Over the course of the last three-ish weeks, I’ve realized that there’s something new to work through every day. I mentioned in my previous post that I was having a hard time praying and being vulnerable with God. This weekend, as I took my monthly Sunday off from leading worship, I was allowed time to unpack my heart a little bit more. It’s difficult to be honest with yourself when you’re leading worship–at least it is for me. It’s easy to get caught up in the artistry of the music and the responsibility of providing a worship experience that isn’t distracting to other people. That’s not to say I’m being disingenuous when I’m singing on Sundays. It just so happens that crying to the point you can’t get the words out or even refusing to sing doesn’t qualify as ‘leading worship’.
As Sunday approached I knew that I wasn’t in a place where I wanted to attend any kind of virtual worship. The mention of prayer made my mind freeze up, and sitting through a sermon sounded miserable. Still, I joined in on Renewal’s worship. And immediately lost it. Something about this praise session struck a chord. From the call to worship to the songs chosen, I wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming message that God loved me. I could only stare at the words on the screen, unwilling to open my mouth to sing along. That’s when it hit me. I don’t want to hear about how much God loves me, and how thankful we should be, and how wonderful Jesus is because I. Don’t. Feel. Loved. If I don’t have to fake it for the sake of the congregation then I refuse to take part in it. So I left the room and cried, and Heech held me and let me cry. He said it was okay to be angry and to tell God everything that I’m feeling. I appreciate him for comforting me and supporting me as much as he can. I feel sorry sometimes because I know Heech is hurting too, and often I’m stuck thinking about myself and my grief.
When it comes down to it, though, here’s where I’m at.
I will always be a Christian. I believe that Jesus Christ died for me so I would never have to be separated from my Heavenly Father. I believe that I am loved and that God has saved me from everything in my past, my present, and my future. I believe that things on Earth are broken and there will be a new reality in the future. I believe that God is good. But I’m relying on my head knowledge right now because my heart is hurting. I don’t want to tell God how angry I am or what I’m feeling because I don’t want to talk to Him. It would be easier to leave Him out of the equation entirely. Then, whatever happens–another pregnancy or another miscarriage–I don’t need to wrestle with Him anymore. I don’t need to thank Him and I don’t need to be angry with Him.
As I type that out, I’m even more sure that this is how I truly feel right now. Angry, distant, and unready to take steps towards God. Yet, within the same span of seconds, I’m reminded of counsel I’ve given friends in the past. ‘The way you feel isn’t always the truth.’ I may feel unloved, but I know that’s not true. I may feel like distance from God is the more convenient existence, but I know that it would be temporary peace. I’m also reminded that God lost His child, too. To be honest, I’m still chewing on that. Part of me doesn’t want to acknowledge that God understands how I’m feeling. Like I said earlier, it’s easier to be angry. But the truth is the truth–it can’t and won’t be ignored, and I know I’ll come around to it with time.
So that’s where I’m at–angry, distant, processing, and, in the middle of it all, hopeful. There won’t always be sadness and anger, hurt and loss. There will be new mornings where I can smile, with the heaviness of yesterday clinging to the edges of my memory. I have hope because in the darkest corners of my life I have been pursued by my God who loves me. God met me this Sunday even though I was so intent on avoiding Him. And that’s enough to reassure me for the future.
Drops of Jules 