Post 16 - How Murky is the Water? And a Small Review

 

Seeing this book advertised in a Facebook post intrigued me. So I ordered it and began reading once it arrived. 

I’d noticed that Saturday nights often filled me with a sense of longing for the old days—when Sundays meant time at church with friends and space to nurture my spiritual life. But my husband and I were adjusting to a new normal. With me having #CFS, waking up early is hard enough, and rushing in the morning is exhausting. I found a 3 p.m. service, but my husband wasn’t interested after attending a few times. I know his reasons and agree with some, and I could go alone, but it’s easier to follow his lead and stay home. But that decision has been a war in my soul. I was brought up to do church on Sunday. He wasn't. And I think that plays a significant role in our differences. And I'm quite tired of the struggle. And so I look for ways to nurture my soul in other ways. 

Sunday night now comes and the enemy forces tempt to pierce through me with guilt for not having gone to church. Is it guilt? Or is it remorse?

As I said, my husband didn't grow up in the church. He didn't live in a home structured as mine was. (Very legalistic.) Sunday began with dad blasting a Christian TV show through the house trying to wake us up with it. It marked Sunday as a Holy day. And in my upbringing, there was a pattern. Sunday School, Church, roast beef dinner, Sunday night church, sometimes youth gatherings afterwards. The church was my family's social community. 

And for the time after marriage and while raising our children, my husband was an active church participant. We went to and hosted small groups even. But now, for my husband, Sunday often starts with him turning on his Xbox or a movie. He is a believer, but certainly has deconstructed. 

And over time, the church has changed immensely. And that's not my fault! 

As I wrote in my last post, the new church I found as a young adult, Bethel, was full of love and crazy fun times. I enjoyed it at a poignant time in my life as a young adult. In it, I'd found my home. But, sadly, I have never really found my home again. And this book is affirming my decision to quit looking for it. What I experienced at Bethel was for a time and season. 

I didn't know all about times and seasons back then the way I do now. I remember fellow young adult Judy, who was newer to the church than I, asked, "Will it always be this way?" 

I said, "Yes. Why not?"

I thought it was an odd question. And now I know the real answer. Sadly, things changed. 

That was many years ago, and I've been in many other churches since, especially as we as a family job transerred several times across Canada. 

And now, as a much older woman, I seek to enjoy the place I'm at. I seek to release false guilt. I didn't change the church. The church changed itself. My grief over it is real and reading and writing on this theme is cathartic. 

Reading this book has helped me crawl out of the gritty, succulent soil that had buried me in confusion and grief for so many years. I see it's not just me feeling as I do. I'm not alone in my journey. 

A Review? 

While this blog isn’t intended as a book review, I’ll share a few thoughts.

The book addresses the church at large, rather than my own, smaller struggles—those I’ll have to navigate on my own. 

The book also leans heavily on pompous, oversized words, which reminds me of a friend who can’t resist showing off his vocabulary. This style can be a stumbling block for some, while perhaps impressing those with PhDs who wouldn't bother with anything less. As a writer who’s been asked more than once to keep my work at an eighth-grade reading level, this style struck a nerve.

I also didn't find the advice or solutions for my dilemma I'd hoped to find. I guess more of us need to figure that out first and then write the next book. 

I was reminded that not all who wander are lost. My Christian life has not been destroyed. Not all journeys will be the same. And I'm embracing the idea I'm still on a journey.