Coming Back Together

A few weeks passed, and the harsh summer sun had begun to fade. Its rays felt weaker on my arms as I drove. A cool dew rested on the grass; and a soft breeze blew through the trees, hinting at the changing of seasons. I was thankful to have grabbed a cardigan, inhaling the cool morning air. I drove down a familiar road as I took a sip of my coffee which did well to abate the growing number of goose bumps on my legs. I had driven down this road many times. It was a busy road.

But on this particular day, I couldn’t help but notice a large sign.

It was a sign for a church.

I wasn’t particularly interested in attending church. My prior experiences had left me jaded and with many questions. I could still hear the voices of those I once knew in my head, telling me I was to be healed. Despite all odds, claiming it would all go away. I knew my illness was visible then, and I couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a target. While well-meaning, their words felt unfair.

While I believed in a God who heals, I was also painfully aware that he, at times, chooses not to. More, he hadn’t revealed any promises of healing to my heart for my particular situation. So why did they feel they could make such sweeping statements? I knew five minutes after our conversation they would go casually on with their day, forgetting all about our exchange.

But their words stayed with me.

Longer than I would have liked.

And I found myself needing to let them go. More than once.

Because if I held onto them, I knew they would shipwreck me.

Shipwreck everything I believed about God. Everything I thought I knew.

And I already had enough questions.

The truth was, I needed to come to terms with what was happening to me.

Not go into denial that it was all going to go away.

But things were different now. I knew I no longer appeared sick. I kept driving, seconds later dismissing my wandering thoughts.

A week later I drove past the same sign. Again, I found myself inwardly pausing. But I wasn’t sure why. Why did I feel a pull toward this particular place? And why now? I hadn’t stepped foot in a church in a several years, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to reopen that door.

Ten days passed, and one sunny afternoon I found myself remembering that same sign. I had just gotten back from a three mile run. I grabbed a towel, wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead and leaned over, placing my hands on my feet in an effort to stretch out my hamstrings. I slowly stood up, letting out a deep breath. As I let my heart rate settle, that same sign advertising a Thursday evening service popped into my mind. I paused, knowing it would be taking place later that evening. I had liked the sound of a week night service. It didn’t sound quite so serious. Not like the traditional Sunday morning service. I wasn’t ready or even interested in that. I knew there would be fewer people present on a week night, making a visit hopefully less intimidating. Even still, the thought of going to church in any capacity put a knot in my stomach.

Over the next few hours I couldn’t shake the uneasiness I felt, but I knew I needed to go and at least try it out. I made my way to my car. As I neared the building in my car, my heart began to pound harder in my chest. I told myself to relax, knowing I had grown up in the church. But this felt different. This felt more significant in some way I couldn’t understand.

I half-heartedly pulled into the parking lot, unsure if I was going to get out and go in or turn the car around and never look back. I forced myself to park the car and swallowed hard, attempting to summon what courage I had as I made my way towards the building.

I entered the building nervously, not knowing what to expect. I smiled quickly at an older man greeting people and rushed in to find a seat. I needed to sit down.  

As I entered the sanctuary I decidedly sat in the very last row next to the door. I told myself I would see how things went. I wasn’t making any promises. Or signing on any dotted lines. I told myself I could undo this whole night if I needed to. And go right back to the way things were.

My way.

But there was a longing in me. A longing I could no longer deny. A longing for things to be different from the way they had been. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and I wasn’t particularly proud of that. I had lost so much of myself, having given so much of myself away. And for what?

I felt more broken than ever.

And I was still alone.

After all that I had given up to find love.

A few awkward moments passed and a young girl about my age came up to me and introduced herself. She seemed sweet and perfectly normal. It instantly put me at ease. Five more minutes passed, and we all stood up as the band began to play. The sanctuary had filled in, and there were far more people than I ever expected to show.

As they began to sing I felt my body stiffen. I didn’t know if I was ready for all of this. The music was loud, almost jarring to my senses. Still, a small part of me couldn’t help but want to join in, but my feet felt like cement bricks glued to the carpeted floor. So I stood there, motionless, taking it all in. And somehow, while still cautiously guarding my heart and my expectations, I was refreshed.

The following week I returned for a second service. I saw the same girl I had met the previous week. Only this time she came and sat with me. And with her followed two more girls. Her kindness touched me, knowing how females don’t typically seek out new females to welcome to a particular social circle. No, in my experience, those in a friend circle feel little to no need to add to their circle, oftentimes even working to prevent new additions.

But this was not the case here, and the only way I could describe it to my heart was that it was God. He was meeting me. And he was giving me new friends.

I was getting a new start.

And with that new start, pieces of my heart were beginning to come back together.