I’m not sure why I go
but here I am driving in rain so thick
I can barely see
flashers blaring my location.
I know I’m drawn to these meetings
this little house in the city
unlike any other church
I’ve ever been to
and so I go even when I know
I’ll probably just sit and cry and try to sing–
It’s been a hard, hard week.
A house church, that’s what it’s called
bewildered me the first time I showed up
young people with a few older sprinkled through
a living room and den
just two guitars, a cajon, and impassioned voices
decaf coffee in the kitchen
people who live what they believe
and don’t make a big deal about it.
worship isn’t like I’m used to
one song flows into the other without borders.
the people have no borders too
stand close or sit far away
couch or floor or chair or wall
sing or be silent
come early or late
shout or whisper
jump or dance or stand or hug.
there are no pews here, no screen with words
no lines to follow.
I don’t agree with everything but that’s okay
I don’t have to believe the same things
to walk through this door
to be welcomed as family
and somehow they still talk to me
the girl who enters quietly
leans against the door frame
either sings with all her might
or cries through the melodies
and says nothing of why afterward.
somehow they don’t mind
that I’m a mess.
I don’t think they’d mind
anyone’s mess
or questions
or unbelief
whatever form it took.
and so here I am tonight
I don’t have strength to stand
I curl in a ball, knees to chest
arms squeezing tight
trying to make that hollow hurt less
trying to keep the dark out
asking question after question of God
struggling to believe that he loves me
when I have been in so much pain.
they call him Dad here. they call us kids.
I gravitate toward those powerful
unassuming words.
this is how I fight my battles, the song goes.
this is how I fight my battles, people sing
bare feet on wooden floor, swaying.
I’m glad I don’t have to run from this place
like I’ve been running.
ordinary church makes me stop breathing.
can’t sit through a single service anymore
find myself running through the neighborhoods
till my feet still their panic
hiding in alleys and looking at the sky
or stuffing everything deep inside till I’m dizzy
with the pressure of it.
there everyone seems content to stand
in their rows
praise God without mess
seeming so perfect so happy
when I can’t pretend to be normal.
when believing cost me everything I most wanted.
when it still does.
I still need Jesus but I’m done pretending
I’m okay anymore.
Here I can be whatever I am.
Here I can sing or shout or leave or
stay or be completely silent, watching.
Here I can do as I am now and cry
through the verses
letting myself feel in ways it isn’t safe to do so
other places
’cause people and places aren’t safe for me anymore.
there’s no shadow he won’t light up,
mountain he won’t climb up,
coming after me, they sing
there’s no wall he won’t kick down,
lie he won’t tear down, coming after me.
I couldn’t earn it, I don’t deserve it,
still he gave himself away.
oh, the overwhelming, never-ending,
reckless love of God.
I wish you were here to hear it.
tonight I can only mouth the words
I don’t have the strength to do much else.
I tell God to show me how he loves me
Because I’m too blind and dumb to see it myself
Because I feel alone and abandoned
Because I’ve prayed and prayed and still
it hasn’t happened
not that I can tell.
Someone places a warm hand on my back in passing
you’re doing a good job, she says.
she has no idea how much I needed
to hear it.