody and I have been in a wilderness of sorts. We left behind friends and family and a church that knew my great great grandmother and now we are new to town. And church. And Yes, I have repented for every new family that darkened the doors of my home church and I didn’t introduce myself. Because now I am new and my future, right now, seems to be here. In this small town that has a pace of its very own.

So, I cried every Sunday.

I used to be the expert. The one who knew all the best restaurants and doctors. I could tell you what baby sitter to use or the best kept secret grocery stores that nobody knew about. Now, I am the one who has to ask for help at every corner. The person who didn’t know the best pre school or the sign up date or about the 4 am workout classes that every person swears by.

And not being the expert with a church… somedays left me devestated.

So, I cried every Sunday

If anyone tries to tell you that leaving your home town and your home church or traditions you once loved or a community of friends you spent years cultivating or a community of faith is an easy thing to do, they’re lying. Straight through their teeth. It has felt like daggers, like a surgery of sorts. Somedays, it still does.

So, I cried every Sunday.

Outside the church, before going, after we get home, when my parents went back to Montgomery and I stayed here….

I cried every Sunday.

Where my future once was is now just a blank page with a blinking curser waiting for me to make a mark or write the new story I didn’t know I would be the author of.

So, I cried every Sunday.

Recently, we have found a church. One that kept popping back up to us as the “best for us as a whole family” and we have started to dig our heels in.

We go to a Sunday School class and services and we even ate supper with the preacher.

People are starting to know us. Sometimes I have wondered if they have some special welcoming committee with ear pieces telling them who is new because of how well they welcome newbies. They say hello and include us and invite, and with a small glimmer of hope this place is starting to feel like home.

And yes, the first Sunday that we circled back to this congregation (the first one we ever visited), I held back tears the whole service. Not because I was unhappy, but the anxious emotion was stronger than anything else around me.

Yes, I cried that Sunday.

A few weeks ago, I asked for prayers in Sunday School. I was feeling nervous about an upcoming doctors appointment I had that was a plane ride away for me. I didn’t tell anyone about the appointment, just the trip.

After class a girl approached me.

“tell me about your trip to St. Pete?”

I smiled and shared that it was for a doctors appointment. I had to figure out what was causing some health issues as of late and apparently the doctor I was planning to see was best in the biz.

I barely shared that I had experienced response to stress and wanted to get it checked.

Within what felt like 30 seconds this girl shared a small glimpse into her own story and something unraveled inside me. Like a curtain pulled back on what I had been trying so hard to not let go of.

Remember what it was like in college when you felt all consumed and you called your mom? She said nothing but “hello?” and just the sound of her voice gave you permission to release a tsunami of tears.

She was the voice that gave way to release.

We talked about life and stress and the enneagram and books we loved and thoughts and Jesus and I felt the Lord come straight to the room for a split second.

We skipped the whole church service, sermon and all, and I realized that nothing was more ministerial than sitting and doing church in the way that Jesus would have: Stopping for the one that couldn’t carry it all anymore.

This girl.

She was the same girl who invited me to choir practice my first Sunday visiting, not having a clue if I could carry a tune. But Potluck lunch was involved. So, obviously it was a yes. She even drove me home after.

But this day, she took a moment and hugged me and saw the level of stress I had carried for nearly 2 years and said, bring on the rain.

It was that Sunday that I cried… in church.

Because for the first time in a long time, church felt like home again.