Where the Light enters.

I have been hurt by the church, profoundly. In my twenties, I felt as though there was no space for my loud, sassy, and opinionated self who had questions and demanded answers. And that no one knew what to do with me, or people like me. I felt in the way and just way too much person and had a hard time reconciling the message of “God loves you just the way you are but we think you’re obnoxious or broken”, so I left. . .or tried to. But not after I tried to change every single thing about myself, at least internally, which just made me even more hurt and lost and searching for some solid ground.

My first Wesleyan crisis of faith.

The years that followed were fraught with trepidation, lots of soul work, and the messy middle and when I lost my job in May, I thought that was the death knell of my serving in a church. I had given every last bit of myself to the church and felt as though I received nothing in return.

Mercifully, in the very depths of my heart, there was a calling that refused to be quieted. A hope for a place and a voice at the table; one where I didn’t have to yell over the din to be heard and when I was heard was not dismissed. I entered back into the world of church holding my breath, not knowing if it would be different than all the other times before.

I found that I am not in the way. Or too much. Or too loud. Or too opinionated. Or too questioning. But that I am just right, just exactly as I am. I am welcome at the table and there’s no need to shout because my voice is heard and encouraged.

The hurt is still there and will most likely always remain, to some degree. The scars serve as reminders of the worthy battles I’ve fought to reclaim myself and I am grateful for them.