Wrangler Dani

Before we moved, I sat in the last few services we attended at Mariners MV and cried. I knew, deep down in my gut, that leaving that church would be the hardest part of moving. It had become home, family, friends, community. It was where we served, where we stayed late to chat, the jumping-off point for spontaneous adventures with dear friends. I felt like part owner, or at least manager of it – I took it upon myself to invite, welcome, clean up after and be a working, helping, loving part of the community there for so long.

So now we’re on the hunt again, and I admit that I’m having a bit of a struggle with it. The first church we attended felt so different – it was so small and so very unlike the well-trained fiesta of Mariners – that I was ashamed to find myself sniffling in the worship, not because my thoughts were inclining toward the holy, but because my eyes were well-focused on my own navel. For the first time, I realized a lonely, heart-wrenching fear that the family we’d found at Mariners was indeed the proverbial lightning in a bottle.

Since that first (rough) try at church-shopping, I’ve been wrestling with what corporate faith means for my internal beliefs. After all, I know that there are plenty of people who insist that the church is their hang-up, not their hope – that they’d believe in Jesus someday if he didn’t have so many lousy followers. For me, it’s the opposite: the strength of others’ faith, the level of their grace, the love I’ve experienced in the name of God has only driven me closer to him. But this poses a question for me, in my season of quiet, lonely following. Do I still believe without the faith of my church family to bolster me and remind me of God’s goodness? Am I reliant on the corporate, outward expressions of faith, and the ones I’m comfortable with (the loud worship, the well-spoken pastor, the seamlessly organized campus) or can I still live out my calling in Christ without those trappings? What is acceptable personal preference and what is me being snobby and ungracious about my needs, selfishly refusing to see the hurt around me as I wallow?

God is not limited by space and distance. He is the same faithful Father I felt so easily when his people prayed for us and selflessly helped us move for an entire weekend, the still, small voice telling me that we weren’t crazy to try a new life, that He was with us. He is the same God that is prayed to in these tiny country churches and services in the high school gym, where everything is smaller except for who He is.

So I’m asking Him for courage and faith, for grace and wisdom. I’m navigating a minefield of emotion, but I look to the future with excitement. What will He do with my lonely times, with my need, with my desires?