How I arrived

Last Sunday, I found out why I came here. To Colorado, I mean.

I don’t mean why I thought I was coming here. At the time, in the summer of 2007, when I fairly impulsively gave in to a friend’s persuasion and uprooted my life with no job out here, no place to live until shortly before I arrived, and knowing only one person in the state, I would have given you one of several answers if asked why I was moving: just time for a change; time to get out of West Michigan; seemed like a good place to live. But the actual reason, the one I knew but wouldn’t have articulated to most people, was that I was running away, looking for a new start, a second chance, to escape from some situations that had ended up with a lot of hurt and mess.

I struggled for the first year and a half I lived here-- desperately lonely, depressed, not finding the peace or resolution or fresh start that I'd come seeking. I went to church a few times with a friend, but never connected anywhere, and then she stopped wanting to go anymore. So in the spring of 2009, I Googled “churches 80203” and Pathways—just a couple of blocks away, helpful since I didn’t own a car—was one of the ones that looked worth checking out.

The first time I attended was the evening service on Palm Sunday, and I pretty much instantly felt like I was home. Before long I was jumping in head first: I attended a DP ("Discovering Pathways") dinner, signed up for Meals That Matter and small groups, got baptized, actually wanted to tithe (which believes me, goes against every Dutch instinct I have). For the first time in my life I found myself really reluctant at the end of church services. I was actually getting something out of the messages, not wondering how long before they would be over. I felt like I would be perfectly content to never leave church or the people I began to know, to greet by name and with hugs as I passed them in the aisles. I finally felt like I was home.

Things still weren't perfect, though. I still struggled with certain situations in my life, praying to God for the peace and strength to step down the paths he clearly wanted me to take-- yet I still didn't get an answer. Slowly (oh, so slowly!) I started to realize that doing what God wants us to do does not always mean waiting to equip us with what we need to do it. Sometimes it means doing it anyway, even when we don’t have the strength to survive it, even when it is the last possible thing we want to do. I had to just do it, and rely on God to be enough, when I was sorely lacking. (Don't get me wrong, I'm still not entirely a fan of the fact that this is the way it is, but apparently it is this way, and there doesn't appear to be much I can do about it. Trust me, I've tried to find some loophole, but no.) Slowly and yes, often quite painfully, God is scraping away the scar tissue in my life. I have to be willing to go through the pain first—I couldn’t move straight to healing, as I’d wanted to. That’s just not how it works.

But slowly—just around the very edges of the wounds, almost imperceptibly—I am also beginning to heal. The love and prayers of my friends at church, the shared worship and communion on Sundays, the opportunities to serve in my church and my community, the messages that reach into my soul and grate away at the things I’d been holding onto too hard—all these things are slowly nudging me towards sanity, and love, and peace.

So that is why I moved to Denver. I didn’t know it at the time, didn’t have a clue as to the ways God would work in my life. I thought I was running away to heal on my own. I didn’t know that God was going to first allow me to be even more hurt, more desperate, more lonely than ever, before he would find me a refuge, a community that would look me in the face and tell it like it is, so that I could finally face my own demons and fight for the life God wants for me.

So last Sunday morning, as all of this—which had been growing for some time—finally came clearly into my mind, my heart sang. As I took communion I thought, he died so I could have this! Without the love of God to fight for, to fill these people around me so that they could show me his love through them, I would still be lost in the depths of my pain and hopelessness, forever. And with an incredulous laugh at God’s incredible love and unfathomable plans, I looked around in wonder at my life.

Ask me a year ago and I wouldn't recognize where I am now. When did I become a person who has worship tunes on their iPod, let alone plays it in her apartment where-- if they listened closely enough-- the neighbors could probably hear? (Ok, even now, I'm somewhat loathe to admit that. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all, no?) When did I become a person who spends their evenings hanging out with friends from church? Who gets up early on a Saturday to help do repairs in the sanctuary? Who actually says stuff like all that sappy drivel above? Yikes! I barely recognize myself. But I think I sorta like where I've landed. :)