Yesterday, I went back to my old church. Nuzzled in the mountains of San Pedro Sula with the Merendon range as a remarkable backdrop, we enjoyed our time there.
It is a 2-hour drive from my house to the church. The three invisible speed bumps going through Toyos were a surprise. Luckly, I remembered talking about them with my mom on the way back from the airport. I stopped just in time. Everything in the car flew forward and there were a lot of “MOM” s coming from the back seat.
There were also, what seemed like, 30 million potholes. I drive a Toyota Matrix here in Honduras. It is a smaller car. Hitting potholes can be tough. I swerved and missed them all. Thinking back to times with Sarah, my sister. We would play a game. For every pothole you missed, you got a point. Any one you hit was a point deducted. At the end of the trip, your goal was to be in a positive number. After arriving at Lart Du Pain for a much-needed croissant, I reflected on the drive. I was definitely in the positive numbers. It was a good drive.
I got to church, bellies full, happy about the drive, and ready to hear an inspirational message. I always liked this church because it was dark and quiet. I could sit in the auditorium full of people and feel like my seat was my private space.
There was something weird about the experience. I felt different. This was a church I had been going to for years. I met a lot of people and made a lot of friends. There was something different, something off. I felt small and vulnerable. I felt alone and self-conscious.
There is something odd about going back. Back in your mind, back to an old job, back to an old house or, in my case, back to an old church.
I sat there completely ignoring the worship music analyzing. Have the people here changed? They don’t seem as nice. They seem judgy. Wait a second, they have not even spoken to you. That couple over there has been staring at you. Wait a second, you are making this whole thing up! Seriously, they don’t want you to be here. Wait a second! I don’t want to be here.
Going back is hard. It brings up old wounds, insecurities resurface, and emotions are heightened. Going back is cleansing. Going through the experience, reflecting on how far you have come, thinking about how much you have grown. Going back is necessary. It closes doors and opens new ones.
It is not that I will not go back. I will. I will always have a home at what once was my home church, but I think I need to find a new church closer to my new home.
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