Doubt and fear began to stir inside me. The enemy’s voice was now in my head. This church is different. It’s smaller. He continued to point out all the differences- the greeting time, the music, the lighting, the children’s drop off in the nursery, and so on. This is the way. I knew it, but why was this so hard?
My own selfish voice of wanting what was easier set in, “Where is this going? Why am I supposed to be here? It was easier where I was. I was comfortable. I don’t like walking in these doors with two young children and not knowing anyone. Help.”
I kept going and going and going. Every Sunday. Like clockwork. I am naturally an introvert, so this was difficult in itself.
I prayed hard every time I got in my car and drove up to the church. I felt uncomfortable for so long, but it slowly began to dissipate.
I couldn’t see all God was doing, but I was trusting Him in the midst of waiting. That was the hardest part.