True story.
When I was little, I loved going to the pool. I loved the feeling of the cool water against my skin, laughing and splashing with my friends and brother, and feeling refreshment and relief from the summer heat.
One day, a bigger kid approached me and snuck up behind me and dunked me under. He held me there. I struggled to get up out of the water and I dragged myself to the pool’s edge and slowly climbed over the side. I laid there, coughing, choking, and gasping for air. Fear and adrenaline surged through my body. When I looked over, the bully kid was there just watching and laughing. Then, he swam away and left me there.
It took a long time for me to feel comfortable enough to even go to the pool again let alone get in. Many times I just sat on the edge letting my legs dangle in the water. If someone approached me or walked by, I would get up immediately and move away from the edge.
To this day, I move to another area of the pool if someone comes near, and I watch my kids intently to make sure no one would push and hold them under.
I don’t think people understand what happens inside someone when they take away their safe space. Their source of joy. Their place of refreshment.
My journey with church is just like this.
I enjoyed it all my life, until someone bigger, with more power, pushed me under and watched me choke. Then walked away and left me there.
I made visit #2 to a church today, and it feels like dipping my toes in and letting my legs slide into the water. I’m slowly moving them back and forth, feeling the cool water, and remembering the refreshment, the relaxation, the joy, the smiles, the contentment that it used to bring me.
But, I’m still on guard. Still watching. The doubts and questions still roll in my mind… “Don’t come near me. Don’t talk to me. No, I don’t want to attend the newcomers class. Does your pastor bully his staff at that conference table? Will you make me an enemy if I question you? Will you discard me when I no longer serve your needs?”
Over this past year, I have pulled myself out of the pool (so to speak) and I’ve choked and coughed and cried and gasped for air. I’ve watched as people left me there, and I’ve felt relief when true friends came to my aid to help me breathe again, and to gently lead me to the edge of the pool once again. I appreciate the friends who have patience with me as I will only dip my toes in for now. I appreciate new friends who allow me to come and sit on the edge for a while.
Through it all, God has been present. He is ever patient, and loving, and gentle. He never forces, or pushes, or pressures. He just patiently and gently invites us into the water. ❤
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