The Hiding Place

My morning started pretty rough at 8:30 a.m. I felt awful when I got up. Even now, at 5:30 p.m. my hands are still swollen and holding certain things hurts. I knew I wasn't going to make the 30 mile round trip to Henderson today. The steering wheel is one of the things that bother me and Mike was working today. So, I had no one to drive for me.

I sat down and felt sorry for myself. I've been praying about this issue for a while now, trying to decide what to do. I don't function for nearly 2 hrs now when I get up in the mornings. There are times when I have no problems but those days have become fewer and farther apart. In the last few months, I haven't been to church but two or three times.

After about 30 minutes of moaning over something I couldn't fix, I decided to visit another church about 15 minutes from my house. We attended there for about 8 years when we moved here from South Carolina in 1988. Their Sunday service starts at noon, plenty of time to get my body to cooperate.

I took my time dressing and getting my hair fixed. This is now a task I don't like but I also don't like not fixing it. Hair loss coupled with clumsy hands takes more and more effort  and it can be painful. Once I was patched together, I sat down with my coffee to give my body time to catch up with my brain. By 10:30 I was feeling better. No, my hands still hurt but I could cope. Some days I can't even do that and some days that's all I can do.

I drove to McDonald's, where I ordered juice and breakfast and drove to the cemetery to visit Jerry's grave. I think I wanted company. He offered no advice. I ate my breakfast there. It was a pretty day.

After a quick stop at home to brush my teeth and take a restroom break, I got to church around 11:30 and could hear the service from the parking lot, two house from the church. That's a good sign. They've redecorated since I was there last and it looks good but what was nice was seeing familiar faces and having them say hello. Mike and David's former babysitter, now a mother herself, came and hugged my neck. She looked so much like her mother, who has already gone to be with the Lord. She is still such a sweet girl.

I can't tell you how wonderful it was just to sit and listen to the service. Yes, I prayed and I worshiped and I sang a bit but it felt so good to just sit and listen to the Word preached. If you aren't a person of faith, I can't make you understand. When I've been too ill to go to church, I've listened to YouTube ministers of my faith and in a pinch, that's a huge help. I'm grateful for it. Only, it isn't quite enough.

There is nothing that can replicate the experience of God's presence when believers gather to worship Him.  It is true there is strength in unity. You can have an experience on your own. You can worship, you can praise, you can be blessed in isolation. But the Church is designed to broaden that experience and to serve as a hospital where the weary, the wounded, and the battle scared can heal. I came home feeling much better, not physically, but less stressed, less frustrated, less anxious.

The Church is not a social club, although it is an enormous comfort to know people care about you and are actually interested in you. That isn't the real purpose. The Church is a retreat from a world that has gone mad, a hiding place for those pursued by chaos.

I've had my share of insanity and chaos in recent years. What a relief when I can escape for a brief time. I was glad when they said to me, "Let us go to the house of the Lord."