I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been to church in the last few years. I was angry at God because my marriage had failed. I was ashamed of the choices I’d made, and worried about what people would think.
I had grown up involved in church. I took great pride at being there every time the doors were open. When I began dating my husband-to-be, attendance became less of a priority. Before long the good, church-going girl was gone. In her place was a scared, confused, and battered woman who didn’t feel worthy of being loved by God or by anyone else.
At my lowest point, when I had tried absolutely everything I knew to change my situation, I knelt in my living room and pled with God to show me what to do. He answered my prayer by providing an escape from my abusive husband. I was thankful for safety and my newfound freedom, but I was not yet ready to darken the doors of the church.
How could I go back? I was now divorced with two children under the age of five. My ex-husband was in jail, remarried by proxy to the woman who was “just a friend.” The small-town-gossips had not yet found something more interesting to talk about.
As I began my life as a single mom, I felt like I was walking on air. I could come home and not be afraid. I could cook what I wanted, I could have the remote control, I could come and go as I pleased. My children soon became more relaxed as home became a peaceful place. As I realized the gift of freedom God had blessed us with, I realized that my daughters were being brought up without any knowledge of him. As they grew and encountered trouble, where would they turn?
I decided that the girls needed to be in church. I had promised myself that I would never be a parent that sent their children, so that meant despite my apprehension, I was going with them.
I tried to settle my inner dilemma. “I’ll go, but I will NOT be one of those people who is there every time the door is open.” We went to Sunday morning Bible study and to the worship service. No Sunday night church, no Wednesday night prayer meeting. This arrangement worked fine for a while.
One Sunday morning I noticed in the bulletin that one of my favorite hymns from childhood was scheduled to be sung that night. I decided I wanted to hear that song, so we would come that Sunday night. I liked some things about that service. . I could wear my jeans. I liked the songs we sang. I decided we could come Sunday nights too, but no Wednesdays. I would NOT be there every time the doors were open.
Soon the task of being a single mom to two small children began to wear on me a little. There’s only so much conversation you can have with a two-year-old and a four-year-old before your brain feels like it’s turning to mush. Everywhere I went, they went. I couldn’t lock the bathroom door. I showered when they were sleeping. I mowed our two acres on the riding mower with one child sitting on the front and one child in my lap.
One Sunday a dear sweet lady in our church said, “You should come on Wednesday night. We serve supper, then have Bible study. There are classes for the kids.” I was intrigued. For the grand sum of three dollars, someone else cooked dinner and cleaned up. Then I had an hour of interaction with adults while someone else took care of the children. I was in. We were now Wednesday-night churchgoers.
In a very short period, my stubborn insistence on being a Sunday-morning-only churchgoer had been erased. God used things like favorite hymns, comfortable clothes, and a night off from cooking to call me back. Not just to church, but to him.
But if from there you seek the Lord your God, you will find him if you seek him with all your heart and with all your soul. When you are in distress and all these things have happened to you, then in later days you will return to the Lord your God and obey him. For the Lord your God is a merciful God; he will not abandon or destroy you or forget the covenant with your ancestors, which he confirmed to them by oath.
Deuteronomy 4:29-31