68.
That’s how many weeks it has been since the last time I was “in church”.
68 Sundays ago, I went for what I thought may be the last time. I said what I had to say. I drove away, alone.
The snow. It came early that year. It was snowing when I drove home. The road seemed so long, so cold.
As I drove away from the only Christian community I had known for 17 years, I remembered a thought coming to mind: “From now on, you are on your own…”
I was wrong. There were faithful friends who stood by me, who walked with me me through the darkest time of my life. If it weren’t for them, the pain from being rejected and left behind would have overwhelmed me long ago.
68 weeks. More than a few times I have thought of setting foot in a church again. But the pain from being abandoned was too much. I couldn’t risk entrusting myself to another community and risk being hurt again. In the beginning for a few weeks I would dropped my wife and little girl off at the front door of a church in our neighborhood. As my little girl get out of the car, she’d ask, “Daddy, are you going to church with us?” And I’d say, “May be next week, Sweetie…” After a few weeks of doing this, they stopped going too. Looking back, I think it was my wife’s way of saying: “We will not leave you behind…we will wait with you until you are ready again.”
68 weeks. Slowly we got used to life without church on Sundays. We’d sleep in a bit, go out for brunch at our favorite diner, do some grocery shopping, and get ready for another week of work and school. To be honest, it was actually quite enjoyable. We completely removed ourselves from the church “scene”, from all the politics and gossip and all the “latest news”. We limited our world to just us and the few who steadfastly remained our friends.
As the weeks rolled on, with the wounds from the past still fresh, slowly I felt an interest to go to church again. It wasn’t a desire to “attend church”. Rather, it was a longing to belong. I looked at my family and thought: “This isn’t just about me. I don’t want to deprive them of community…”
I didn’t know where to go. I had no clue where this will lead. But slowly, I felt this “pull” that says: “It’s time to turn the page and discover what’s in the next chapter…”
68 weeks. It’s been this long….
So, 68 weeks later, this past Sunday, I dropped off my wife and daughter at the front door of a friend’s church.
I parked the car…
I walked up, took a deep breath…
and walked in.
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