I was thinking a lot while I was in church today about why I go to church.
I’m not from a regular church attending type of family. We were able to make our own choices and decisions, we were about to choose our path.
I’m grateful for that.
I’m grateful that I know, from the very depths of my being that ,at some point in my life, I decided of my own accord, to choose Christ.
I technically became a Christian the summer of 2000 (youth conference in Indiana). I’ve done a lot of Christian things in my life. I’ve been on mission trips and outings as close as my backyard and as far away China (and everywhere in between). I’ve taught Sunday school, I’ve led worship, I’ve ran VBS, I’ve been on the payroll of 3 different churches at one time, I’ve been on the writing team where I written recaps of sermons for the church website. I went to a Christian university, was the president of a choir there. I began a probably never going to be completed Masters in Leadership in spirituality. I went to a Christian leadership academy in the south of Spain.
What I am trying to say is I have an extensive resume of Christianity over the last almost 17 years of my life or as my friend Krys put it once, I’m a serious Christian-I’ve held babies in Africa.
But like, really, why?
After I went on the World Race and during my time in Spain, I went through a crisis of faith. What it came down to was this: I had always been a good person. I had always been kind, service oriented, people loving.
After I came to choose Christ and do all of these Christian things, my life felt as if it fell apart. And through all of the things I had to come to terms with the fact that all the good things from before, all the loveliness in my life that I deemed Meghan were actually indeed one and the same with the loveliness that was Christ in my life. It wasn’t just Christ. It wasn’t just Meg.
It was both/and.
Then I moved to Bellingham.
And there is an incredibly long, winding story as to the how and the why which I’m sure I’ve written about at some point.
But, the short of it is: I came to Bellingham for a church, for a community.
I think I might have come to bring something even though I don’t quite know what that is still.
So, this morning, I was in that very church, the one that I have been to most every Sunday since I moved to Bellingham, wondering why.
Quick side note before we move on: I love my church.
But, when I was thinking about why church this morning it wasn’t necessarily why MY church. And I keep trying to type as if my fingers will just perpetuate the correct answer to my question. I think that, in all honesty, I don’t know why.
Part of it (as I just messaged to my magical unicorn Betsy) is that I’m struggling with being in a box these days. So questions of things that pertain to my identity are hitting me hard. Whenever I feel firm and rooted and knowledgeable of who I am, I feel a lot of pressure.
In all honesty, it feels like in books about normal girls becoming princesses and all they want to do is push against it, all they want to do is not be that thing. Even though they know it is part of who they are. That all the things are in them for a reason.
I don’t want to wear a tiara.
But it has my name on it.
(I need everyone to know that writing the above five sentences physically made me gag).
Holy rabbit trail Batman.
This is 700 words that I wrote off a singular question in my brain (that I didn’t even answer) about why I go to church.
But, what I did, is continued the questions I ask of myself.
Even when it feels slightly painful, or uncomfortable, or when I don’t want to know the answer, I never want to stop asking myself questions.
As much as I would love to have it all figured it out, I’m glad I don’t.
And I guess, that IS part of the reason I go to church, whatever that may look like.
Moral of the story: don’t stop asking questions of yourself, don’t stop seeking wisdom, and don’t stop being who you are–even when it doesn’t feel as if it fits.
Wear the damn tiara.