When I returned to the states I was so excited to join a church. Hungry for authentic messy community. Unfortunately things didn't quite turn out as I had hoped. (Probably mostly due to my inherent dysfunction). Tumultuous is the word I would choose to describe the journey. After one weird trip followed by a season of multiple transitions I reached a point where I couldn't cope any more. For two years I had been fighting to do the "right" thing. Showing up because that is what you're suppose to do. Trying (albeit not so skillfully) to work my way into community. I was exhausted and drained. There was minimal life-giving margin in my life. I did the "wrong" thing and I stopped going to church.
My batteries began to charge. Not fully and not so well, but enough for this season. And then people appeared. People who don't believe. People who are temporary. People who care. I'm thankful for them. So thankful. Our season together is short. It's not a go deep community but its genuine and life-giving. They're the bridge I so desperately needed. And I'm not so sure what to make of it. Because I believe in the church. And I know it's not perfect. Nothing is. But running without oxygen only lasts for so long. More transition looms on the horizon. And there's a lot of muck to muck because I'm content for all the wrong reasons.
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My batteries began to charge. Not fully and not so well, but enough for this season. And then people appeared. People who don't believe. People who are temporary. People who care. I'm thankful for them. So thankful. Our season together is short. It's not a go deep community but its genuine and life-giving. They're the bridge I so desperately needed. And I'm not so sure what to make of it. Because I believe in the church. And I know it's not perfect. Nothing is. But running without oxygen only lasts for so long. More transition looms on the horizon. And there's a lot of muck to muck because I'm content for all the wrong reasons.