And it felt scary to not be drawn in, to not really seek Him out. It felt uncomfortable to be in a valley and not even look for a path leading somewhere else. Anywhere else.
It was more like a, "I don't feel you, and I suck at faking it and pretending, but I'll try, and I hope you will meet me there. Wherever 'there' may be." And so it went. And I was numb. So numb.
Numb from being treated abominably by so-called Christians. Numb from lack of community, and just really tired of trying to find something different. Anything.
Then, on Saturday morning, there was an unexpected knock at my door. I opened the door to find two women with their Bibles and pamphlets. The older woman greeted me in Spanish. I, mostly from habit, responded in my poor, broken Spanish. She seemed amused, and kept speaking to me solely in Spanish, even taking the time to correct my tense. She opened her Bible to the book of John and read several verses there. She kept pointing emphatically, and even though I didn't understand all of what she was reading, she needed to know that I understood. I was initially at a loss, then I spoke it without even thinking: "Jesús es mi corazón."
Jesus is my heart.
And He is. Even when I don't feel Him, He's there. Always there. Inextricable.
And I will need to be reminded from time to time, because I am a sentimental, feel-y girl. And I expect that I will always struggle with church, but I am beginning to see that there is value from that tension, and a unique desire from this bruised heart of mine to love those who are wounded. To just love. Unapologetically. Like Jesus.
And even as I type this, I really want to move forward. I really want to move on, because I have been here long enough.
And it's time.
It is time.
And I am ready.