I miss it

What is it, you might ask?

Church. There, I said it. I miss going to church.

When I was growing up, we were one of those families who were in church whenever the doors were open. So many of my memories are steeped in the church that it's hard to think of one that isn't. There was church pageants, vacation bible school, Sunday school songs, etc. I was indoctrinated before I was weened from formula.

God is... was... someone I turned to when things were rough. And frequently, things were rough. Daddy's illness, money troubles, things that I'm not sure little children should know about clouded my view for years. God was my rock, my comfort, my port in the storm. But even at that age, I had trouble believing fully in Him. I can remember seeing my friends "getting blessed" during services and I felt nothing and I was so jealous of them that I actually stuck my fingers in my eyes to make myself cry.

How lame is that?

I turned to my church family as one would to their blood family. My memories are full of the stereotypical Southern church services where we'd sing in stuffy sanctuaries - and they all smelled the same way - old wood, pledge, and some unexplained smell that can only be found in old churches. We'd fan ourselves with these large cardboard fans that came from one of the local funeral homes and usually had a picture of Jesus knocking on a wooden door or praying in Gethsemane. Then there would be table after table of foods, made by good, Christian women. And there'd be a separate table just for desserts. I can still feel the sting of getting my legs pinched on those folding wooden chairs and the smell of the coffee in the percolator.

Church to me was more than a service, more than an expression of my faith. It was my extended family. Which is why, years later, when certain things happened that changed how I saw my "family" that it made so painful to leave, but even more painful to stay.

That was nearly 15 years ago. And I miss it.

I miss the music, the songs, hearing songs like, "He Touched Me" or "It is Well" and the feeling in my heart when I'd sing them. I miss the lump in my throat, the quiver in my voice as I sing, "How Great Thou Art". I miss the sermons, of hearing someone else's take on scripture. I miss the fellowship, the smiles. I miss it all. Well, most of it.

See, when this feeling hits, this feeling that I miss it, then I remember all the reasons I left it. Then I fight with myself over missing it. I also fear, that even if I did start going to church, that I'd never find what I was missing.

Now there's Logan to think of. I want him to have my memories. Well most of them. I dont want him sitting in VBS and watching a movie about the end of the world and be too afraid to sleep or afraid that the rapture has happened and he's missed it when I dont answer his call. Those are other things I dont miss.

I wonder if there's a missing church support group?