When you realize faith isn’t tangible.
I sit in the therapist’s office. Listening to what he says about finding a center to my world again.
“Do you go to church? Are you…” I hear the hesitation of someone who has innocently offended people with this question. “Spiritual?”
I nod. “I’m a Christian.”
“A church here?” he prompts.
I shake my head, instantly feeling guilty. I should have. I should be going.
“Why?” he asks. “Have you looked and not found a good fit? Is it something you feel helps you?”
No and yes.
I’ve looked at one since we’ve been here. It was big and loud and flashy. I grew up in my dad’s church, small ones that were tight knit. There isn’t a thing wrong with mega churches – I am simply not used to them.
I try to think of why I’ve wandered, yet again, so far away from God lately. Look where it’s gotten me again. Another mess. Another controlling, freak out, spazzed out, tired mess.
“It’s not tangible,” I blurt out. “God, church, praying – the results aren’t something I see and can focus on. Cooking, cleaning, knitting – I see the results of my effort…”
I realize what I’m saying.
He nods. “But you still need it, right? For you, this is important.”
And it is. I realize once again, as my world shifts and I am left clinging to my own frenzied attempts to fix things, how very off center I am with my faith. How in a year, I’ve gone back to the old me in so many ways.
It won’t be an instant fix. It won’t fix everything – because somethings can’t ever be perfect. But it will help. I have to get back to this, I have to make the center of my world Jesus again. Nothing else has ever worked, and I’ve tried to fill that spot with a lot of things.
How hard it is to humble myself again and again and admit I simply can’t fix myself or anyone around me. And yet, the weight it lifts off me each time is the result. Tangible or not, it’s so real that I can almost feel it.