the worst place to feel alone

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I visited a church today in my new town.  They say their vision is to connect people with God, and to reach out to the community, so I was excited to try it out.  I got there a little early, and honestly, I didn’t know where to go until the doors opened.  So I sat by myself on a bench beside the sanctuary and waited.

While I waited, people passed.  So many people passed.  Pastors, worship team members, regular attenders, and yes, greeters and welcomers.  I tried to look up and make eye contact so that I could make some connections with people.  But no one said anything to me.  No one stopped.  No one even smiled in my direction.  I know this is not absurd or abnormal.  But, you know what?  It kind of hurt.

I felt sad inside.  I felt awkward.  Part of me wanted to walk right back to my car.  Part of me didn’t even want to give that church a chance.  And all of me was missing the places I’ve left, who know my name and who are happy to see me and who welcome me with open arms.

And hey, for me, I’ll get over it.  I know that people get nervous to say hi to someone new.  I know that not all churches are good at that stuff.  I know that sometimes you have to push your way into a new community.  I know that Jesus is bigger than all of that.

But, for some people, it matters more.  Some people come to church, and they’re desperate and hurting and broken.  Some people come to church and they don’t know much about God or worship or how to “do” church.  Some people come, and they’re scared and they’re prepared to be rejected.  And some people, like me, come and they already know Jesus, but could really use a friend.

Jesus said that the world will know we belong to Him by our love for one another (Jn. 13:35).  I was talking with a friend just last week about how hard it is sometimes to feel loved in a community of Christians.  In my life, the two places I’ve felt most left out were both Christian communities.  And usually, it was during the hardest times in life that I felt the least welcomed and cared for.

“It’s never intentional,” my friend said.

And that’s exactly it.

So many communities aren’t intentional.  Not intentionally welcoming, not intentionally helpful, not intentionally going out of their own comfort zones to show Jesus’ love to others.  It’s not just a problem for churches, it’s everywhere.  Small groups and Bible studies, Christian organizations and institutions, circles of friends, everywhere.

And actually, I think I know why it’s like that.  Because LOVE changes things.  Love is powerful.  If you’ve ever been in a community where Jesus’ love is real among you, you know what I mean.  So no wonder.  No wonder that’s the thing that is so often stolen by fear or insecurity or pride.  No wonder that’s often the thing that falls to the wayside. Oh Lord, help us to combat the opposition and learn to love anyway.  Let’s be more about seeing God’s Kingdom grow than protecting our own little social group.  Let’s give people a chance – whether we’ve left others out or we’ve been left out.  Let’s believe better things for the Church, and be part of the change.

That was my favorite thing about my church in Bangkok.  We were all about loving people toward God.  We were a strange mix of every nationality and personality and style, and we definitely didn’t love everyone perfectly, but we sure did our best.

I’ll probably go back next week and give that church another try. They seem to be about Jesus in what they do, and I’m sure there are some wonderful people there. (And this town definitely has its share of welcoming churches too, please know.)

But next time we go to church, or are in any Christian community, or any place of belonging for that matter, and we see someone sitting there alone, maybe we should just go and talk to them.  Who knows how God might use that.

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where do we go from here: reflections on where I was and where I’m headed next

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I was seven years old the first time I saw my dad cry.  It was the end of a long road trip from California to Oregon, our last as a family.  My brother and my dad were just about to jump on a train headed back to California, and it was time to say goodbye.

I know it sounds cliché, but things truly were never the same after that day.  Instead of seeing my dad and brother every day, I saw them every summer – just once a year.  I’d be lying to you if I said that everything was awful after that, or that it ruined my childhood.  The truth is that both of my parents remarried rather quickly, and I ended up with two quite stable families that loved me dearly.  The truth is, I never felt unloved a day in my life.  But through it all, there was a loss that tainted everything.  Members of my own immediate family had never met my friends or stepped foot in my schools, never saw the color I painted my bedroom, never attended a band concert or a softball game.  So many missed Christmases, and birthdays, and more than that, so many missed normal, everyday kind of days.  And even when summertime came, it was tainted by the looming realization that our next goodbye was only weeks away.

How sad it would be if our story ended there, and for many years, I thought it might.  But, dear friends, God loves us more than we could ever know, and while I was busy for years protecting my own heart from further loss, He was lovingly healing, and restoring, and changing me bit by bit…and teaching me the meaning of this word, this beautiful, God-inspired, Gospel-saturated word: redemption.

Redemption.

Redemption is taking the broken things and making a masterpiece.  Redemption is not only finding what was lost, but replacing it with something better.  When God revealed to us the ultimate picture of redemption in Jesus, He didn’t just pull us out of the pit, He raised us up to the heights and glories of heaven.

Redemption.  Redemption is feeling the freedom to love both of my families with my whole heart.  Redemption is victory over fears that once shackled me and hindered my relationships.

Redemption doesn’t belittle loss, or brokenness, or sin.  It doesn’t erase the sad things; it doesn’t rewrite the past.  But it adds a new chapter.  It adds hope, and purpose, and life to what seemed to be only darkness.  Somehow, redemption makes our stories sweeter, richer, and more powerful than if the bad things had never happened.

RedemptionRedemption is New Year’s in our jammies, and late-night talks with brothers, and a full dinner table on Christmas night.  Redemption is In and Out burgers with my dad, or showing my big brother around Bangkok – a city I’ve come to love.

And this summer, Redemption will be living in the same state, the same city, the same house as my dad for the first time since I was seven years old.  Redemption will be seeing my little brothers start college, getting to know my brother’s girlfriend, spending everyday life with a mom I never had the chance to know in depth.

Redemption is why I’m picking everything up and moving to California this summer.  Redemption is why I’m leaving the classroom after seven good years to study counseling and psychology.  Redemption is why I’m stepping out in faith, before my feet even know where to land.  So please pray for me, and my family, and the next chapter of our story.  It’s gonna be a good one.

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