On why I don’t go to church

I have a confession to make. One that is hard to make living in the south. I don’t go to church. And I’m okay with that for now. I think I have burned out on church. Not on love and grace, but on church. Burn out looks differently for each person. For me it means not going to church in the traditional sense, but finding church in unexpected places by myself.

Taking the Eucharist with people around a table in the form of a good meal and conversation. The studio where I learn to pray and feel Papa’s touch through the hands of another. Paint and words, bringing together the messy and the broken. I had to step away from traditional to find why I fell in love with Jesus in the first place

It feels like unbelief and certainly looks that way to an outsider but it really just Papa and me wrestling. Arguing. Fighting. Loving. Getting back to the basics of why I fell in love with God. I fell in love with God because he didn’t see any of my flaws- he saw Jesus in me and somehow I have fallen away from that. I have become too concerned with wearing a mask of legalism and being perfect. And it’s killing me. I think Jesus loves sitting in the messy, and so I hope that I find him again in this process.

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