Why should I have to apologize for being here?
Or for you to be here? How did this ever become so uncomfortable for us?
I grew up here, raised by knowing smiles and boring sermons, counting PowerPoint slides while sipping bitter coffee.
I used to race to the back table after the final “amen”, just so I could bring my dad the best doughnuts and cheesiest homemade nachos from someone’s Crockpot.
I used to drag my parents away from endless conversations, used to challenge biblically whoever tried to lecture me on Jesus’ words.
And now I’m quiet.
Keep it to yourself, babygirl. Bring in your own coffee, backpack filled with pens and notes and a half-read Bible. Follow the sermon but keep your head low.
FIND GOD ON YOUR OWN.
They will not help you. They will walk past you, move seats to stay away from you, make the accidental awkward “Hi, I’ll pray for you,” before moving on to closer friends and mindless devotees to manipulate.
I came here to find my Father.
I understand fellowship is what brings everyone together, ties the body of Christ together in familial love, or something like that. Acts was written for a reason, you know. The earliest chapters are the goal, always.
We don’t have that.
We can’t make that, manufacture it through shapeless youth bands and empty rooms for Bible studies.
I do not know what the need is here, but I know we do not welcome.
Take your caustic curiosities, your friendships built on weak foundations and baseless prayer requests, and Get Out.
You are not Us.
Jackboots, leaders, followers, snakes, whatever you are, stay here. Know your place. Please don’t ask for coffee, send messages of prayers and Bible verses to me.
I got burned and I’m still here, but that does not mean I’m faking love like the rest of you.
I will remember who reaches out, who is blind, who is really in charge. You shouldn’t have hurt my family, shouldn’t have pushed us away.
I know I am angry, but I am trying to let go of the bitter emotions that taint my veins with easy anger.
I’m not going anywhere, not yet, but it’s nothing you have done.
I am here to find my Father.