Why I Haven't Been Back to Church

"Rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn."

- Romans 12:15
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One of the things about grief, is it encompasses your entire life. When Mom died, nothing in my life went untouched. My Mom was not only missing, but so was my best friend, my counselor, my comforter, my encourager, my nurse, my keeper of answers, my Dad's helpmate, my family's joy, security, and strength. 

Everything changed. Every relationship changed. Every purpose and plan, changed. 

And it's hard moving forward, walking into new situations where I know Mom won't be. It's hard enough facing the immediate loss in my own direct life, without having to face the loss outside of my home, among her friends, among our church family. 

Church is one of those places where my Mom would be prominent. She'd be leading the Ladies Sunday School, helping in the sound booth, sitting up front, singing out in a clear, beautiful soprano through the choruses and hymns. She'd be greeting people, laughing, smiling, and giving hugs. She'd be listening, counseling, loving, and encouraging those in the congregation. She'd be standing next to my Dad, supporting him, and gazing at him with pride while he preached. 

But now there is an enormous hole where she used to be, and facing that is something I haven't felt I'm ready to do yet. 

Not only that, but my Dad is also missing. For the last 25+ years of my life, my Dad has been my pastor. He's been strong and sure, unwavering, and passionate. He'd lead his flock with love, gentleness, and wisdom. He's preached with power, conviction, and truth. He's been my strength, my guide, and my spiritual educator. He's the one who lead me to Jesus, but right now, he's too weak and broken to lead a flock, and so, he's missing too…

I just can't imagine walking through those doors and facing such a loss, in such a public way…

Romans 12:15 tells us to mourn with those who mourn…to open ourselves up, and be willing to be vulnerable with one another, to join with one another, so share each other's burden…but truth be told, people don't know how to share this burden, and there's no way I can imagine myself opening up the pain in my heart in front of our entire church…

I know people would do their best, say the things they feel led to say, maybe even cry with me, but none of those things will help ease our burden, or lessen the pain in our hearts. What I imagine more, is that, instead, the well-intended words will hurt more, the pressure will close in, and I won't be able to handle the emotional burden of carrying not only myself, but also the emotions and feelings of those at church…

I wish that I could simply go in, sit among my friends, and just be…but I know that won't happen. I know going back will be overwhelming in every way, and I'm not ready for that, not in the state I'm in. 

I have been worshipping on my own, singing, writing, reading. I have been crawling my way to Jesus, carrying my broken heart to Him, pouring out my burden, and the burden of those I love. I've been trying to praise Him through the pain, crying out my honest feelings, and letting Him hold me. 

My relationship with God has been hard work these last weeks, sifting through truth and lies, grasping for understanding and peace, acknowledging anger, pain, and confusion. I am working out my faith before my God, but I don't feel the need to work this out in public. 

I wanted to explain this, because I've been getting pressure to come back, and I'm hoping this will help people understand. The best thing you can do for me and my family, is pray. Pray for healing, strength, and comfort. Pray for peace, and a fresh calling. Pray for our purpose, our joy, our vision, to be restored. Visit with us one on one. Ask us how we're doing. Drop off a meal, mail a card, or send an email to let us know we aren't forgotten. 

Our grief is still very real, and though it's been over a month since Mom died, we are still very much in pain. We haven't moved on, we haven't forgotten, and everyday we sit here in our sorrow, watching the world pass us by. If you want to help, join me where I am, where I need it most. Don't pressure me to do things your way, don't expect things that I can't give. 

This is hard work…an emotional, physical, and spiritual battle, and it's one I have to fight. I have to go through it, but I have to go through it my own way. Thankfully, I still have hope, thin as it may be. I am still holding on to the promise that God will see me through, and make something beautiful from this pain. I am still choosing to believe, though I am so very weak. 

I am still breathing, as I write this, so I know God's not done. I know His work will still go forward, and His plans will still be worked out. I know He's still here with me, and is walking me through this dark valley. And I know, too, that someday, we will reach the other side together, and He will make everything well again. It's just getting there that hurts so very much…