My people

You know, when I sit down here and put my fingers to the keys I have no idea what will come out. Sometimes I have thoughts banging around in my head that I intended to “put to paper” and I walk away realizing they didn’t ever make it to the page. My writing has a life of its own, its own course, its own personality. Sometimes I surprise myself.

Today I’ve been chewing on relationships… people…my fear of relationships and people… juxtaposed against my desire for relationships and people. Nothing like an introvert immersed in profound grief with PTSD to make things super complicated.

So, here’s the bottom line. I love my people. Like, really, really, really love them.

There are more things than I could even begin to count that I’m unsure about, foundations I thought were rock solid that have crumbled, questions I never thought I’d ask and beliefs I’m not sure I hold anymore. But here’s one thing I know, however deeply flawed, the church has held me up, tended my wounds, held me together and let me fall apart.

NOT the building. NOT the communion plates. NOT the old songs. NOT the new songs. NOT scripture memorization or regular attendance (Lord knows I haven’t darkened the door of the building in over a year), or prayer meetings, or programs. The church.

The people who haven’t given up on me. The people who pulled our first Damon’s dance fundraiser together. The people who pick Isaiah up on Wednesday nights and take him to class. The people who covered our yard with signs telling us how loved we are. The people who grab my husband and take him to hang out. The people who randomly bring me Dr. Peppers. The people who haven’t pulled back and protected their hearts from my sorrow. The people who hear my anger and bitterness and just let it be. The people…

I love my people. My heart clenches as I write this. I love you.

Until next time…