Life after New Hope

This past month or so has been a challenge of making conscious decisions to hold myself accountable to spiritual discipline. I've gone down this path before, but never with the intentions and vigor I have now. When I was sick in bed at the beginning of March with mono, I had all the time in the world to read. I was reading sappy romance novels like "Dear John," "The Time Traveler's Wife," and "The Last Song," all of which were wonderful books (except Dear John...I'll never ever ever recommend that one to anyone who has ever been broken hearted before.) But I found myself wanting all the more to read the Bible. How many times in the last eight or nine years have I said to myself "I want to read the Bible all the way through" but have never done that? So I did. Along with making a prayer plan, and having all the people I care about on that list to pray for every day. It's been a neat adventure so far.

But this last Sunday, one of many Sunday's I've spent at home sleeping, or at work making lattes....I found myself sad. Not because of anything that happened that day or anything else, but because I'm in need of a church home. Let me tell you a little about why this is disheartening.

I used to go to a church, that was less of a "religious" atmosphere and more of a family. They were my family. Through the nearly eight years I spent with this family, I saw many people come and go. Nearly everyone I knew when I first started going there has gone their separate ways, and I hardly know where anyone is anymore. The people that mattered most to me, the people I shared life with...well, I hardly know any of them anymore. It's almost as if we all got scattered in the wind. These were people I grew with, people I worshiped with, the people who saw me baptized. In the last two years especially that I went there, I grew so much in my faith. When our church had a crisis over communication, in which over half the church walked out, there were many of us who fought for the name of that church, who strove to make things right. Half of our family walked out, and I don't even know how many I've seen since. How many we've made things right with. I only know that part of my family went missing that day.

When I left the church a year and a half ago, I did so in hope of being honorable. I had already been planning on leaving the church when possible because of some differences, and I was in need of a change. What made me leave wasn't what I would have chosen, but I guess that's part of life.

But as I sat last Sunday, I realized there really is no life after New Hope. Not for me, anyway. Right after I left, I started going to one of the more popular churches in town, and liked it for about five months, but it was just never "home" for me. It didn't have that community feel to it, that sanctuary of people who knew my story and let me into theirs. Five months in, and I think I met maybe six new people. I checked out another church that was one of the most down to earth churches I've ever been to, and had an amazing sense of love and community. But the community was withdrawn. It felt as though you had to have been a part of this community for years and years to ever belong there. Everyone already knew each other, and there were no new faces, except mine of course. After that, I started going to a different church that I knew a couple of people at, but still felt very wary about. This church worked for me, because it felt like New Hope, but in a different way.

But even as I attend this church now on days I'm not working, there is still something missing; my family. I miss the people I worshiped with, that I grew up with, that I watched grow up. There were kids I taught in Sunday School that I felt like I had helped raise, simply because I could remember when they were infants, and now they were telling me they had accepted Jesus into their lives. I miss that family so much. I have watched that church go through so much change, and although change is so good and so necessary, change also leaves a sting that is hard to get rid of. Of most of the people I know that have left, I know where most of them go. I know that they still have that family because they all left and created their own. But I don't think that family will ever be mine again. And how that hurts.

I see this in my parents too. They left not long after I did, and it has been just as hard a journey for them. They have tried countless churches in Visalia, and have found one that feels like it could fit with them. But even in talking to my stepmom the other day, she doesn't have her family. She went to the church for 15 years, and grew with those people too. And she doesn't have that anymore.

New Hope was home. It was a family. And to be quite honest, I don't think there is life after New Hope. It was a breeding ground for imperfect people, people who were seeking and not afraid to knock. It ranged from staunch Calvinists to artisans to people with Catholic or Pentecostal backgrounds.... but we all had something unique that brought us together, something that made us a family and made us love one another in a way I've never seen a church love.

We were able to love God by loving each other.