Remembering God's Faithfulness

Just after 9/11, I fell into the darkest depression. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t tear myself from the television set. Glued, I watched hour after hour of horror as news coverage of events in New York droned on.

Drowning in sorrow, I felt like God had abandoned me. We had just moved to a new state where we knew no one. Our furniture hadn’t arrived yet. All I had was this t.v. window to the world, a dark, scary world.

My husband was faithful to me through it all. He never blamed me for my behavior. He tried, every weekend, to find a church home for our family. Some place that would offer me comfort, solace, and security. That, too, seemed to be lost. I refused to go.

One Sunday, after he had dutifully dressed the kids and prepared to visit yet another church, I begged him to stay home. I told him that if he stayed with me that day that the following week, I would attend whatever church he chose, giving God one last shot.

He agreed. I followed through. The church we went to was amazing. People were so welcoming. They reached out to my kids, helping them feel comfortable in class. In the sermon, the pastor challenged his congregation to remember the church is the one place that can offer hope to the hopeless not in the institution of church, but through the love of its people. God’s people brought me to thin places where I could know Him again.

* This post is my entry for the Thin Places Win a Kindle essay contest. I only learned of the contest yesterday, and the deadline is this Friday, February 12 at midnight! Entries must contain exactly 259 words and the winner will receive a free Kindle reader. Up for the challenge? Follow the link and get writing!