Sunday morning….. a day I would usually have gotten up and went to church, for most of my life anyway. Lately I have felt a longing if you will. I miss it, I really do. I thought about trying a new church yesterday but the thought of worshipping doesn’t work for me right now. My heart is to broken to engage in singing words that I no longer connect with or believe. When I have tried other church’s since my “fall”, I usually find issue with the preaching. I am to familiar with scripture to overlook it’s misuse or oversimplification. I am also to hurt and angry to listen to someone tell me that giving my heart to God is the answer. I gave my heart and life to God and He broke it, not once, not twice but time and time again.
At the last Women’s Conference that I was a part of, I gave a demonstration regarding the importance of supporting and interceding for fellow believers. In this demonstration, I was the broken one (which I really was as I had still not healed from my daughters cancer) and I stood vulnerable on center stage. The Evil one began to come for me through the crowd. As he (she in the case as it was a Women’s conference 🙂 ) approached me- my sisters in Christ created a circle around me. They held hands and began to pray. They comforted me, supported me and interceded for me. The demonstration was powerful and effective, or so we thought.
Where Was Our Protection?
What we did not see was the attack the enemy had been plotting and already begun as he took out each women involved in the conference, many of us simultaneously. We knew the enemy was viscous but we thought the Protector offered some protection. Our circle imploded and instantly I had no one left to intercede. At the same time my marriage seemed to have the same fate. I was utterly and 100% alone, and so I did what I was not only taught to do, but what I had taught others to do… I cried out to the Father for strength and comfort…..I heard nothing. I felt nothing. If something was said, it was not loud enough to drown out the emptiness. If comfort was offered, it was not felt stronger than my pain.
Right before my church’s “scandal” I very strongly felt that God was leading me to leave that church. Not for any reasons that seemed obvious to me at the time. However, there is a church I grew up at, my mother went to that church, my grandmother went to that church. It was my other church home. I had relationships there and they were getting a new pastor. New to them, but this pastor came from my church. This was not a coincidence, and in fact my mother and I were a part of that transition(whether he knew it or not). So, although it would have been hard to make the jump, my mother and I both separately heard God tell us to make that move.
On the 1st Sunday, as I attended the celebration of the “new” pastor, I was ready to be obedient to God’s direction. What I did not anticipate was the new pastor telling me that I was not welcome there. His reasons were and are not relevant as last time I checked; God is supposed to dictate that part of my journey. My mother was also rejected but it didn’t sound quite as harsh with her. My broken heart(which already doesn’t do well with rejection) shattered once more. So this is the “man of God” that we prayed for huh? I decided that this man was nothing more than a fraud and no one that I wanted in my life.
The Last Straw
Fast forward to the “EVENT” that destroyed what little heart I had left. I found myself left at a broken church, with other broken people. A church I helped grow from the ground up. A place that was once my safe place was now a PTSD trigger for me. Those who once encircled me were down. The infirmary was full and there was no one well enough to start triage or intercede for me. But, if I was at the Church where God told me to go, what would that have looked like? There were well people there. People who loved me and interceded on my behalf. Perhaps they could have formed a new circle around me, maybe not. It is all just speculation at this point but it hard for me to imagine trusting another Pastor at any church.
And so my heart belongs to me. Yes it is shattered into a million pieces and no, I don’t know how to repair it. What I have learned in a life where trauma and evil seem to win out over good, is that I don’t want my heart healed again, only to be smashed again and again. It is an exhausting cycle that I have chosen to no longer engage in.