When I was in my early 30's, I ended a 13 year relationship with an alcoholic. In the years leading up to the closing of that door, I thought about leaving many times. But I was stubborn, and also thought that I knew best. I thought that the proof of my strength was in the staying, and I thought that I was in control of the situation -- that I knew what I was signing up for by staying. And being alone again seemed so very scary, even as being in that relationship became more and more frightening. So, for a time, I ignored every sign that I was making a mistake. But those signs kept coming, faster and louder - until it seemed as though the entire universe was shouting at me to stop, to admit that I didn't know what I was doing after all.
And eventually, reluctantly, I did. I was finally honest with my friends and family about what was going on. I left. And it was painful. Really really painful. But also -- freeing. I reconnected with friends I had pushed away. I traveled. I started to remember who I was, underneath it all. During that time of rediscovery and discovery, I began attending church in the town to which I had moved. And discovered something else about myself -- I hated going to church alone. I would sit in the pew, and feel lonelier and lonelier. The parish was very friendly, very welcoming -- but instead of feeling uplifted at the end of each service, I would feel defeated.
My mother suggested I come back to Calvary, even though it was a bit of a drive from my new apartment. The stubborn streak kicked in again. "I am a fabulous independent woman now! I don't need to go crawling back to familiarity!" I thought I knew best, and that what I needed was to conquer my weakness and force myself to get used to going to the new church by myself. But what I actually did was stop going altogether. And I missed it.
Christmas was approaching, and my mom tried again: "Why don't you just come sing with us for Advent, and on Christmas Eve? We're doing the Healey Willan service music... " Throwing my favorite service music out there was a sly trick, but it still sounded innocent enough -- no strings attached, after Christmas I was off the hook. I walked in the door the next Sunday morning, and I knew that I was home. A few weeks of Advent turned into several years of Wednesday night choir practices and Sunday morning services. I reveled in the familiarity. I felt a reconnection to my spirituality that I had feared was gone for good.
I've always found it fairly easy to believe in God. But trust is a different story. So many times, I am convinced that I know best -- and I stubbornly stick to that path in spite of all nudging, gentle and otherwise, in another direction. Yet, when I finally do pick my head up and listen, I often realize I have been making things needlessly difficult for myself. So it's a challenge for me. A challenge to stop and ask myself, "Am I being stubborn again? Or is this really the path God wants for me right now?" It's a challenge for me to give up that control. But I keep trying, because when I succeed, what comes my way is almost always better than I could ever imagine.
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