CHURCH HURT

Writing doesn’t come easy.

I’m getting older, and often forgetful. Good chance I could repeat myself on here or even mess up a date, years, or even the timeline a little. Also, writing is hard. I never did well in that area in school. I never liked it either. I ponder for weeks what to write, how to write it, and there are just so many moments where, well I just don’t have it.

I’ve been struggling the last few weeks on what to share next within the story of being a parent of an LGBTQ child. Not that there is no more to say, there is plenty. Though putting all those thoughts together, they don’t come easy. I have been praying for at least a week now, God please give me the words. Once again this morning, praying.

What exactly is this blog about?

Then I realized, this blog isn’t just about my child. Ya, you will hear stories about them, but actually, I think this blog story is really about me. What beautiful things did God teach me within the story of my child/children? What did I need to change, where did I need to heal? Where did I need to trust God more? Where did I need to see more of who God is, was and still is for me?

The story of walking as an LGBTQ+ parent will continue, though there was and is so much more going on in life, things God needed to show me. Things that maybe didn’t seem to fit directly into being an LGBTQ+ parent, but God. Ya, God….in how He orchestrates every little piece of my life to fit together. Only God.

Church every Sunday

I grew up going to church every Sunday. Did those Bible lessons, and learned my memory verses. It seemed like all my activities were involving a church event. I gave my life to the Lord when I was ten. Well, I mean I prayed that pray, “Jesus come into my heart”. I do remember that and exactly where I was. I don’t remember the words spoken before which led up to that. Though I’m guessing it was pretty much that I didn’t want to go to Hell.

“Gave my life to the Lord” and “Jesus come into my heart” I have to say over the years I have come to learn those carry two different meanings at times. More on that later.

Growing up

I don’t remember too much before Junior High. Though I do know I loved going to visit my Grandma. I can tell you story after story about those visits. She was my very most favorite person, and I loved getting to go visit her and spend time with her. Though being at home I don’t have much to share, I just don’t remember much. Except I do know my parents loved God, and they loved me, unconditionally. My first knowledge of unconditional love came from them. They lived it well and I learned that in later years.

Though the memories of stories within our home I don’t have, to share. I don’t remember. Well, except for a very small amount of them. I do remember my dad’s friend molesting me, at one of my favorite places. The beach, at a visit to Grandma’s house. My dad passed away a few years. back. After he went home to be with Jesus, as I was talking with family, his friend came up in conversation. It led me to ask “Was he in our house? The answer I got was, “All the time”. I don’t remember and it attacks my thoughts more often than I want it to. Sometimes I sit and try to make my brain remember. It doesn’t happen.

Junior High/High School

When I was in Junior High, I was inappropriately approached by our Pastor, twice. I don’t think, or I don’t remember it phasing me too much until it was years later as it fit into more of my story.

Things got hard in Junior High/High school. I was bullied. I hated going to school. Who would make fun of me that day? Could I avoid walking by the group getting high and making fun of me? Who would pull my hair behind me in class, put a tack on my seat, or knock my books off my desk? Who would I eat lunch with? Those years were hard, I just wanted to fit in. In my Junior year of High School, I started laughing at some of their jokes. One thing led to the next, smoking which led to some acceptance. Then on to smoking pot, drinking, drugs, and hanging out with the wrong group. A lot of wrong choices. I ended up pregnant at 19 years old. We got married, but things didn’t change. Drinking, drugs, and wrong people right alongside trying to raise a beautiful little girl.

I wanted friends, I wanted to belong. I had friends but truthfully they weren’t friends, they were people who we hung out with. I was still lonely and hurting.
I remember one night sitting on the couch crying, knowing I needed to go back to God. But how? I also knew it was God or my husband. I didn’t know how to be strong enough to do that. How could I? I remember thinking the only way was if my husband died. When I think about this, I think this is the first time I can remember God doing His great big God things.

Then this happened

Through my parents taking my daughter to church, her getting baptized, and a visitor from their church coming knocking at our door; my Husband came to know the Lord.

We began to do church life once again. All that I learned before. Those church activities and I loved them. Youth ministry, Junior High girl’s Sunday School class, youth group, Camp counselor, camp cook, VBS, Awana, worked at Christian school, so much wrapped around the church. Though there was a price for all that. Too much good can distract from the best, learning and walking and growing in an intimate relationship with Jesus and letting that be an example to those I love. I loved Him, and I did grow and learn, but those distractions took away from what it should have been or could have been. That deep intimate relationship with the one who loved me most. I loved Him, though there was so much more to know about God, that didn’t come until years later.

Then the other side of what I thought was good

When I served in youth ministry, I learned that our youth pastor had been molesting some of the boys. We got a new youth pastor, and I was a part of that search team. I loved serving with him. I ended up moving away after a bit and came back for a visit. Learned he walked away in the middle of the night, packed up, and moved without telling anyone. He had become addicted to porn. I can only imagine what that did to those kids. I didn’t like thinking about it. It made me mad, and it hurt. I hurt for those kids, kids I didn’t even know.

As I shared in my “Good Friday post”, we moved. We found a new church and then the hurt there I experienced with how the church leadership responded to the rape of my daughter by a young man who was part of that church. I’m not going into that, except that it hurt. It hurt a lot. It felt like my heart was ripped in pieces, I think that day I knew what a broken heart felt like. I have had my heart hurt many times, but this was different, it was hugely different.

Church became hard….we tried, we even tried elsewhere.

We walked away from the church. We tried, visiting a church here and there, but it didn’t work out. One thing led to the next and mine nor my husband’s walk with Christ was what it should have been. God was there, I allowed Him to be there when I needed something. Approximately 17 years of not attending a church. Approximately 17 years of not having fellowship with other believers.

I talked briefly about how God brought me back to church, in post- “God’s Help”, but I didn’t share about the healing God provided within His Church. I needed to heal, and that didn’t come easy. Though God was and is faithful in healing the hurt.

At this point, I had two groups of people I needed to learn to love. The LGBTQ+ individuals and Church Leaders. In some ways, it seemed easier to love the LGBTQ+. Healing is hard. Healing can be long. God is faithful.

coming up……The road to healing within God’s Church, Beautiful God-given healing.

Then back to our story of loving the LGBTQ+