By Jeanne Takenaka
I walked into church, alone. Hubby waited for a delivery at home. Of course, the only window of time for said delivery was during our worship time at church. So, I got kids to classes and settled in a seat. Alone.
How is it that one can feel so invisible in a house filled with brothers and sisters?
Friends sat nearby with their families. How does a sense of invisibility steal over a person when she is standing before a God who loves her passionately?
The worship time began, our worship leader alone on the stage. His voice and guitar led the congregation in song. I couldn’t get more than a note out—one syllable—without my throat tightening, squeezing out any other worship.
Thoughts in my head told me to run. As soon as service was over, I could dart out rather than be ignored by those I call friends. Why my mind thought they would ignore me . . . it comes from childhood rejections.
Sometimes it’s easier to embrace the lies—because they are so much a part of me—than it is to hope for a truth to be revealed. Fear of disappointment keeps me from embracing the truth God’s been trying to show me. For decades.
Some wounds never quite heal. But they can drive us closer to the Savior when the old familiar ache begins.
After trying to sing a few songs, I gave up. My throat burning from the tears closing it. I sat down to journal my heart onto the page. In the middle of worship.
Deep and high voices rose all around me, carrying me, lifting my heart to the Father.
As I poured emotion onto the page, God reminded me that the lies pinging in my head are from the father of lies. They’d been weaving their way into my peace all morning. In the middle of worship—that time when I could have come into my Father’s presence—I cowered into myself. Fearing that those lies were my truth.
Funny how, when I take time to confess my unbelief to the Lord—to stop trying to hide what the Father already knows—He soothes peace over the rawness scraped open in my heart.
As I poured those words bouncing around my brain onto the lined paper on my lap, God reminded me what truth was. As I choose to set my eyes on Him, then He can restore peace in my heart.
It doesn’t take much to distract me from the truth that God has healed me. That He ministers when the rejection wound rips open.
Sometimes, He waits for me to come to Him, broken, asking Him to draw me onto His lap. It’s after I acknowledge my penchant to give into the lie that He brushes peace into the gaps.
After I journaled those weaknesses onto paper, God filled me with His peace. He reminded me His kids are never truly alone, because He always walks with them.
What about you? When have you felt alone? How do you remind yourself of the truths God’s spoken to you?