Coming home

Pretty much exactly 5 months after my last church attendance I returned today. Since my last time I had only seen 3 people from the congregation face to face. People who live in my town. Who I've seen at least twice a week for years, I'd seen so few of them. Children had grown. Newborn babies now starting to move. Barely bumps now earth side. There were a few new faces too. We decided to go today because we had been invited for Sunday lunch by a couple from church. The sweet, kind hearted, godly doctor who was on duty the weekend I was first taken to hospital. I didn't give myself a choice this morning. I'd set up an excuse not to go for lunch already. Our car was broken. It was true, it was, but I knew it would be fixed in time to go. So I got up and we went. I'd spoken with my counsellor about not feeling it was my home any longer. That I wasn't part of the fellowship anymore. That physically I didn't know where to sit. Our usual seats, middle,front, with my friend and her family. So I could easily sit on the floor to have little ones on my lap and help them listen and join in. No I couldn't sit there. So we sad at the back to the side. Near the door so I could leave quickly. Back to people coming in so they might not see me. I sang. I praised God with all I had in song as I used to. At times that was all there was. As it should be. Other times things hit me like a punch in the stomach. Children going to groups. Holiday club announcements. Prayers for leaders. A member of the eldership her stony cold self and the way she rolled her eyes at a child who lost her toy. Most people had the good sense to acknowledge my absence with a gentle shoulder squeeze. Many people did just that, a gentle touch, a smile and leaving before I inevitably started crying. Then, at the end. She came. I don't know what was worse. Had she ignored me I could be angry. Instead it was a forced "good to see you". It wasn't the time for big tearful reunions. I know that. I don't know what I expected really. How do you greet your best friend who you've blanked and blocked all forms of communication from for months? Throughout the service silent tears fell down my cheeks. Tears of humility. Tears from being overwhelmed. Tears of grief and regret. The sermon, the final verses of Galations, dealt with grace. That searching for fulfilment in security, acts etc is wrong. It is dangerous. Grace is all we should base our worth on. The cross is the great leveller. Rapists, murderers and those who enjoy a bit of a gossip all sinners and all forgiven if they accept Jesus. Basically a sermon based on discussions I had had with church elders where I was shouted down for feeling unnoticed, underappreciated, because grace should be enough. Yes it should be. I did not give what I gave for recognition. I gave it to bring glory to the God who saves. To bring children and parents to Him so they could know His love. My worth was not in that. If anything I fail to see any worth in my actions at all. It became clear to me long before I understood grace that whatever I did had minimal impact. There was always an earthly person doing it better, quicker,more cheerfully. So knowing that without God nothing I did had any value was a fairly easy jump for me. I knew I was wretched and broken and I needed rescuing. However when you are exhausted. When you have prayed and prayed. When you have given up everything. Your job. Your money. Your time. Your thoughts. When you are human and tired and frustrated, even though you know God loves you and that he would still love you just as much if you stopped serving Him, it is so difficult to say "it doesn't matter". I maintain that others would also feel loss, uncertainty, resentment. I know they do because they have shared that with me. I have understood. I have validated your human emotions. So now that's it I guess. We are back at church. Our routine will resume. Exactly how I expected, that I would go, sit quietly, accept that I was no longer able to serve God in this way. Accept that my relationships are fractured beyond repair and that the path I thought God had wanted me to travel wasn't what was supposed to happen. That I had to give up the fight. That my voice is unimportant. Exactly how my counsellor said I shouldn't handle this. It's the only way though. The only way to ensure my children are nurtured in faith. The only way that I can be disciplined to connect with God deeply rather than the fairly selfish and superficial way I've been clinging on these past few months. A big step today. I felt more at home than I had hoped for. At home. Close to God but still on the edge and tainted.