Even though we are up and out of bed at least 4 hours before it starts, we are almost always exactly three minutes late to church. And honestly, it's frequently not a total accident.
Somewhere along the way, I got pegged as an extrovert, and I suppose in a lot of ways I am. But at church I've always felt the wallflower. Like Spider-Man back into Peter Parker....I live parts of my life swooping and swinging confidently, and then as soon as my feet hit the concrete of the church parking lot, all the superhero self-esteem drains out of me.
I love our church beyond words. We have a pastor who values honesty and people having room to grow. We have a congregation that loves in the best ways and there are very few people at this point that I wouldn't trust with our kids, cars or my heart.
And yet, every Sunday morning I have to fight hard to "be okay." Sunday morning is when I need to work the hardest. It's at this point in the week that Fear and Negativity do their own swooping and swinging all over my mind, convincing me I'm not worthy of sitting inside of that church. That no one really likes me very much, which is why so and so didn't say hello to me and why I always have to make an effort with (insert name here) in order to keep the friendship going. Why I "mom shame" even though I know my child just did the exact same thing yesterday, or why I'm compelled to post how I'm "SO HAPPY" on Facebook so no one in the congregation thinks, "wow, is she still struggling with that?"
When you live in middle class America, this is what dancing with the devil is like. It seems like sometimes I go way, way, way out of my way to be my own worst enemy.
I don't feel like I have the energy today to fight the church fear. We had a show Friday and last night, and they always exhaust me. My face hurt from smiling. I hugged a hundred people. I was friendly and encouraging to an exiting teenage leader who barely said goodbye and definitely went out of her way to let me know she's hurting and she won't be extending any take-backs. I was gracious with a woman who was sweet as sugar to me all weekend but has a healthy dose of disdain bubbling just under the surface. Countless people told me how remarkable our ministry is, how wonderful we are, how we serve as a blessing....all wonderful, encouraging things to hear....but still, exhausting.
So, Satan gets in my head. He makes Sunday morning, when I head to MY safe place after running myself ragged managing a safe place for others, a time where the nicest truest congregation becomes perceived as a firing squad.
They aren't. Not even so much as a threatening water gun among them.
My fear is because I am broken. I know this. I can still hear my former pastor shouting at me. I can still see the words of the emailed gossip. I can still feel the grip of their hands on my wrists and recall the smell of grass and soil up against my face in the summertime. I feel sick when I remember the taste of "potions" my father made me drink as a child. There's just a lot - a lot that's happened, a lot of work left to be done to stop being affected by what happened....and thankfully. a testimony of victory to be given.
It gets a little bit better everyday. Everything feels a bit further away and I think about it less. But gosh, this healing business is no joke. I am not the proud owner of any sort of instant miracle. And on Sunday mornings, the hurt really flares up again. Because the enemy knows that's where I grow. That's where I'm loved. That's where I recall strongly who wins this fight in the end - against all odds, I'm now regularly seeing, hearing. Tasting and feeling the goodness of my Savior.
The mental army against me knows what they can't steal, so they make sure to clear out everything else comforting on Sunday mornings.
So, if you see me today and I'm not giddy and extroverted, please don't ask someone else if I don't like you. I promise that I do.
I'm just tired today. Like you, like everyone, I'm fighting a ferocious battle, and I am thrown into the front lines every Sunday morning.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)
Amen. Sunday, hit me with your best shot.
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