It's funny how when you go to church hoping to cross it off your "feel good" list for the week and get real "filled up" with sump'n real "soul-filling" to make yourself feel better, how God has totally different plans in mind.
I sat in the 2nd row of the balcony with the really high seat backs, in a row by myself and I secretly felt glad because then if I wanted to casually check my Facebook or text messages during the sermon, nobody would see me or judge me. Because 1 hour and 15 minutes without checking in on what my friends were doing just might do me in. Hashtag martyr.
I wasn't even paying attention to the people around me when I tossed my purse on the pew and stood up to give God a good 15 minutes of my "undivided" attention during worship when I happened to glance at the people in the row in front of me. It was a young mom with her (I'm guessing) 3 year old son. She had a good 14 napkins laid out across the pew to protect it from the crumbly glazed donut her son was feasting on. Instantly, I wondered if she was going to keep him in the service the whole time, 'cuz I know 3 year olds and I know they ain't got time for no 35 minute sermon.
I tried real hard to keep my eyes closed during worship because that's what good Christians do, DUH, and as I was tryin' to raise up my hands during one of my favorite songs, I slowly lowered them down because I wanted to see what that little boy was doing. And I giggled a little to myself because he was straight dancing a little jig right there in the pew. My eyes wandered over to his mom and mid-giggle, my throat got all lumpy and choked up because I noticed that her wedding ring was on her right hand instead of her left. I mean, I'm no doctor, but I immediately felt like that ring was on the wrong hand for a reason. And it was a pretty ring. Girls don't wear pretty rings on the wrong hand just because. Us divorced people, we become experts on ring-finger-analyzing.
And I broke.
My heart was Back-to-the-Future like whoa, and I was instantly transported back to 2 years ago when I sat alone in church, newly separated, hundreds of miles away from my family, and where I sometimes would sit by myself staring at the preacher, not hearing a word he said, but somehow feeling comforted by his sermon, or maybe just comforted because I was surrounded by people who loved Jesus. I suppose really strong Christians would have been grasping Words Of Truth from every sermon, but there were Sundays when I would just sit there and replay arguments in my head or mentally take inventory of the bills I had to pay or
Even though I had been a Christian my entire life, that season of my life was crazy lonely and scary and awful. Sundays were "drop off" days and my mom began to refer to the days I picked Faith up as "Happy Sundays"...and the days I dropped her off, well...she knew that she needed to answer the phone immediately those days so I could get my meltdown out of the way. I cried the hardest those days because FAMILIES ARE SUPPOSED TO GO TO CHURCH TOGETHER and the whole rest of the world was CHURCHING and I was CRYING and Sunday church was my own safe haven and personal hell blended into one.
But I kept going.
I went to church every freakin' Sunday and it was like God was smiling at me for coming back every week and also aching for me because, just like we do, He hurts when His children hurt.
I watched that mom as she took notes during the sermon and I wondered if she was writing down what Pastor Shane was telling us to write down, or if she was jotting down personal notes to keep her sane. I wondered if she was imagining church with someone next to her or if she was so overwhelmed with love for her Little that she was content that little man was all she would need. I don't know!! And I just wanted to know! Because I have done both and it surely wasn't COINCIDENCE that God made me watch her like a creep during the whole service.
When church was over, I stopped trying to figure out her life story and I looked at her son again and realized I hadn't heard a peep from him for the whole 35 minute sermon. I wanted to tap her on the shoulder and say, "I know this is weird for me to say, but I just wanted to let you know that your son is incredibly well-behaved and you should be proud. Carry on, Mama. You're doin' good." But that darn lumpy in my throat was getting larger by the second and I bit my tongue real hard to keep those tears from spilling over and I walked out of church without talking to her. Like a darn fool. I got in my car and I cried like an idiot because I had the chance to be a sister to her but I didn't.
And then I thanked Jesus. Because during that alone-ful season of my life, when I thought things would never get better, I clung to the faith that my mama and dad raised me with, and I hung on by a thread. I didn't think that light at the end of the tunnel would ever be visible. But it finally was. And I found a guy who loves me and cherishes me and loves my daughter and I am head over heels crazy in love with that man. But that's not even the awesome part of it. It's that Jesus somehow carried me through that storm and now I am on the other side of it. There will be more storms, but when I look at my track record, I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that for some reason unbeknownst to me, He is on my team and won't let me down. Like the Cubs do every single year. :)
And I was reminded that now it's up to me to share that hope with others. Truthfully, I don't know what I would have done if someone had tapped me on the shoulder during church 2 years ago and said, "Carry on, Mama. You're doin' good." But I betcha I woulda cried. I might have been defensive or felt guilty for the chaos I created for my daughter or maybe I
Don't be the darn fool who cries in her car after church because she regrets not tapping on a shoulder. Even in the darkest times, people need people. Don't ignore the still small voice telling you to be a light to someone's dark.
And when you're in the dark...the light will come.
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