Five Hundred and Twenty Six Days

Have you ever experienced a friend who just wouldn't give up on you?

Even if you pushed them away, time and time again?

Have you ever had someone keep at you for a really, really long time?

Like 526 days?

I have. FIVE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX DAYS. That's a long time, folks.

On June 5, 2009, my friend Elizabeth invited me to her church. It was only the second time she had emailed me, but she's ballsy brave and passionate like that. And she loves her church, and knew that it's a creative, outside-the-box church that even someone like me would adore.

And when I say someone like me, I mean someone who swore.off.church.

I've posted about my experience with my former church before. And every time I do, I offend people. So I won't even discuss it today. But if you have a thick skin about your religion, and you are interested in my story, you can find it under my "church" labels. But I'm not going there again for the moment. (You can read my story of my first experience of attending my new church here.)

I went, reluctantly, after five hundred and twenty-six days of Elizabeth gently nudging me (and as she always reminds me, God wooing me).

For the last year, I've allowed my heart to be filled at my church. I've been distraught when we were too sick to go. I've given money when we didn't have it to give. I've cried through songs, through sermons, through touching examples. Oh, how I've cried.

A couple of weekends ago, we were each given a piece of broken slate to remind ourselves that we are all broken. We got to hold it through the service, feeling the rough edges. If we were ready to bring our brokenness to the cross, we were invited to do so at the end of the service. The church artists literally took these broken pieces and glued them to a giant cross that was hung at the new (and third!) location of the church. Seeing hundreds and hundreds of men, women, and children bring their brokenness to the cross left me sobbing in my seat as I waited my turn.

Just typing that out loud is crazy for me. For so long, I was one of those people who swore that I didn't need a stinkin' church. I could pray just fine on my own. I was a good person, thankyouverymuch. For goodness sakes, I work with kids with disabilities. Harumph. And seriously, the Bible? Please. How did all those people even know it was legit? Those weirdo Christians, that all seemed a bit socially awkward and too ready to push their religion on me? Just...ew. I didn't even WANT to be like them. Ever.

And then, after 526 days, I entered my church and my life has forever been changed. Last weekend, I started serving in the kids' ministry. Of course, I cried, watching older kids lead the younger children in worshipping. I've learned exactly why the Bible should be trusted.

I'm not usually a big believer in talking about church and God here. It gets weird, and people get offended, and that's not what I want this space to be about. As much as my spirituality is the center of my life, there are other things I'd rather blog about for many reasons.

(I do want to say, though, if you want to watch podcasts from our phenomenal pastor, leave me a comment or send me an email at namastebyday@gmail.com and I'll hook you up with the website.)

But? Yesterday was a milestone. It was the first anniversary of the day I started going to my church. Elizabeth sent me a beautiful letter via email yesterday (and of course, I cried at my desk, reading it.) She said that she wanted to post it on her blog, but that she respected my privacy. I told her to post away, and that I'd even link to it. So...here it is.

Elizabeth, thank you for not giving up on me.

For five hundred and twenty-six days.