The girls are gone this week and so I have a lot of quiet. Quietness always pushes the presence of God right in front of my face, hard to avoid or even look away from. Staring down into my soul - He's here, I'm here. What now?
Community has been a buzz word for awhile now, and it gets increasingly triggering for me each time I hear it. Idealized visions about what a community is supposed to be - that's how Christians are supposed to live! If you aren't, you're doing it wrong. You need people.
Okay.
But what if the majority of people in my "community" would call me a heretic for the questions I have? What if my closest friends disapprove of how I grieve the hardest season of my life and then leave me? What if my church family does little to support us during our hardest moments? What about my lifelong friend who responded "the Lord gives and the Lord takes away" when I told her about my miscarriage?
Community is messy, they say. Messy? Is that what you call it?
I tried so hard to facilitate community, to try. To be part of it. The returns on the investment have been nothing less than disappointing. How am I supposed to be cared for when none of the moms have capacity to help me because they all have farms and homeschool their kids? When behind my back they blast the very education choices I've made for my family?
I'm not saying I've given up on community or that it's not for me. I understand my flaws that contribute to the problem. But don't tell me I *have* to have it in order to grow and flourish. Because that only alienates the already alienated.
The government has done a better job of caring for my family than the church. More meals, groceries, education, healthcare, and support.
I am trying my best and I'm not sure I will ever feel completely included, wanted, and supported for ALL that I am, doubts & all. And I truly believe God is not counting this against me as some sort of grievous sin for not completely giving myself to a community that has hurt me over and over again.
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