Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Please Be My Strength

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I was driving down a picturesque stretch of scenic road, by myself, listening to music. The sun was shining, vast green pastureland stretched out to either side, and in the distance large mountains looked down upon me. The words from the car radio caught my attention.

“Please be my strength.”

I lifted my right hand into the air; a charismatic Christian, worship regular, signaling my agreement and reaching for my Jesus. Then it struck me. He wasn’t somewhere up above, beyond my extended hand. He was here. In my car. I looked over at the seemingly empty passenger seat, and I imagined my Savior riding shotgun (even though He always has the wheel). I stretched out my hand into the side seat, rather than the air, and I closed my hand around His, our fingers intertwining.

Please be my strength.

I can categorically and emphatically say that the past year of my life, basically 2022 in its entirety, has been the most difficult of my life. Harder than bootcamp, tougher than an unexpected divorce in my late twenties, and even more stressful than being an ICU nurse in the height of a pandemic.

I’ll stop here to warn you. If you don’t know me personally, understand and be aware that I’m going to share very personal things. If you think you will possibly read my outpouring with judgement, perhaps you should just stop right here. This post has been on my mind for a few weeks, but it’s been difficult for me to share my inner turmoil with not only trolls hiding behind anonymous computer screens, but also, and sadly for the most part, because of the people close to me who judge me the harshest. Maybe you should stop reading here.

You can always think you will know how to react to a situation, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know little to nothing. As a young woman who only dreamed of children, I imagined how I would parent. Then I actually had children, and it all went out the window. Most of it, anyway. I got the epidural instead of a natural childbirth, and I co-slept rather than letting my baby cry it out in their crib. I never had the time for every night bedtime stories, and I’ve yet to start a single college fund. Sigh.

The enormity of what I don’t know about parenting, or life in general for that matter, crashed upon my head shortly after Christmas. My oldest, natural born child, my eleven year old started to change overnight. She gave her fidgets away, and she decided she hated the color pink. She started spending more time in her room, and stopped swimming in our pool, or even going outside to play with the neighborhood children. I had seen her height increase dramatically, her hips begin to take shape, while her waist thinned. Along came the budding breasts and hair in places they shouldn’t be for an eleven year old, in my humble, late-bloomer opinion. So, I blamed it all on hormones.

Sure enough, she started the dreaded red wave of womanhood shortly thereafter, and I thought, “maybe this will be a sweet release to the angst she has been feeling.” But that was only the beginning of the tsunami that was heading our way.

In the middle of pre-teen distress, our family, like most of yours, I’m sure, was experiencing a changing economy. It was getting harder to keep the pantry full for a family of five on a single income. I couldn’t help people like I had gotten used to doing, barely having enough extra to financially float my own family. I had taken a job away from bedside nursing to rest my Nightingale wings, but we decided as a family, I could get more bang for my buck by going back to the trenches. At the time, the best paying job was three hours away. No problem. It would only be for a short, three months, to get us back on our feet.

We all hated it! There is a big difference between coming home from your twelve hour shift to your family, and coming home to an empty, one bedroom tiny house. And while the quiet was blissful the first week, it quickly lost its shimmer. The driving back and forth on my off days was exhausting, and then there was the little issue of life upending hundreds of miles away.

We prayed and sought the Lord over the decision of that job, and despite the difficulty, I do believe it was God’s will for me to be alone in that little cabin. See, He was working on me too. I’m a fixer. That’s what I do. At work, and at home. But what do you do when you can’t fix it? I look back now understanding that the little rental house I stayed in three days a week, it was my green pasture. The place I had to lay in while I gave my lambs to the shepherd. If I would have been there, I know I’d have been trying to yield my rod and staff all over everything, forgetting where my strength came from.

Remember the pre-teen angst? Well, it was more than that. I knew it. There was new anxiety. I’m talking about hyperventilating, arms breaking out in hives, absolute panic in crowds, anxiety. Where did it come from?! Why was my formerly, social butterfly unable to walk in Aldi without having to stop and deep breathe?!

There was depression. Real depression. Sadness so deep that it was like a thick fog, and I could barely see my baby through the darkness of it. I recognized the mood. It was one I knew too well, on a personal level, but also a familial one.

This part of our journey was probably the most frustrating for me. When I reached out to trusted people I loved about my baby, I wasn’t met with the support I expected. I actually felt quite the opposite. It seems my child’s battle with anxiety and depression was simply a spiritual attack that I had the power to stop. All it took was some laying on hands. And don’t forget, the doorway to my daughter for Satan to harm her was my own doing. I was/must be allowing things into our home that opened the spiritual realm for my child to be attacked.

I love Jesus. I believe in forces of darkness and principalities of evil. I believe in prayer, I believe in deliverance, and I believe in healing. Truly. I also believe in science, a God-given knowledge of how our bodies work, sometimes against us, and how God gave mankind the tools both spiritually and physically to combat these issues. I was a suicide attempt survivor. I had a grandfather kill himself, and a mother who tried to end her life many times from my childhood up into my early thirties. That kind of family history will have you well versed on generational curses, but also heredity and chemical imbalances in the brain.

Had I not prayed countless hours every day for my child?! Had my husband and I not laid hands on our child, sought healing, but also wisdom for what (if anything) in our environment and home was causing a problem?! Of course we had. I had not stopped praying and crying daily in the shower for months. I thought of my own battle with anxiety and depression, and how I spent years trying to pray harder, read my Bible more, and call out the forces of darkness bringing me down. It was not until I sat in the bathtub on Christmas Eve, wishing I could go to sleep and never wake up, that I sought the help of a doctor. It shook me that a blessed woman, with an amazing husband and adored children would want to die on the happiest day of the year. It shook me to think that I had waited so long, and I vowed to do everything I could for my baby.

Against the advice of well-meaning guidance, I took my child to a therapist. Every week, out of pocket, since most insurances don’t consider mental health a needed health benefit, but that’s a topic for a whole other blog.

I’ll stop here to apologize, as this is getting longer than I anticipated, but I did tell you I haven’t shared in a while. So, let’s get to the message.

I get a message, at work, just before it was time to give report to the oncoming shift, and it was a message that rocked my world. I have been blessed with a relationship with my child where she tells me everything. So, it was killing her to keep her pain a secret, and that day she told me she had been hurting herself. She sent photos of cuts she had made into her arm. She asked me not to be mad! Mad?! I just wanted to hold her!

I drove 40 minutes to my little house, after my 3rd twelve hour shift, packed a quick bag and drove the three hours home. I cried to my sister on the phone (hands-free), while driving through a tropical storm, and later thanked God I didn’t mess up my car when I hit that median. The downpour had been so torrential, and the night so dark, but I had to get home.

I cried incredulous tears to my sister. Why was this happening to my baby?! Didn’t this sort of thing only happen to foster kids in a bad situation, or abused kids, or kids with bad relationships with their parents?! My child had not experienced any kind of trauma. I knew this to be true. Why was this happening?

As a side-note, I’ll add here, that I have since learned how common self harm is in teens. My child has even shared with me other girls, from good, “Christian,” happy homes, who have admitted to her they cut also. They had not told their mother, so I guess I had that going for me. Hey, you hang on to any little thing you can in these situations.

This wasn’t the end. More conversations revealed more issues. Suicidal ideation. We hid sharp objects, called doctors, had emergency sessions with the therapist. It had been spiraling to this out of control moment, but it wouldn’t stop spinning. It kept going.

There were bright moments. Her neurologist believing her puberty had changed how her seizure medicine affected her, causing the suicidal ideation and self harm. Us getting off the medicine, her brain scan being free of seizure activity (making a new medicine unnecessary), and the emergence out of that darkness that tried to take her. But still, there was more. I could see it.

When you are raised in an Evangelical Christian environment, you’re taught how to handle certain situations. You’re taught about sin, but there is also major focus on particular sins that are especially heinous. The ones that we stand on a firm foundation to fight for. Other sins can be pushed to the side. I mean, they’re still “bad,” but not worth making a social media post about. My husband and I are both divorced previously, but I cannot recall anyone telling me how disappointed God was in my actions not to reconcile with my ex. You think you know how to handle certain situations, that you have it all figured out, but then it gets personal, and that puts a wrench in everything.

One of my daughter’s disappointments in herself was that she didn’t feel like she belonged. She didn’t feel normal. All her friends and cousins spoke about dating and boys, but she wasn’t interested. “This is normal,” we said. “You’re just a kid.”

But to her it was more. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t interested at the present; the thought of ever being a woman romantically or sexually attracted to a man seemed inconceivable to her. It seemed off. It seemed “not her.” We had entered a period of her trying to understand why she felt so different, and honestly, this place of questioning and sharing is what brought my baby out of her dark place. I’d like to think my loving counsel was a help, and I’m sure the therapy and psychiatrist were a benefit, but I believe in my heart that her honest questions and seeking of her true self brought about the emergence.

In Christian circles you are taught how to approach the subject of LGBTQ. You “love the sinner but hate the sin!” But there’s a problem that surfaces when this happens to someone you love more than yourself.

You start to wonder, “how can I love them best? How can I say I love you in one breath, but tell them what they feel in their heart, mind, and soul is wrong, in the next breath? How can I show the love of Jesus best? How can I respond to this situation without crushing the spirit of this child I would literally die for?”

Tough questions. A tough year. In the end, you love the only way you know how. All in. In the middle, you question everything you’ve ever been told. You read scripture, study, pray, have long talks with your spouse, and come to a place of acceptance, of unconditional love for your child, no matter their gender identity or sexual preference.

I remember a conversation with my husband where we agreed we did not have all the answers. We didn’t know what was right or wrong. I’m gonna tell you… you can imagine you know how to handle issues, but after you’ve discovered your child is so confused and hurting that they would rather die, you start to rethink things. Everything turns upside down, inside out, and pouring from the seams. You question what’s of eternal significance. Is it being right about what is a sin and what is not? Or is it leaving some things to God and admitting your own failings instead? Is it focusing on the spirit nature of us all, regardless of slave, free, man, or woman, and understanding we are all one in Him? Yeah, we didn’t want to mess things up, but we knew our Father held it all in His hands. We knew our job was to love our child, to show them the heart of Jesus, and to leave what we didn’t understand to Him. I was back in that green pasture. And I am there still.

He is my strength. He is love. His love strengthens me, and His love pours out of me. That is good enough for me. To see your child on the edge of a cliff, and then watch them emerge bright, confident, and happy being themselves, is priceless. How could I not support that? I am so proud of my baby. Now and forever.

Is Your Christianity a Slogan or a Lifestyle?

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This morning on the way to work a beautiful worship song came on. The lyrics were simple, yet the weight of the words on my heart was anything but. Tears came to my eyes, overcome, I prayed in the Spirit. As I prayed, I saw a vision.

A faceless person in a riverbed, the water rising and rushing past. The current raised above the person’s head, until they bobbled along, treading water, while lifting their mouth and nose to the sky to suck in much needed breath. Just when it seemed to be too much, the waters receded, and what was left was a person glimmering. Little sparkles of light emanating from their body.

I felt the Lord speak to my heart, “my Spirit is like a rushing river, flooding your soul. Much like my consuming fire, my living water engulfs those who thirst for it. The engulfing process isn’t easy; it feels like you will drown. But in the end, you can shine my glory to the world.”

I thought of my own life. Now, I’m certainly not gleaming! I don’t sparkle like a character from the Twilight series. But I do desire my life to shine the light of God’s love, for His glory to be evident in my life. And over the past few years, drawing closer to the Lord, asking for His Spirit and Truth, I had felt the distress of going under. When the thoughts you’ve always held are challenged, it’s kinda painful. I mean, it’s much easier to stay put on comfortable dry land, secure in the mindset you’ve always known. But is that what God has for us?

I’ll never presume to tell someone how their relationship with Jesus should go, but for myself, I wanted more! He says, “my thoughts are not your thoughts,” but I didn’t want to completely throw my hands up for knowing His heart. I dove into scripture, and I encountered a Savior who started to make me question the status quo. I looked at the behavior of Jesus, and then I held that up to the behavior of us all as followers of His way. It’s not to say I expected anyone (especially me) to reach this level Christ had, but I did recall Him saying “we could be perfect since He is perfect.” And right before these words, He had been speaking of His love. Therefore, I set out to emulate His teachings. Kinda like the old, WWJD, but a lifestyle rather than a marketed slogan.

Now, let me tell you, when you start questioning behavior of the church in relation to Christ’s teachings, you really piss people off. And nothing made the situation more convoluted than American politics. Did anyone ever wonder if the politicians were playing us?!

Your faith is called into question if you can’t actively support immoral behavior in leadership, a heretic for suggesting we separate our political leanings from our serving Jesus (since conservative candidates don’t automatically equal Christ-like), and a liberal for caring about the lives of immigrants or LGBTQIA. It hurts my heart that our Christianity is important enough to impact our political leanings, but not important enough that we demand moral behavior of our leaders. Or that we demand moral behaviors of those outside of the church, but not of ourselves. It’s as if suggesting God loves the sinner, the citizens of countries other than America, or justice and real equality for all is needed, it makes you a trader to Christianity.

The problem was, the disconnect between the average American Christian’s belief system versus the life of Jesus. I mean, we all agreed He was our Savior, but when it came to how we should treat other people, it grew more gray. Even though He tells us the most important commandment. To love the Lord your God with all your heart, and to love others as yourself. To even love our enemy!

You can hold a Bible in the air for a camera all you want, but if you’re going to put the name “Christ,” in your label of belief (Christian), shouldn’t you maybe try and do what He said? And didn’t Jesus say we’d know God by knowing Him? And didn’t He also say, by your fruit they will know you are mine? So, isn’t a huge part of our faith knowing His character and then displaying that for others so they can know it too?!

It’s like, shortly after the formation of the original church (set forth by Jesus), we started inserting our own ideas of how it should go. Many of the letters from Paul to the early church address this. This desire to keep following the law when Christ had abolished our chains to this harsh system we could never achieve. Yet even today, we expect certain boxes to be checked, certain sins to be avoided (while others are ignored), certain sides to stay firmly on in regards to particular platforms, and certain candidates to vote for cause they’re standing on that particular sideline. Whether they’re wearing sheep’s clothing doesn’t matter when you place more weight on culture than Christ.

To question these things isn’t looked upon well, but should we not always be evaluating our heart motives to God’s heart? If we want to claim a religion that follows Jesus, shouldn’t we love as He loves? Shouldn’t we walk in empathy for others? Should we not care for those who need us? There are so many scriptures on this, so why aren’t we giving up “our cloak as well?”

Why do we focus on things of this world, when the Lord calls us to focus on Heavenly things? Why do we worry about what we will eat, or put our surplus in stores for it to rust?

When did we forget salt and light means showing the love of Jesus, not placing ourselves on a pedestal?

When did we mistake the call of Christians to serve others as a decision to only look out for our own?

I could go on and on. Remember when I said I definitely don’t gleam? It’s true. I’m just a work in progress, much like we all are, but I desire to shine with His glory! Not because I must do it to gain His love, but I want to do it because of His love freely given. This love that He asks us to freely give also. It’s hard, y’all. It’s hard to lay down pride, to lay down judgment, and to lay down offense. It’s a daily surrender, but I would encourage anyone, who wants to be engulfed by His Spirit, to seek Him. Read the words in red, the words of Jesus, and ask yourself in all humility if your Christianity is simply a slogan, or is it a lifestyle.

The Broken Heart of Nursing After a Pandemic

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Well, I guess that’s it, huh? CDC said we can go without masks (to the vaccinated), and you see businesses everywhere taking down their “masks required” signs. Disney World is taking advantage of our good numbers in the U.S., and while I’m just as excited as anybody to return to a normal, pre-covid world, I’m also having a hard time.

When mask mandates fall, plexiglass partitions are taken down, and social distancing requirements are slackened, it doesn’t just usher in the happy feelings of going back to the good ole days like I would hope. You see, it also feeds the wrong fires, and it perpetuates bad theory.

Who doesn’t know someone who thinks COVID-19 was a political ploy?! Like, I could probably count on both hands, and have to take off my shoes too, to total the Facebook friends who are certain the pandemic was an attempt at government control of its people; without them even noticing that a lot of the behavior in 2020 proved maybe a little government overreach was necessary. But that’s another topic. No wonder the Podcast I listened to earlier called social media “Satan’s cesspool.”

Point is, as the pandemic blows over, the chance of forgetting its seriousness flies away like the wind as well. It’s easier to lessen the virus when it’s not affecting anyone you know. When it’s a distant, news story from India, it’s fairly simple to blame the Democrats for going overboard to keep people safe. Heck, you could even believe COVID-19 was never really a big deal. Except… it was. To me, it was.

I am a critical care nurse, and in the year 2020 I experienced the worst year of my nursing career. I would even go so far as to say it was worse than my time in the military, in a post 9/11 world, watching scores of young men medevaced to my facility with only one limb remaining. At least the brave soldiers I saw in my stateside care lived. Not so with the Covid pandemic.

I personally saw hundreds in our facility’s care die. Not just old people, or people with multiple health problems. I especially remember the mother of three children who was younger than me. I tried to warn her she might die if she didn’t lay in a prone position. At the time, it was the thing that seemed to help those patients the most. The next day, she was intubated. A week later, she was gone. It was like that for way too many patients this past year.

I watched my coworker dress out in PPE to hug her husband goodbye before he died. I cried on the phone with more family members than my heart could take. I saw the hope go out of otherwise strong men’s eyes. Each day they fought in vain to breathe, the light in their eyes dimmed more and more. It was a fight they couldn’t win. And sadly it was a fight the nursing community couldn’t win either.

As a nurse, my job is to make people better. In my twenty years of nursing, I did a two year stint in Hospice Nursing. Y’all, I loved it. It was extremely rewarding to care for patients and families during a difficult end of life experience. I was able to prepare, support, and comfort them. All that to say, it wasn’t the morgue being too full to take any more bodies that got to me. As a nurse, I can handle patients dying. The problem with the past year was, they all died. If you came into the intensive care unit, you were only leaving in a bag! Back to the counting fingers… I can count on one hand how many patients got to leave my critical care unit alive. That’s bad odds.

Nursing care is about helping. No one wanted to die of COVID-19! They wanted to live! And when we became (like) Hospice nurses to patients and families who had not requested those services, it was debilitating to the morale. Y’all, I still have PTSD-like response from 2020. My actions, even now, as the virus statistics improve, are impacted negatively by the trauma I experienced watching patients die, over and over, every shift, day after day.

I am a woman of faith. When churches began to open back up, I didn’t take my family back. I had seen too much! It wasn’t fear winning out over my faith. It was my trauma response. But you haven’t heard the worst part. I still haven’t taken my family back to church, but it’s no longer the corona virus that whispers to me to stay at home. It’s a whole other form of PTSD. It’s the response of people that has given me a lasting trauma. With the vaccine, time, and herd immunity, I can move past COVID-19. But the careless words, hateful attitudes, and selfishness of some, fellow Christians has created a lasting trauma in my life. It’s hard for me to share in fellowship with people who laugh at a virus that made 2020 the worst year of my life as an RN. I’ve just been worshipping God at home with my husband. God, my spouse, and my fellow critical care nurses seem to be some of the few who understand why my heart was broken into pieces this past year.

*Insert sigh.

I’m glad we are returning to a life without a pandemic. I’m happy to see my patients transfer out of critical care, and on their way to recovery again! I want my children to play with other kids, and I want my loving husband to go back to striking up friendships with strangers. I miss his outgoing self! I think these things are possible. I know they are! But then there are the things that I don’t think can return to before.

I can’t forget the way people spoke so nonchalantly and uncaring about the death of >550,000 American citizens, or over 3 million people worldwide! I watched friends be more concerned with having to wear a piece of paper over their face for twenty minutes of shopping than they were for the possible health outcome statistically of their neighbors over 65 years of age. Citizens worried more about their “personal rights,” as they perceived them, than they were staving off the spread of a disease that had healthcare workers going beyond the possibility of what they could do. I remember reaching a wall of what I felt I could handle as a nurse in 2020. Then we busted right through that mother, to the point I recall in tears asking a coworker, “is this real life?!”

We were drowning, and no one cared! Our patients were dying, and no one cared! And now, things are getting better, causing some folks to say COVID-19 wasn’t a big deal. And no one seems to care!! Except me, my coworkers, and the families of the 3 million dead people. We seem to care. We seem to remember the past year wasn’t just a political ploy to oust Trump, reform gun control, or God-forbid, raise gas prices.

I don’t guess I have much more in me to say right now than that. It’s exhausting and it’s heartbreaking. Just when I think my heart is healing, callous words step on the broken pieces.

My husband told me earlier, “Brie, people just don’t know. They’re ignorant.”

To which I replied, “I wish I was too. I would rather be ignorant to the reality of a pandemic than have gone through what I did as a nurse in Covid Critical Care in 2020.”

So, if you see a nurse friend with a distant, haunted look while you discuss the government’s mishandling of the pandemic, try and understand why. It was so much more than you’ll ever know to those it touched personally. I do believe politicians play circumstances like a fiddle, and I know things were and are still mishandled in regards to COVID-19, but we have to be bigger than that. We, as human beings, have to rise above politics and the noise of this world to care compassionately about one another. If anything could return to normal after a pandemic, maybe it could be that.

I Finally Found Where I Fit In!

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I can recall receiving a specific message tailored just for me from a visiting prophet when I was twenty-one years old. His words were like a soothing balm, the proclamation I had always wanted in life, whether I realized it or not. He didn’t know me personally, yet the accuracy of his comments struck a chord with my misfit heart, and I have remembered them always.

He had spoken, “you feel like an outcast, like you’ve never fit in. But God wants you to know He has a place for you. You’ve always felt like a square peg, and God is saying He has a square hole in mind just for you.”

These encouraging words were just what I needed. I had always felt like an outsider in life. I was the girl in school who tried to hang out at the “cool kids’” lunch table, but had somehow never been able to take a seat there. I didn’t feel welcome.

As a child I was the new kid, from out West, with the weird accent. Totally tubular.

Or I was the sick kid. Epilepsy. Not a well-known condition in small-town U.S.A.

I was the adopted kid, never really fitting in with all the cousins. Treated differently by the grandparents even if they didn’t mean it to be that way.

I was the little girl who was so ordinary that her biological father had left town, never looking back at the daughter he rejected.

I was the quiet girl in school. Pretty, but odd. Puberty didn’t hit until I was seventeen, and I was the last cheerleader who still admitted to playing with Barbies or frogs.

In all the Howard Hughes’ films of the eighties, the outcasts and misfits at least had their own clique. Even The Nerds got their revenge.

But I didn’t fit in anywhere. I couldn’t find my group, and went through most of my young life trying way too hard to find my niche. A loner. Maybe even a loser.

I was born again at the age of 19. I can remember feeling such acceptance into God’s family, but it seemed short-lived. I’ll never say this was anyone’s fault but my own. I know my own perceptions are often to blame. It was probably the devil at work in my feelings, and perhaps in the actions of others as well. Regardless, I never felt like I fit into the Church. Most of my Christian peers had been raised in a deep faith, and I was still learning to read the Bible. I didn’t understand all the rules, of what was good, or what was definitely bad. I was on a learning curve when it came to taboos of the Christian walk, and those who corrected me were not usually gentle. Sadly, I have way too many instances of harsh correction by my “sisters” in faith, and I know I have healing still left from those encounters.

I had a past, but one thing I learned about people was, ones outside the church didn’t care about that stuff. They didn’t give a hoot about what I wore, if I watched an R rated movie, or if I had saved myself for marriage. It was much easier to get along with the people who skipped Sundays all together, and so began a season of being apart from God.

It makes me wonder, is backsliding the result of sinful influence outside the church, or is it perhaps the realization one haves that they’ll never be good enough to have a place at the table of religion?

Oh, but Grace. Great, great grace.

I have finally found my place. I have finally found where I fit. For awhile I thought the place that prophet spoke of over twenty years ago was a certain space. For years I wondered where God would move me, or what group of friends He would put in my path. Still corrupted by the ways of this world, and still scarred by past rejection, I still tried to make myself fit. I attempted to insert myself in this women’s group or that ministry opportunity. I allowed my belief system to be that of the majority to which I wanted to conform, knowing that to sit at the table, there are certain standards you must uphold, and certain opinions you must keep inside. The thing is, no matter how much I tried to mold myself into the Godly women I admired, the more unqualified I felt. I wasn’t the trendy mom, the crafty homeschooler, or the first hand up to volunteer for watching the nursery on Sunday. I didn’t like being busy, spinning plates, or overwhelming my schedule. Then I had this habit of seeing the best in others, trying to walk in the shoes of the “sinners,” and remembering far too easily the past I had previously mentioned. I wanted to give money to a guy on the street without worrying if he was going to spend it wisely! I wanted to believe that each time a drug addict ended up in my hospital bed, that they would stop using, and change their life. When others whispered about a short skirt on Sunday, I remembered a “church lady” making me leave a meeting because my t-shirt said the word “suck” on it.

My weird ideas have often left people confused. My fair treatment of those different than myself has made me unpopular in certain circles. In fact, the last year has found me ousted from the table of many of my Christian friends, simply for speaking topics not allowed for discussion. I guess we could call them “square peg” topics in the circular world of religion.

I felt so hurt. I felt the rejection all over again. Kindness was met with anger, and I trudged away licking my wounds. I guess sometimes you think you’ve found the place where God has you to fit in, only to discover you’ll never fit! We aren’t meant to fit in the pretty, round spaces this world provides. It turns out the edges have hidden rough spots, and you can get a face full of splinters, even as others have planks in their eyes.

When I read the Bible, though, I felt like I fit. When I read, re-read, meditated, and prayed over the words of Jesus, I felt totally at home. In His warm embrace I found my place, and in His love I found me.

I’m not in any way trying to lessen the importance of gathering with fellow believers. I truly belief that finding a church home, surrounded with brothers and sisters in Christ is much needed. Relationships are beneficial! The support, counsel, and correction of other believers is required in this confusing walk of life. So, don’t get me wrong, here. I’m not saying to throw out the baby with the bath water. But I am saying that some dirt and grime can get in the way sometimes.

Some people in this world find their place like the perfect glove. For others, they always feel like an outcast. I think it’s good to understand that if you don’t feel like you fit, you’re in good company. Jesus never fit in with the religious leaders of His day, either. People will misunderstand you, they will hurt you, or they’ll unknowingly (perhaps, knowingly) push you out. But at the table of the Father, there’s always a seat saved for you. Right next to Christ. It’s in His love we find our perfect place. It’s in His love that we finally fit in.

How Christianity is Missing the Harvest

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In reading my Bible this morning a verse really stuck out to me. It’s like the words zoomed off the page, and I knew the Holy Spirit was speaking those words just for me at that moment.

I think of that old song by The Byrds, Turn, Turn, Turn, where they sing, “there is a time for every purpose, under heaven.” Taken from the 3rd Book of Ecclesiastes, the words basically explain that every event in our lives is for a purpose. Even the hard ones. If ever there was a season that I would question its purpose, it would probably be this one. There have been hundreds of memes joking about the horrible year that was 2020, and we laugh. But I think most of us laughed to keep from crying.

Whether you want to quote The Byrds or the original author, likely Solomon, the verse/lyrics tell us, there’s a time to weep (which I did a lot the last year), a time to laugh (which thankfully I continued to do). It also says there’s a time to plant (which I try to do daily), but also a time to reap (which brings me back to the beginning of this whole thing).

John 4:34-35
“My food,” said Jesus, “is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work. 35 Don’t you have a saying, ‘It’s still four months until harvest’? I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest.

Ripe for the harvest. Y’all, I believe our country is ripe for a harvest.

The conversation in John 4 takes place between Jesus and His disciples right after He’s spoken to the Samaritan woman at the well. This is significant in the fact that Jesus just told this woman a time was coming when she wouldn’t have to go to the mountain or Jerusalem (to the temple) to worship. Jesus tells her that His Father is seeking worshippers who will worship Him in Spirit and Truth. He lets her know that time is coming, and it’s coming through Him. As a Samaritan and a woman she’s been “unworthy” according to the religious leaders, but the Messiah arrives to rock the foundations of the Law and to tear the temple curtain in half. Meaning, people like the sinner at the well are welcome to seek forgiveness and eternal life as much as anyone else.

Over the years (since the arrival of Christ), the enemy has come to distort the message of Salvation, and he’s often come under the guise of religious law. If you’re looking for the devil, you won’t find him in a bar or strip club. You’ll find him in the church, whispering his lies softly to those who will listen. You can look back in history at the destruction of mankind in the name of the Lord, and each time after Satan has used man to destroy the message of love and forgiveness, the Holy Spirit has raised up purveyors of truth to heal the rift zealotry has left in its wake.

I believe we are in a period of time where Jesus is calling purveyors of His truth to rise.

Open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest!

I don’t want to save people! Only Jesus does that. But I do want to show people the healing that can be found only in His love. I want to offer freedom to the captives and daily success through this troubled world.

Boy, is this world troubled. The pain, loss, and hatred of 2020 has planted open, hungry hearts in the center of mankind. The ground has been made soft by this past year. I don’t believe God gave us COVID to judge mankind, but I do believe He can use it to draw His children into His loving arms.

So, how does one reap in a season of harvest?

I’ll tell you how NOT to reap.

We will never reap by an Us versus Them mentality.

We will never reap by separating ourselves from those who need us the most.

We won’t reap by ignoring the reality of racial inequality and injustice, simply because it makes us uncomfortable to admit it still exists.

We cannot reap when we close ourselves off in a church building, with a sign of rules posted outside the door.

We cannot reap by placing politics at the forefront of our purposes.

We cannot reap when our hope is in who is elected to the oval office, rather than who is the King of Kings.

We cannot reap when we ignore the sins of pride, rage, hatred, or malice, while only focusing on the sins of homosexuality or abortion.

We cannot reap when we speak words of division and anger, rather than words of kindness and love.

We cannot reap when we publicly bicker with fellow believers on social media who have differing opinions.

Do you love Jesus? Do you believe He died for our sins so we might have eternal life?

If the answers are yes and yes, then we as the church of Christianity should stand united to reap.

Who did you vote for? Are you a Republican or a Democrat?

These are the questions that distract us from the ripe fields.

There’s a wind of deception blowing through our land. Why do you think that is?

The Father seeks those who will worship Him in Spirit and Truth.

Satan seeks to divide, deceive, and distract.

I believe we have come to a season of harvesting. I believe for many Christians it’s a time to turn, turn, turn.

To turn away from political entanglements. To turn away from a deceiving Religious Spirit that whispers anything other than the Saving Grace of Jesus!

We are in a season of harvesting, but many of the “workers” are trying too hard to separate the wheat from the chaff. This is not our job, gang. The Messiah decides what needs to be gathered into the barn and what gets thrown into the fire. I fear many think too highly of their position as wheat, and I certainly don’t want to be told by my Savior to depart, that He never knew me.

So, how do we successfully reap in this season?

We reap by reading our Bible more and our social media feeds less.

We reap by seeking the truth of the Holy Spirit, not by seeking truth in the media or on YouTube.

We reap by loving God with all our heart, and not giving the best of ourselves to our politics.

We reap by loving our neighbor as ourselves, not by saying “we gotta take care of our own first.”

We reap by laying down pride, by turn, turn, turning from self-righteous indignation.

We reap by admitting where we have been wrong.

We reap by modeling forgiveness. Y’all, I’ve been working on this one. My heart hurts from religious friends who told me I wasn’t a “true Christian” when I questioned if Donald Trump was the best representative for Christianity. I have had to lay down my offense over and over, understanding it’s not about me. It’s about doing His will. In the verses above in John, Jesus said his food was to do the will of His Father.

We need more of that! We’re getting a bellyache lately from filling up on worldly food, making ourselves sick on politics and conspiracy theories. We cannot reap if our diet is unhealthy! We must feed on His truth, His bread of life, and His living water. I am certain we will never find those foods stocked on the shelves of this world.

We reap by loving first. Loving God, and loving others. The “others” here includes those who think different than you, look different than you, vote different than you, and live different than you. If you’re interested in being in a “Saved Club” where you and your closest friends get to go to Heaven, then by all means, continue the work you’ve been doing. But if you desire to truly open your eyes and see the field, then I encourage you to step away from the worldly distraction. Step away from the law, and step into His grace. Step into the neighborhoods, lifestyles, and groups you sneer at, and join the Father in showing EVERYONE the way home.

A Word for the Church

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I saw a battlefield, complete with hundreds upon thousands of warriors battling it out. Like a scene from Braveheart, the mass of tangled bodies violently punched, stabbed, and speared anyone within range of their hastily swung arms. Each soldier wore specific battle garb, like armor, a specific color to designate the side for which they waged their war. As the men tore angrily at one another I realized something peculiar. They were all wearing the same colors. The soldiers fighting one another were on the same side, the same team. Across the field another army watched with glee. They laughed at the scene, understanding they didn’t need to lift a single, physical weapon. The army they wished to conquer was destroying itself.

At that moment the Lord spoke these words to me. “Sometimes it has to become broken before it can be fixed.”

I think you’ll agree that a lot has become broken over the past five months. Broken relationships, broken congregations, broken hearts. There have been broken bank balances, broken trust, and definitely broken systems. I think it’s time to start fixing.

Racism is a horrible sin against mankind, but so is pedophilia. Sadly, we have come to a place in life where we imagine we’re capable of ranking what breaks God’s heart the most, but I am of the opinion that neither of these two compare to the pain He feels over watching His children battle it out. Broken, bloodied, distracted, and confused, fighting the wrong enemy all along. The real enemy isn’t the bigot or the child molester. The real enemy is standing across the battlefield, laughing at the chaos he has created.

I recently felt led by the Holy Spirit to read the book of Haggai. You know, I couldn’t even recall if I had read it before. It’s only two chapters, you must realize, but inside that dynamic duo was a glimpse of today. Somehow, in the midst of the enemy’s confusion, we have become distracted by the walls of our own houses, and we have forgotten that we are required to keep building. In Haggai it was a temple, and today it is much the same. But rather than a physical building, we are needed for the construction of God’s kingdom.

When asked by the disciples how to pray, Jesus spoke some words we have forgotten.

Your kingdom come, your will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.

So many of us Christians long for the kingdom of Heaven, but we forget that His kingdom is being built here on earth, right now. We are the builders, yet we’re separating the materials, finding them “unworthy,” and tossing them aside for the pieces that look just like our own.

I was led to Ephesians 4 last night, and I was reminded by the Lord that the one body has many parts. Some of us will fight for racial equality, and some of us will fight for the children, both unborn and beyond. The thing is, we can fight for all those things. We can believe strongly in one injustice, while also fighting for another. The Lord positions His warriors where they will fight the best, but we have mistakenly taken up arms against one another, leaving the enemy laughing at how he is winning despite never stepping on the battlefield, except in our minds.

The kingdom of Heaven has many rooms, and we must stop trying to be the arrogant innkeeper. We cannot place a sign on the door that says only those with a mask may enter, anymore than we can throw out the ones who refuse to wear one. There is a place for us all, and this place is woven together by the common thread of the enemy we share. He is the prince of this world, but we cannot forget that our Father’s kingdom rules in the end. We need to regather the troops, guys.

The kingdom of Heaven isn’t divided by skin color, anymore than it’s divided by political party. Nowhere in the gospels does it say eternal life is dependent on how you vote, or by who you feel you must stand behind for the White House seat. I think we have forgotten that we can make our battle plans all we want, but that it is God who directs our steps. He will place who He wants as Commander in Chief, and we cannot fight an unnecessary war with one another. I think another thing we forget is that the war isn’t taking place in just one country. It spans the globe. We cannot be distracted by our own small minds or our pride.

I have been convicted, and I think we all could take to our knees in repentance for putting too much of our efforts as warriors of God pointed towards our brothers and sisters, rather than focused on Satan and his demonic army. We must be willing to listen to one another and have real discussions. We must be willing to set down pride, admit wrongdoing, and understand it’s ok to not be right about everything. God doesn’t need soldiers who are rigid against everything, yet fallible to sin in their own life. We cannot stand firm on one principle while simultaneously bending to sin of indifference in our everyday. In other words, we cannot stand against rioting, but not speak out against racism. We cannot hold firm against abortion, yet never open our hearts or pocketbooks to unwanted children outside the womb. We cannot claim homosexuality is a sin, but secretly surf the web for pornography after the family is asleep. We cannot ask people to follow us and our God of love if the words we speak don’t convey love. Gosh, we have a lot to learn, but thankfully God is willing to keep working on us. What we must do in the meantime is recognize the real enemy we fight, and stop wreaking havoc against anyone the Lord has placed in a different position than our own.

I started this post with a vision of a terrible battle, but I wasn’t finished telling you what I saw. After the initial impression of battling brothers, I realized that little by little, one by one, recognition dawned. On the faces of the soldiers you could see their eyes opening to truth, their hearts turning towards reconciliation, and their efforts combining to finally fight together. As their hearts turned towards one another the army was awarded by a power it couldn’t have fathomed before. Charged with the strength of unity they were finally open to the potential of God’s power. Like a sonic boom or a shock wave from some sort of blast, an explosion occurred within the spirits of the saints, and the pulse of power was visible as it blew outwards toward the camp of the enemy across the way.

What does all this mean? I hope that you see it means we’re in a war. We are in end times. God is positioning His saints, and we have to stop attacking our comrades if their position doesn’t look exactly like our own. We must understand the playbook of the enemy, and that he will use politics, division, and our own pride against us. He will cause us to fight one another, while he sits back laughing and watching the destruction. Y’all, there is a lot wrong with the church as a whole, but we cannot burn it down thinking that will win the real war. There is sin on the battlefield, but we cannot keep throwing our own soldiers out of our camp. We have to find that common ground, that unifying thread that is Jesus, and we must bind it around our hearts and minds.

The only way I know for us to win the war is together, but it’s not just a simple “getting along” we must do. Each heart must seek Christ, fully and first. We have to seek it before political agendas. We must seek it before injustice and personal hurt. We must seek it before platforms and specific causes. We must seek Him, and in doing so allow the Holy Spirit to speak the truth of each and every matter. Each and every one! If we focus on what we feel He is saying on one subject, we’re going to miss the big picture. We’re going to throw out the good building materials with the garbage, and this is only delaying the construction of His kingdom here on earth. You say that you long for Heaven! Well, understand that now, here on earth, that is where we must gather the pieces. Here, on earth, is where we bring together the sons and daughters to fill all the many rooms. We aren’t building a mansion so it can be empty. We are building a forever home, where I believe I recall scripture saying that the Lord is not willing for anyone to perish, but desires to give everyone a room, that He desires all to have everlasting life. That’s gonna be a big place, so let’s start building now.

Some people don’t want to share their Father’s home. They think that some don’t deserve to be there like them. But I reckon those are the ones who might end up being told to depart, that He never knew them. I hope not. I hope we can come together before it’s too late, and that we can come together against the real enemy. Once we do that, we can get busy building, rather than being busy fighting. Like I said, the kingdom is going to be epic, and I for one am willing to put in the work now. Will you join me in the building?

What COVID-19 Has Done for the Church

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Do you see what COVID-19 has done for the church? No, it’s not that it’s given it that push to get on social media. And it’s not about whether to meet, the importance of staying connected (although that’s important), or even the gumption to broadcast services live. What I’m talking about actually has nothing to do with whether a building has its doors opened or closed, or whether the government is skating too close to infringing on constitutional rights. It has nothing to do with religious organizations and everything to do with your relationship. Because, I’ll tell you a secret. You are the church. Allow me to explain.

Recently a coworker asked me how I had gotten to such a strong level of faith in my life. The person was pleasantly surprised when I said it wasn’t a switch that was flipped in my life, or even an overnight ordeal, but rather years of seeking and growth. I relayed the story of how my growing closer to Jesus had began.

Somewhere around 2010 I came across a wonderful opportunity at work. It was a weekend position that allowed me to work only 24 hours a week, while still getting paid for 40 hours. Pretty sweet, right? I had a baby, and another on my wish list, so working part time for full time pay was a God-send! The only problem? I would agree to work every weekend. While Saturday wasn’t a problem for me, Sunday was a lot harder. For one, I loved my church. My father-in-law was our pastor, and I worried how they would feel about the position.

It turns out, my father-in-law didn’t mind. He knew something I was about to learn. He knew something COVID-19 is trying to teach us all. He understood that a personal relationship with Jesus wasn’t found on Sunday morning alone, and he felt pretty confident in the Lord’s ability to show me just that.

My biggest concern after I took that weekender job? I worried my relationship with the Lord would suffer missing Sunday mornings, so I determined that it would not! How did I do that? I made the choice to seek the Lord more closely each and every day. I couldn’t go to church on Sunday, and my small congregation didn’t meet any other time. So I went to church Monday morning on my couch. I went to church Tuesday morning while I sipped my coffee. I went to church Wednesday morning while I fed my baby. I think you’re getting the point.

Ten years ago my life began to turn around for the better because I made a decision. I decided that since I couldn’t go to church, I would bring church to me! I started to set aside time daily to read my Bible, seek the Lord, pray, and listen to His voice. And we as a country are being given this same chance now! We are being told to stay home, and we have the opportunity to use that time wisely. We’re not just in a time in our lives where we can’t go to church. We’re in a time of our lives where we can bring church home. We can bring it into our hearts!

Even after I switched jobs and could attend worship with others on Sunday mornings, it was too late! My life had already changed, thank the Lord. I had begun to manifest the fruits of the Spirit. It wasn’t just my schedule that had changed. My personality had changed. I found that a life where I saturated myself with scripture, was a life where I could be more joyful and triumphant. I learned how to deal with the world’s problems according to the Bible’s answers. In those pages I discovered how much my Savior loved me, and sadly and honestly, I had spent ten years in church on Sundays as a child/teenager, never learning that truth. Salvation, discipline, and true life change aren’t always found in a building. And a deep relationship that changes you from the inside out, rarely is. Life change is found in time with Him.

This pandemic has given us all the rare opportunity to seek Him more. It has forced upon us the need to be fed at home, and I’m not talking about sustenance you get from the grocery store. I’m talking about the kind of spiritual food that will leave you never hungry again. It’s the kind of bread that gives you life, abundant life at that, and it fills you so full that fear can’t fit there. It fills you so overflowing that the uncertain circumstances surrounding you don’t stand a chance. It’s the Manna that God sends down from Heaven, and when you taste and eat you understand that He always provides just enough.

Do you know what the church (meaning the physical building AND all of us as the bride of Christ) needs? We need to learn how to be mature. God doesn’t intend for us to stay babies, being fed our spiritual bottle on Sunday mornings, thinking that will keep us full all week! He calls us to eat meat. He wants us to be self-feeding, steak-chewing, garden-growing, fruit-baring farmers. Y’all, it’s like He wants us to be homesteading harvesters who water where we’re planted. Of course He wants believers gathering together and supporting one another! Don’t get me wrong; this isn’t a church-bashing post. No, what this is is a reminder that we are the church, and we are called to grow the church. The fact is, it’s hard to grow a crop when all you do is eat the fruit. If you’re wanting to harvest, like God calls us all to do, then you have to start planting seeds, and folks forget you begin by planting the seeds in you.

So, I would encourage you to take advantage of this time. See it for what it is. It’s an opportunity, much like the one I experienced ten years ago, to seek the Lord so you don’t lose Him. Y’all, He’s not hard to find. We’re just usually so distracted by all the noise that we miss Him, but perhaps now is a National Call to Quiet. Perhaps Christ is calling us all away from the noise and into His arms. We have been given the chance to bring church into our hearts, the place where God has wanted it built all along. Don’t miss the positive change we can bring from such a negative time in our history. Don’t miss out on the greatest opportunity of all. To build His Church in you.

Is Satan Stealing Your Sunday Mornings?

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You walk into the kitchen and glimpse your husband beside the coffee maker. He’s standing there, motionless with his cup, not drinking it, but just staring out the window. You know there’s nothing astonishing in the backyard to behold. He’s simply in a morning trance. You sigh silently and trudge, fully dressed into the living room, leaving your spouse, still in his boxers, wasting time. This is how you see it.

In the next room the children sit transfixed on the television. They’re drinking the chocolate milk you made, eating the quick breakfast you prepared, and they haven’t even started to get dressed. On the couch, in neat stacks lay the clothes you laid out for everyone the night before. All they have to do is put them on.

And so goes Sunday morning. You will have been up for hours already. You woke everyone with plenty of time to get ready, but when it comes down to it you know it will be like moving heaven and earth to get everyone out the door.

Someone will have to poop at the last minute, and if you have one in diapers they will definitely doodoo when it’s time to go. Usually after they’re strapped in the car seat.

Shoes will go missing, even if you set them out the night before.

Feet will outgrow shoes that fit a week ago, and hem lines that were fine last month will suddenly be far too short.

Someone will drop toothpaste on their shirt.

Your husband won’t move near as fast as you think he should. In fact, no one will understand the urgency of timeliness like you prefer.

You’ll encounter the worst tangle in your child’s hair of all time, and that will be after looking everywhere for the brush for far too long.

You won’t think your own outfit is flattering in the least, but you’ll still manage to throw something on in time to get out the door. The rest of the family, though, that’s another story.

It will seem like a personal conspiracy against you. No one will know how to button buttons, zip zippers, or undo knots. The mother of all wrinkles will appear on your pants, but don’t try to iron them, you’ll end up with one of those stubborn, hard water stains. Trust me.

The dog will need water, and so will everyone else. Then they’ll all have to pee.

The lights will all turn red, and your spouse will say something really annoying when you’re already on edge. You’ll think a time or two, “am I the only one that can do anything?!”

You’ll feel like you got ten people ready for church, just so you could be ten minutes (or more, if you’re me) late for service. When it comes time to get out of the car, everyone will move in slow motion. Like, super-slow motion. You’ll yell, and maybe not for the first time that morning. There might be tears. Maybe from the kids, maybe from you, maybe all of the above. You’ll rush into church with a smile plastered on your face, your heart raising from anger or anxiety, and ugly thoughts for that smart comment your husband made in the parking lot.

Why do you think getting ready for church on Sunday morning is so flipping hard?! Why are children especially uncooperative, tempers extraordinarily short, and Murphy’s Law so mean?

Do you think the Devil wants you happy on Sunday morning, or snapping at your spouse? What’s the best way Satan can keep you from really hearing the message the Lord has given your pastor? Why, by distracting you, of course. He’ll try to keep you out the door, period, but when that fails he finds it quite easy to close your ears to God’s word by filling your heart with anger. He’ll test your patience, stir discontent in your marriage, and whisper lies to your fragile mind.

Yes, lies! You’ll think it’s important that your daughter’s dress is pristine, that everyone’s shoes match, and that your own outfit is flattering and fashionable. You’ll focus on name brands over having a heart open to worship. You’ll be certain you do more on Sunday mornings than your partner, and you’ll also be extra sensitive to any comment that comes from his mouth.

More lies. You’ll actually believe that being five minutes late is the worst thing imaginable, that everyone is judging your holiness on how early you arrive or what seat you manage to land. This is the same Father of Lies who convinces you to whisper to your friend about what so-and-so is wearing that morning rather than sweeping your own front step.

You will actually, nine times out of ten, fall for these lies, and a morning in God’s House that could leave you spiritually charged and fulfilled, instead leaves you angry, exhausted, and empty. Church will feel like a chore, not a privilege, and you’ll only go out of some obligation you feel under the chokehold of religion. You won’t desire to go for more of Jesus.

Instead of training your children up in the way they should go you will teach them that church is a social event, a fashion show, a place to go and impress others. You’ll teach them that it’s not their heart that matters, or God’s opinion, but rather the opinion of man. You’ll show them angry parents who argue over frivolous matters, and they’ll equate Sunday with short fuses and silent treatments.

If Sunday morning is causing you distress it may be that you need a time out. The Sabbath was made for rest, not distress, and if Satan is distracting you from God’s best with Sunday morning stress, then maybe you should find your rest first. Cause the thing is, if you’re going to church angry then perhaps you might as well not go. Sure church is a great place to have the Lord break the chains of anger and anxiety, but if you’re too distracted to even let Him, then you need to recenter your focus. You need to re-evaluate what’s most important about Sunday morning. I’ll give you a hint; it’s not your wardrobe. It’s not even being on time, although that’s nice. It’s just hard with kids.

1 Corinthians 13 New International Version (NIV)

13 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Here’s what’s most important. Love. And if you’re lacking in love on Sunday mornings then realize that Satan is distracting you from God’s best for you and your family. So when your children are just being kids, love them. They will learn more about God’s love through your actions at home. You can take them to Sunday school all you want, but the best lessons of love are taught at home. They can see Jesus best through your grace.

When you want to snap at your spouse, stop and consider what’s important. Is arriving five minutes sooner worth marital strife?

When you want to stress over perfect, matching outfits, stop and consider what garment is most beneficial. The Proverbs 31 Woman is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. Sometimes you just have to laugh at the insanity of missing shoes and surprise stains.

When you want to become upset over your own appearance or body image, stop and consider what God is looking for when you walk into His house. In His eyes you are fearfully and wonderfully made. He’s looking at your heart, not your hips. So if you’re becoming too concerned over how you appear outwardly at church, realize you’re serving man, not the Lord. It’s ok. We’re all a work in progress. Don’t take it as condemnation, take it as loving conviction from a Father who just desires your worship, not your best attire.

Ask yourself, is Satan stealing your Sunday mornings? It’s a question only you can answer, and it’s a struggle most of us face. So if you find yourself more irritable and stressed on Sunday mornings than anything then maybe it’s time for a heart change. Sundays are made for rest. It’s time to find it.

The Unexpected Thing That Happened When I Stopped Going to Church 

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This post came to mind after a recent conversation with a friend. “How do you stay close to God?” She asked. 

After the birth of my first child I found myself in a whirlwind of change. Naturally. Parenthood has a tendency to do that, but it my case it also accompanied a period of renewal for me. Though my body was bone tired, my spirit was energized. My first year of parenthood also happened to be a wonderful time for me as a child of God, and I found myself drawing closer into His welcoming embrace. 

Despite the cultivation of my spiritual relationship, I found myself mildly disappointed in my role as a mother. It wasn’t that I disliked being a parent. No. In fact I adored being a mom, and I felt a deep calling to give it my all. My sense of being disheartened came because I couldn’t do it more.  I worked a lot, and I desired to be home more, but it simply wasn’t financially feasible. I prayed about it constantly. 

Over three years ago I felt my prayers answered, and an opportunity arose to continue to bring home a full-time income with benefits, but only work part-time. My husband and I prayed about it, and we spoke to our pastor. Everyone was in agreement that this decision would benefit our family. It would allow me to be with my children more and serve my spouse more readily at home. It was a God-honoring choice for our family. 

But it also meant I would stop going to church. 

You see, this position happened to take place on the weekends, and it meant I would work on Sunday. Every. Single. Sunday. The whole Sabbath day. 

Pros and cons were weighed, and in the end we all decided it was for the best. I was excited, but a part of me worried. I was finally back in God’s will, and I was in a close relationship with the Lord. I didn’t want to see that suffer. Now that I would no longer receive nourishment for my soul on Sunday mornings I was concerned it might damage my spiritual growth. 

And this was what my friend asked me about. She was considering the same, weekend option. “How do you manage? How do you stay close with God?”

I was actually pleased when she stated she noticed it appeared from my writing that my relationship with Jesus had grown over the years, and since I too believed that to be true, I was glad she saw it. I had quit going to church on Sunday, and after over three years of missing Sunday services my relationship with God had grown exponentially. So how did I manage that?!

I think I learned something that sadly so many of us miss: a relationship with Jesus isn’t based on church attendance. 

That statement might ruffle some feathers. It certainly isn’t good for the church roster, but I believe it is true enough to repeat. A relationship with Jesus isn’t based on church attendance. And I’ll tell you why. 

Too often we assume that if we go to church every Sunday that we are set. And that’s all we do. There are some fantastic preachers out there, mine included, but if you’re counting on them to get you to heaven then you’re sorely mistaken. A relationship with the Lord can’t sustain itself, and it can’t thrive on a lesson learned in a hour one day a week. 

When I began working Sundays I was so worried my spiritual life would suffer that I decided to fight for it. I was off Monday through Friday, and I spent every free moment I had seeking His face. I prayed continually, and now speak to Jesus all day long throughout my waking moments. In fact I converse with Him right when my eyes open, even in the middle of the night. I made the choice to listen to His voice, and I spend as much time as I can manage in quiet time allowing Him to speak to my heart. 

I read the Bible frequently, and now His word is an everyday lamp for my feet. It gives me comfort in all things. I listened to recorded sermons during the week, and I surrounded myself with worship and praise music. I learned to depend on my relationship with God, and it became a lifestyle, not just a place I went a couple of hours on Sunday. 

I do go to a Bible study during the week, as I think it’s incredibly important and beneficial to commune with fellow believers. I also listen to sermons and teachings from pastors and preachers much more learned in scriptural truth than myself. I need that, and for that reason I think organized religion and church attendance is detrimental to the spiritual growth of a believer. I definitely think it’s needed for Christ followers. But the past four years have taught me that there’s more that you must have if you really want to thrive. 

Being pulled away from the church building, by decisions of my own, taught me that Jesus doesn’t live strictly in my church’s sanctuary. He lives in my heart. And building and sustaining a lasting relationship with Him requires commitment, diligence, and time. Not simply weekly attendance. Instead I attended to my communion with Him. 

So how do I do it? The way we all as children of God must do it. Time, wherever I may find it, time. Commitment, however I may achieve it, commitment. Determination, to obtain and maintain a close, personal relationship, determination. I haven’t perfected any of the above, but I continually strive to do it better. 

Now I pray continuously that the Lord will help me find a way back to my Sunday mornings at church. Honestly, I miss them. But for now I know I am where God wants me to be for my family. So I just continue to also be where I need to be with Him.