A Little Update from Amber
I’ve stopped going to church.
As a kid who grew up Southern Baptist and spent the last 7 years in ministry, those are difficult words to say.
2017 has been hard on my family. Some great things happened. Like my sister getting married and my other sister having a baby. But we also had some really sucky things happen. My dad has gone through a series of accidents and health scares including a shattered leg and a heart attack. At the beginning of the year, Andy and I saved up our money to buy a new car and within 24 hours of driving off the lot, someone shattered the front window and stole my purse.
I’ve also had some health problems of my own. Uterine Fibroid Tumors run in my family, and when I was pregnant with Ella, the doctors noted that I had three relatively small tumors. But this year I’ve started living with more and more abdominal pain and found out that I now have 10 tumors and their size has tripled.
In addition to all of this, it’s been a particularly difficult season of ministry. I loved the people at my last church. LOVED. But it is no secret that I got caught in the crossfire of some long-standing conflict that hundred year-old churches tend to manifest from time to time. I was ignorant of the mine field that I was walking on until things started to explode.
One Sunday morning while I was making my rounds in the Children’s Ministry, I had a member approach me and say some really hurtful things about me and my ministry. Unfortunately, I have grown accustomed to these confrontations in the church and so this person’s demeanor and angry words were far more familiar than they were concerning.
But my reaction to it wasn’t.
I started shaking all over. I walked away from her because my breath started coming through my air pipe in bursts and tears had rushed past my face and were soaking my shirt. I shot Andy a quick text to cover my classroom and found myself curled up in the fetal position in a dark closet. I had a complete nervous breakdown. Well… my counselor calls it a “panic attack” which makes me feel a little less crazy and alone.
I resigned the next day, promising to get us through VBS and all of the madness of summer, but still leaving far sooner than I could have ever imagined.
I found myself at the lowest I’ve ever been. I have never experienced anything so alarming, so outside of myself before.
And then I managed to get lower.
Because I was pregnant.
Then I wasn’t.
I hadn’t told anyone but Andy that I was pregnant, even though I’d known for a month. I had planned to announce it using a photo of Ella wearing a “Big Sis” T-shirt and already mentally prepared to get videos of all my family’s reaction.
The miscarriage side-swiped me. It took me out. I never knew I could feel so stripped bare and empty at the same time. It’s like all my clothes, even my skin was ripped away, then I was hollowed out from the inside too. I was a skinless body of muscle without even bones to hold me up. Sorry. I know it’s a graphic image. But, I’m hoping you’re starting to understand my first sentence.
I’ve stopped going to church.
Because bloody skinless piles of what was once a human are not palatable during the meet and greet.
“Good Morning, may the peace of Christ be with you.”
“Thanks, I feel like an egg with no yolk and no white, just a fragile white shell that’s about to shatter before your eyes at any moment.”
** awkward pause **
I’ve stopped going to church.
Because the idea of smiling and answering the question of what I’m doing next sends me into a full on anxiety attack where I’m rocking back and forth in the fetal position.
I’ve stopped going to church.
Because even thinking about singing a joyful melody makes me want to hurl.
I’ve stopped going to church.
And my chest tightens every time someone invites me to theirs. Like young-married couples-who-love-Jesus are a hot commodity in the Bible Belt.
I’ve stopped going to church.
But I love the church.
I love her because I am her. She’s welcomed me when I’ve been far from home. She’s comforted me when I was grieving. She’s befriended me and been a source of life and purpose that I never would have known without her.
But she isn’t the one I need right now.
Yesterday, my 2 year-old fell down and came running to me with tears streaking her face saying “Mommy!” in between sobs. During those brief moments after the fall, she buried her face in my neck and wrapped her arms around me so tight. I knew that for those first couple of minutes, she was so fragile that I was the only one who could “make it better.” She just wanted to be held.
Psalm 63 says, “Because you are my helper; I will rejoice in the shadow of your wings.”
The Hebrew word for “rejoice” in this verse is ranan which is also translated to mean “overcome.”
Right now I’m overcoming. In a weird, quiet painful way. I am. But it’s in the shadow of His wings. It isn’t with everyone else, because right now He is the one I need.
Actually, the Hebrew word for “wings” in this verse can also be translated to mean “skirt, corner of garment.”
It reaffirms the imagery of my fragile toddler self, clinging to the skirts of God knowing nothing can soothe a broken soul like the arms of the Savior.
So, I’ve stopped going to church.
I am Praying. Reading. Meditating. Writing. Being. Anointing. Breathing.
And the church…
…the church is coming to me.
- Through the pastor who meets with my husband at 5am to talk and pray.
- Through the friend who lets me set a timer and talk on the phone for 20 minutes about nothing but my grief.
- Through my counselor who prays healing over me.
- Through my sister who reminds me it’s ok to be weak, even though I’m older than her.
- Through my husband who gives me permission to be still even when I don’t give it to myself.
- Through my parents who probably think I’ve lost my mind but are kind enough to give me space.
Eventually, I’ll walk through the doors of the church again. I’ll sit in the pew on Sunday morning and feel the wash of the Spirit when the first song begins to play. I’ll feel the warmth of church family during those moments in between the songs and the sermon.
Eventually.
Soon even.
But not today.
Today, I will rest in the arms of my Savior and open my heart to the Holy Spirit to bring healing into every aspect of my life.
Even though I’ve stopped going to church, the church is coming to me.
And for that, I am unspeakably grateful.