I can't describe how that revelation felt. For so long I had been hung up on the wrong moment. I had never talked about this part of my time in Michigan with anyone, I'd mentioned the meeting several times, but I had never once brought up this complaint with how I addressed God in prayer. As I've reflected on this, I've started to see the impact that this event had on me. It was at this point that things had started to change for me. My own personal prayer life began to diminish, I stopped singing on Sunday mornings (I would sit in the front and look through my Bible, it looked reverent and worshipful), and I began to lose intimacy with God. That moment was the one that had shaped everything about my time in Michigan.
I sat there on the front pew, tears starting to come to my eyes. There was a sense of freedom in that moment, I had been held captive by something I didn't even realize was an issue, and I had been carrying a burden for so long that I wasn't even aware of. I began to write, simply crying out to my Daddy, a little boy who was safe in the arms of his almighty father. It was good.
I stayed in the sanctuary for about two hours, until I felt that God told me we were done. I walked down to the fellowship hall where our young adult group used to meet, poked my head in the youth room where I had led teens, and on my way back to thank the pastor and say good-bye I stopped to see the classroom where that meeting had taken place. This church has a very long hall way, one of those you need to be in to actually grasp how long it is. There were more class rooms than I remembered, and I couldn't remember which room that particular meeting had taken place in. This was further confirmation that this was not the real wound that I had been dealt.
I thanked the pastor for allowing me to have this time, and before I left I wrote another note and buried it under one of the bushes outside of my old office. I offered forgiveness to people who had no idea they had wounded me, and then I headed back home to Ohio, stopping at Cabela's on the way. I saw no one I knew, spent more time in the car than I did at the church, but God led me there, and He met with me there.
While this wound has been healed, there are still some of the effects that I'm dealing with. I'm still working to grow closer to God, seeking that intimacy with Him that I used to know. Life is different now, I've got a lot more scars, experienced a lot more, and have way more on my plate than I did back then, but all of this has helped me learn more about who God is and who I am to be as a result.
This wound has impacted the way I see church, and church people. I struggle with the traditional American Church model, and I find myself questioning a lot about how things are done. My experience here influenced me as a lead pastor, a role I took on seven months after leaving Michigan, and impacted how I led the church I was given to pastor.
This wound has impacted my worship (defined as musical participation during church services for this explanation). Since Michigan, I've had a hard time singing on Sunday morning. I've gone back and forth between standing with my head bowed and my mouth on my fist, sitting with my head bowed and face on folded hands, and standing with my hands in my pockets and glancing somewhat heavenward. Occasionally I'll engage in a few lyrics, but most of the time I simply take in everyone else singing. This bothers me. I struggle to connect with my emotions, especially around strangers (that what happens when you're a logic driven introvert). This is something I'm working to personally address in my own life, and I think my own personal journey is beginning to directly focus on this.
This wound was subtle, but it was powerful, and there is still work to be done in the areas this wound impacted. Knowing the real wound was the first step to healing.
Fight the lion, 1 Peter 5.1-11
TO GOD ALONE BE THE GLORY!
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