Like most Sunday’s mornings, I woke up and thought to myself, “Will I go to church today?”. And, like most Sundays, I didn’t. I haven’t been a consistent church-goer for quite some time - about 9 years in fact. I’ve tried different churches and most recently was semi-attending a very small church that I acquired when my ex-boyfriend and I broke-up. Being introverted and not one to bring attention to myself, I had traditionally attended large mega-churches because it was easier to get lost in the crowd and not engage. Going to a small church on my own would mean that I, as the new girl, would stick out like a sore thumb, be asked all sorts of questions, and be persuaded to sign up for the next church picnic. I wasn’t ready for that. My ex and I had been attending this small church for about 6 months and I finally felt comfortable there and knew that I would never try a small one on my own. So, when we broke up I asked if I could have the church and if he could find a new one. He did - the biggest mega church in the state – which fits him perfectly because there are a lot more girls there to flirt with.
I attended the small church on my own for a while, but still felt isolated. It wasn’t the people there, but me. Because I am 37, single, never married with any kids, I always feel like an outcast. I’m not really sure exactly where I fit in. Most singles groups are made up for the 20 something’s. The 30 something’s singles groups are primarily made up of those in their early 30’s who have significant others. Being that I am closer to 40 than 30, as my friend Travis likes to remind me, I don’t feel like I fit in there either. I attribute 99% of this to the thoughts I have about myself - not necessarily to the people who attend these churches. However, I have recently encountered a few people who have asked if I am married and when I say “no, not yet, maybe someday” they respond with a shocked look and a “Well you better get working on that!” It’s comments like these that make you feel like there is something wrong with you and that you are responsible for your singleness, when in fact it just may be God’s will for you today.
I recently read in a book by Don Miller that sometimes he doesn’t like to go to church but prefers to get away on his own to be with God. So, I decided I would do that too.
Church today was going to be a secluded place in the mountains where I can surround myself with God’s creation, the beauty of fall and basically be myself. With no make-up, a Bible and journal, I hugged my cat and headed out the door. One of the great things about church by yourself is that you don’t have to worry about make-up or what you are wearing. As a southern woman, I grew up with the mentality that you always look your best when you leave the house because you may not know who you will run into. I still ascribe to this belief and usually leave my home looking decent enough in case God decides to bring my future husband into my life while in the produce section at Safeway. But, today I decided lip gloss, jeans and my Alabama Crimson Tide t-shirt would do. I reached the mountains 30 minutes later and asked God to lead me to a place so we could be alone but preferably a place with a view of the trees and mountains. I turned down a road looking for a place to stop and was shown the beauty of aspen trees, deer grazing and four horses hanging out in a field. Since most of the places I found to stop were either on private property or not secluded enough to avoid distractions, I turned around and went back the way I came. I asked God again, “Ok, I know you want to be alone with me so you need to show me where.” I came around a corner and saw an old rusty rod iron arch that read “Divide Cemetery”. It was a small cemetery, a bit off the road with about 50 or so gravestones. It had a great view of the mountains and trees. I figured no one will bother me here. And, if I start to cry I have a great excuse. I’m crying over the death of my grandmother who is buried in this cemetery.
I pulled in and drove to the back of the cemetery. God new I was coming so he provided me with a faded wooden pew for two under an aspen tree that was beginning to lose its leaves. I parked the car and got out with my journal, bible and tissue. It was cold and breezy so I was glad I brought my coat. I sat down on the pew, closed my eyes and began to pray. “God, help me. I feel so alone and don’t know what my purpose is.” Then, I began to cry. I can’t remember what I said but it was pretty much rambling about everything - I want to be a wife, I want to feel loved, bless me, heal me, help me, speak to me, yada, yada, yada. As I wiped my eyes, I was thankful that I didn’t put on my mascera. Had I, I would have looked like a raccoon or the lead singer of The Cure.
I took the focus off myself and looked around at the tress losing their leaves, the graves and the dead grass and realized that I am surrounded by death and all things dying. Maybe God brought me here to die too – die to my distorted thinking, to bury the God that I don’t think loves or cares for me. The wind began to blow. The crisp leaves on the aspen tree covering me brushed against one another making a sound like applauding hands. Perhaps, I was on to something and God was clapping because I was getting it. About that time, an old red Ford pick up truck came down the road and stoped. “Great”, I thought. I scanned the cemetery for the name of someone I could say I was visiting. “Carroll, yeah that one.” She was born in 1900 and died in 1986, so I could say she was my great grandmother. I hoped I wouldn’t have to converse with the person because I didn’t want to lie. To pay back Carroll for using her, I promised I would visit her grave before I left. The man got out of the truck and opened a gate so he could go to the nearby ranch. “Wonderful!” He’s on the road next to the cemetery and won’t be coming my way.
Still waiting for God to speak about anything, I read a chapter out of a book I brought that talked about how service is worship to God. In a nutshell, things we do to help others is worshiping God through that service. The other night I heard an author speak who said that once when he got alone to write, he wrote down a purpose or idea that he felt God leading him to do. It related to an experience he had lived and had a deep passion for. But, once he put it on paper, he said to himself “I can’t do this! I don’t know how, it’s too big for me; I don’t have the money.” But, he knew he had to do it. I felt like God told me something about church/relating to him/fellowship and gave me an idea and what to call it. But, I’m asking the same questions of myself too - how, who, where? I’ve chosen not to put it in writing as it would make it more definite and I’m not ready to reveal it. Perhaps later down the road.
I had been there for an hour and decided that I should fellowship with the congregation. This was church after all, and that is what you do after church. So, I got up and walked over to Carroll since I promised her I would visit. Bessie Carroll was her name. She had one of those gravestones that has a space for a photo. Her photo was black and white and looked to have been taken in the 1930’s or 40’s. She wasn’t buried next to anyone so I decided that she must have been single. I also met Bill Rollins, a devoted father, brother, uncle, firefighter and “EMT extraordinaire”. He was 45. I wanted to ask him if he died in the line of duty. There were kids at this church, Fern – age 5, Joy – age 11 and Henry - age 8. Older married couples - Vivian and Ray, who, from the carvings on their gravestones, loved the mountains, horses and Jesus. And, John and Nancy, who showed me their wedding photo from the late 70’s. Well, actually John did. Nancy wasn’t their today. She hasn’t joined this church yet.
I met numerous others who lived to be 100 and some who were only 8 days old. Some were World War II vets and others were mothers who had to bury their sons. I let them do most of the talking and enjoyed hearing what they had to say.
As I strolled in and out of groups of people, families to be exact, I realized that I knew more people here than I had at any church I had attended in the past. I think it was because I didn’t care what they thought of me. I wasn’t pressuring myself to be perfect, outgoing, beautiful, perfectly dressed, at peace, satisfied with my life and Ok with my marital status. You see, they weren’t physically there for me to project onto them what I think they are thinking about me. Aside from the misteachings and fakeness you sometimes encounter at church (I know that all churches are not like this or at least don’t try to be) what I hate most about going to traditional church is that the most friendly, Christ-like people on earth could go there and love on me, but I wouldn’t feel worthy enough to accept it. Before I can go to a living people church I have to accept myself. I have to get my slef-worth from God, not others I have to let God define me. And right now, the best way to do that is at a one-on-one church with God, amidst those who are physically with him now, loving me from the other side, just watching.
So, I gathered my things and got in the car. I think I'm going to like it here. I can't wait until next Sunday.
