This post has been sitting in the draft section for weeks. I initially wrote it for myself, my way of processing. Typically the things I'm most reluctant to post are the ones that God urges me to share, so here we are.
It's true; church has been a foundational part of my entire life. But church has not always been a safe place for me. I've seen people ostracized. I've been spectator to the precarious placement of leaders onto pedestals and then of course, the fall. I've felt like an outsider, ignored by the clique of girls in class on more than one occasion. Some of the least Christlike actions and attitudes I've witnessed have been on display underneath a cross. Sometimes church is hard. As a believer who wants people to feel drawn to and welcomed in to the church, those are really difficult things to admit.
For a long time, "church-goer" would be my claim to faith, emphasis on the building where we went to learn about Christ. Only later in my twenties did I grasp on a personal level that the church isn't a "what" or a "where" but a "who." It's a people that I can be part of where my faith is strengthened and we can collectively brag on our God.
One day after visiting nearly all the churches in a twenty-mile radius of my home (or something like that) we happened into a completely unique church. These were not perfect people, no. But authentic and genuine? Yes. Striving to make a difference and show the love of Christ as a united body? Yes.
All of those failed church visits had at least taught me one thing - how to spot the real deal among an alarming number of counterfeits.
Our new church home became the catalyst of my real faith journey. It's where I learned what it truly meant to follow Christ and where I found genuine community - this body of people has loved me and my man and my baby so well.
I can't believe I've already been home from Thailand for almost a month.
Several years ago, an amazing family from our church uprooted and moved to Thailand where they began a ministry. Their ministry is now thriving and a group of us traveled to serve with them in Pattaya.
Last week, my team shared about our mission trip with our church.
Well, they shared. I'm less of a talker, more of a writer. #introvertsunite
So instead, I wore my bright orange t-shirt with Chinese characters on it in solidarity, and I listened. I listened again to the stories and powerful encounters that we experienced together, halfway around the world. It stirred up all those emotions and memories again, and the Lord told me it was time to finish this draft I began when we first got home. A significant experience like this deserves to be remembered and shared.
This city (and nation) of so much heartache and yet so much potential is on my mind daily. I'm not just saying that...it all haunts me. If you've ever been on a mission trip outside the US, you know how strange it is to assimilate back into American culture. Like for example, I can now flush toilet paper instead of putting in the trash can (gross), and I also don't have to pay to use a public restroom. Now, I come home to my (average by American standards) house and without even realizing it, I'm counting how many children from the slums would have a bed to sleep on here instead of the floor. Seeing exorbitant waste of money and resources around me makes me feel upset and physically ill. I think about these sweet, precious people DAILY.
I can't unsee what I've seen. It's going to be with me forever.
I can't unsee the terrible living conditions and filth of the slums. The 200 empty-eyed prostitutes lined up on one street (not exaggerating)? I can't erase that memory. I'll never forget about the precious Chinese students who have risked e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. by coming to faith in Christ. Nor can I leave behind the pure joy on the kids' faces when we gave them something as basic as a new pair of flip flops. That's the kind of stuff that sticks with you.
