I remember when I was younger waking up on Sundays and trying to listen carefully for movement downstairs as a sign on whether we were going to church that morning. I dreaded going to church on Sundays. To be honest, it wasn’t church itself but rather Sunday school that I often dreaded.
If we did go to church, many times I would skip Sunday School – sometimes walking the halls of the church, finding the places that were quiet and calm where you could feel God in the silence, and sometimes going to the service in the sanctuary.
Church was not a safe haven for me then. I didn’t look forward to Sunday mornings. At that time, there was greater appeal in sleeping those extra few hours than worshiping with friends and family.
It wasn’t faith, God, or Jesus’s love that turned me away from church for so many years. In fact, there were times when my faith was stronger even though I wasn’t attending a church service.
And then everything changed.
When we were pregnant with Little Mister, my husband and I started making a concerted effort to attend church every Sunday. We took the membership class, my husband had a very memorable baptism where I almost fainted at 8 months pregnant, and we became weekly attendants at the service.
Then, Little Mister was born, and we continued going weekly. I spent a majority of the time watching the service from the nursing room, but we were there none-the-less. We made sure he was baptized at 3 months old and it was only a few months after that when he started going to the nursery. Soon to follow were children’s councils, Vacation Bible School, and more.
When Little Miss was born, we missed one Sunday that was only 2 days after she was born. Then the next week, I was itching to get back, to go back to the place that had become something completely different to me.
Church has become a place of renewal for me. Every Sunday, I know I can go, find people who accept and love me for me. I know I can find a peace that will fill me when I need it. I know that I can find solace that, even when I am broken or barely making it through the week, I can bow my head, grasp my hands, and pour my heart out to God.
It didn’t take long for me to start trying to figure out the difference. Besides a different pastor, why did I suddenly find it necessary to attend church every Sunday? What was the difference between now and when I was younger. What I found was it all came down to what I was looking for.
When I was younger, I was looking for answers. I was hoping for solutions. I was hoping for God to give me what I wanted without being dependent on what He needed from me on all the days between Sundays.
When I was younger, I was focused on happiness and how that was achieved. I was certain that rewards or punishments were because of some random thing I may or may not have done. My eyesight was centered on the then and now. I was, admittedly, self-centered in this way. I volunteered and cared about my friends, but when it came to God and putting my life towards Him, I was selfish.
Now when I turn to God and pray, I’m looking for comfort. I know that I may not find answers for all the questions I have or that, if I get an answer, it may not be in a way that is obvious. Now, I’m looking for renewal and for a place to start my week over. When I am not able to go to the weekly service, I feel like I’m starting my week off on the wrong foot – like I’ve missed a step and stumbling into the next week.
I hope that my children will find the same sense of renewal at church that I have found. I want them to enjoy Sunday mornings at church, not dread having to go. I want them to have the support system, both in the people who are there and in God, that I have found every Sunday. I want them know Him, His love, and His comfort. I want them to find that, going to church, gives them the step to start their week off the best way possible