I’m behind in my reading and late on linking this at 5 Minutes for Books. Below is what I’m working through right now:
Community is a hot buzz word in the church.
My first Driscoll book.
Love that title, and really LOVE the subtext.
That’s it for me for October. Be looking for my next On My Nightstand list at the end of this month.
Sunday wasn’t the happy Sabbath it could’ve been; you figured that out from Tuesday’s post. I didn’t write that snippet of life to stab my church. I love my church, that’s why it hurts much when it doesn’t feel reciprocal.
I realize this is a public forum for personal church problems. I have no intention of going into great detail regarding my church family and all it’s faults. And, oh boy, do we have our ups and downs. If you have attended a fellowship for any length of time, I bet we could swap stories. That’s the way it goes. Christians screw up.
Enough, Monica. Get to the point.
Yeah, why am I telling you all this?
Why share here? Why not just write this in a paper journal kept next to the bedside, in a book only I will ever read? Because I suspect there is another Christian walking this same road. Maybe she is a home school mom like me, home with kids all day, with little time for herself, scant close friends to lean on. She feels the same as I do.
This post is for her.
She feels a bit lost in the crowd, discouraged and maybe like church on a Sunday isn’t worth the hassle. Especially after a Sunday like I had.
I want her to know – I’m not quiting the church. As much as I want sometimes to stay home, or find a better, all-together church (Does it exist? Show me). I’m in it for the long haul.
I go to church to worship God, not make friends.
I attend my local church to learn from the Word, not to feel good about seeing friends. Even though it sure is a nice perk.
Church is to grow in Christ. And that’s why I won’t quit gathering together with other Christians. As imperfect as the church may be, I won’t give up on her. She’s imperfect, just like me. I’m glad one day we will be made new together.
Related posts:
“I love God, but find it difficult to pray.”
I want her to look at me. I will it to happen, but she doesn’t. Her attention on the announcements given from the pulpit. Two chairs separate us, but I easily could reach out to grab her arm. That would get her attention.
I don’t, of course. Because that’s not what polite people do. Especially in the middle of a church service. That’s what you get for being late. You don’t get the chatty hellos and hugs if you arrive 15 minutes after the music starts.
Announcements done, no new visitors, we stand to start signing again. I know this hymn well, we’ve sung it many times before.
A mother on the other side of the congregation bends down to whisper to one of her sons, tucking her long, brown hair behind her ear so it doesn’t spill into her face. My Edmund with an impish grin. He’s laying on his belly, taking up more than his share of space in the row. His blue sneakers wave too close to an elderly woman’s hand resting on the chair back. Doc doesn’t notice.
Two rows ahead, another woman raises her hands as she sings. Her husband stands next to her with his hands shoved in his pockets. A guitar player in the band – I taught him in Sunday School when he was in second grade.
Last year, my Peter was in second grade.
The singing done, children run downstairs for Children’s Church. We reach for pen, paper and Bible. The woman two chairs away – I can’t remember her name – finally, I catch her eye. Small smile.
This is the first Sunday I’ve been in church in four weeks. I wonder if she even knew I was gone.