I went to a funeral today. It is the first one I've attended in over four years. It isn't because I didn't have the opportunity, I did. It's because I haven't wanted to visit with old, as in previous, acquaintances. You see, I was still going through the phase of seeing myself with a WOF emblazoned on my clothing--sort of like a letterman's jacket. WOF! Wife of a Felon!
Everywhere I went I had the feeling people were talking about me, or pointing me out to others while saying, "see that older woman over there, well you won't believe this but..." I also was afraid that I would make others feel uncomfortable as soon as they saw me. They wouldn't know what to say or not say, what to do or not do. As a result I just knew I would be ignored, left alone, or rejected.
It took me a very long time to finally come to grips with the fact that many of my worries about other people's thoughts and comments were really my own thoughts about myself. I was putting my feelings onto others because I wouldn't admit I even had them. It also took some time to realize my fear of rejection and being ignored publicly stemmed from a fear I didn't realize I had--that of being left alone in my private life.
All those "paralyzing" feelings and fears are gone now. I've let myself search those dark areas to find my banished, locked up emotions, claim them as my own, and deal with them. And if some people are pointing and talking, I can't do anything about that.
So, the funeral I went to was for the husband of a friend of over 30 years. We first met when her daughter and my two younger children were in a church youth choir together. My family was fairly new to the community and she had recently lost her first husband. As our cherubs practiced inside, we sat outside in either her car or mine. Thus started our long friendship.
Today, as I walked into my former church for the first time since 2008, I immediately recognized so many people by merely looking at the backs of their heads. Lots of good memories flooded my mind. In spite of that, I told myself I was going to sit alone in an empty pew in the back, and leave immediately after the service. Sneak out you might say. I didn't do either one. I chose to sit next to a couple I've known for almost as long as I've lived here. Then, following the service, I stayed to visit with those I hadn't seen for so long. It was like old times.
It was like old times except for one thing. Several persons wondered when I was coming back to that church. Another wondered why I had left. Both questions were fair to ask, and needed an honest answer from me.
My answer to the first question was easy. "No, I'm not coming back. I love the congregation I am now involved with. I love the style of worship and music. I like to clap my hands and raise my arms in praise. I love the pastor. I'm growing in my faith..."
I don't believe there is a right or wrong style of worship, just different ones. I am worshiping in the style some people have told me might scare the little kids. I tell folks that is where the Lord has me now, and we have lots of little kids around.
The second question was harder. Why did I leave? Let me explain it like this: I needed to be in a "safe" place. For me, that place was somewhere few, if any, people knew me or my situation, a place no one would see WOF on my clothing. I needed to be in a place I wouldn't imagine people pointing me out and whispering "that woman over there", "I can't believe that her husband...", "did she have any idea?", "that poor family", "I don't know what I'd do". I wanted to be an unknown entity who could loose herself in loud, upbeat music, soul stirring sermons, and the freedom to raise her hands if she felt like it. I also wanted to be able to cry without being watched and observed by those who knew me. I wanted to be alone yet surrounded. I wanted to be in the midst of a different arm of God's family. Little did I realize I would soon call them my own.
Try to explain all that to someone who misses you and wants you to return. I don't remember exactly how I answered the question, but I started out something like, " I needed time to heal in a place where no one knew me." That wasn't the best way to start I guess. It resulted in a raised eyebrow and the words, "I'm sorry you feel that way". What exactly did that mean? I'm not sure. When I heard it, I felt she thought I was judging the congregation, and was sorry I did that. Now that I am writing all this, I might have been wrong. She might have really been sorry I felt what I felt. Who knows? Our conversation came to an end before we could talk more. I am sorry about that.
All in all, I'm glad I went. I'm glad I went for my friend. I'm glad I went because it was good for me to see all the folks I haven't seen for so many years. It was good to get caught up on our kids, grand-kids, and personal lives. It was just like old times and the coffee hour after church.
Oh, if you are wondering, I am still wear WOF on my clothing. All this time I thought it stood for Wife of a Felon, but I was so, so wrong. It really stands for Woman of Faith.
I hope you all had a God-filled, blessed day. I did.
Jan
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