On Church and Tapestry and Ping Pong Tournaments in My Head

My church is a small church. It's in a small town, so that may not seem like a big deal, but even in a small town we're still considered a small church. There is no singles program, or young adult program of any kind, for that matter. In fact, out of the sixty or so people that attend, I'm one of three single people in my church, the only one under age 40. All the young people in my church are married. They all have children. We may be the same age but we are definitely at different places in our lives. Sometimes it’s hard to relate, until we can find a common topic like LOST or Facebook. But my church is my church. I love them, but it's also been a difficult ride these last several months.

Last November my best friend and her husband made the decision to leave our church and find one that fit them better, which left me feeling alone in my own church family. It had nothing to do with me, but her leaving devastated me. I loved singing with her on the worship team, playing with her daughter before Sunday school, and visiting with her during our monthly fellowships. Her not being there has left a hole in my church life.

Another reason it's been difficult is that I feel I have no designated place to serve. For eight years I was my little church's worship leader. Then this year I was replaced as worship leader. At first I was relieved. If you’ve never been in that kind of position in a church you have no idea, but it can be exhausting. Some people love what you do, other people hate it. No matter what the opinions rise up, and try as I may, I couldn’t keep them from affecting me. Having someone else handle all the pressure was freeing. It felt good. And it felt weird. I didn’t know what to do every week. I realized that these roles defined me in my church and not having them to anchor me left me feeling like a ship that lost its moorings.

I’ve been doing this back and forth thing in my head. Without the responsibility to buoy me to my church, I have a bit of freedom. So, in my head, I toss back and forth what to do. Do I stay, or do I go? Am I afraid to leave because it’s all I’ve ever known, or is this where God has called me? Some Sundays I feel so sure this is my place. Others I just plot and plan my escape, daydreaming about where to go and what might be waiting for me, somewhere else. Some mornings it’s a fight to get out of bed and go. I feel I won’t be missed and it won’t matter.

Something changed today.

My pastor chose to do something he rarely does, he sat down. Sat down and asked us to get up and talk. He asked us to share from our hearts what our church meant to us. Share how people in the church had ministered to us. The cynic in me was dreading this. I know how long winded people can be (ahem, are you still even reading this long post?) and I really just wanted to get on with my Sunday. But my heart was just soft enough to listen. Just soft enough to respond.

I listened as person after person got up, some awkwardly like a newborn calf finding his gait, some calm and sure like a glass lake on a still day. Many choked back tears while others let them flow freely. Some quoted scripture like they had been born with those words written on their heart while others could only manage a few, still heart-felt words, “I love this church family.” I listened and listened and then the microphone was handed to me. To me. The wavering girl. The girl devastated by the loss of her friend, the girl who felt out of place in the very church she was raised in. Me. The girl with a ping pong tournament going on in her head.

I managed to say something about being in this church all my life. Stammered something about how different the church looked, about green shag carpet and about being the only single thirty-something girl there. And then my mouth spoke something I don’t think my brain was privy to even moments before, “But this is my church, this is where I belong.” I shared how I had set some goals for myself this year and one of them was to learn to love well. And as I looked around the room it occurred to me, these were the teachers who were going to help me learn. They know how to love well. This is where I belong.

One of the men who shared today talked about how we all were woven together like a tapestry. He went on to explain how the back of a tapestry looks like a mess, all these strands of fabric sticking out, looking like no one belongs alongside the other, but turning it around in the front they are beautifully blended together. That’s our body. Young, old, rich, poor, single, married, widowed. We’re all different, but we’re all one. All part of a tapestry God has woven together for His glory and beauty and purpose. I loved that analogy.

So here I am. The only single thirty something in my church, one of only a handful of young people who attend. I don't have a fancy role, no big responsibilities to tie me to it. But still, I'm woven together with these people. And our God is weaving us into a beautiful tapestry. I'm just glad I get the chance to be a thread.