Quarantine is an intriguing time. For me, I think a lot of positives have come from living in a tiny bubble. In some ways, I have wondered if it has been a greater protection for me during this season in my life.

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Something I think on often is church during this time. My faith is strong. My desire for church… not as much. I’ve struggled with church for years. Even sitting here trying to pinpoint when it became a struggle is problematic. The last three years, in particular, have been arduous.

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I attended the same church for eight years with my ex-husband and four sons. We knew people, we were somewhat connected, I loved the worship, I grew in my faith, a lot. I gave with serving and I grew with attending the services. It was still hard. There were still hurts. There was still a nagging in the back of my mind that perhaps there was more or different out there for me. At one point after our third was born I wanted to leave, badly, my ex wanted nothing to do with that and we stayed. Three years later we left when he started on staff at a different church.

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The narrative of leaving and going to that church had been, “It was really good for us.” But if I’m honest, and take a hard look at it, I don’t know that it was. They had a million programs. I kept busy. I knew what role to play there. When our family left it went mostly unnoticed. That’s when I started to question how great of a change it had been for us.

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If you open Google and type, ‘When church is…’ the first choice, even during quarantine, that finishes that sentence is, ‘hard’.

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Our family landed back at the church we had attended for eight years prior. Same church, different campus, new leadership, some new people, some the same. I was trying to find my nitch, my people, my place there, then my life imploded. Then quarantine happened. Now I watch church on my TV, driving in the car, on an iPad while I camp. It’s odd. I’m not much of a fan and I’ve never felt this disconnected from church.

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Everyone is trying their best. I know this.

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Two years ago this phrase came to me, “Breaking Bread”. It was an idea hard to express because somehow it was based, compiled, constructed of feelings, and not words. It was a church, it was communion, it was worship and teaching. It was my home, it was my friends, it was my family. It was an idea for a different way for me to engage “church”. It was an idea I couldn’t let go of. I needed it in my life. I even tried it, once, and it didn’t go anywhere after. Somehow this big beautiful idea I had had one beautiful moment and died.

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If I’m honest, right now, in this moment, all I want is the woods and this idea, Breaking the Bread. I don’t want another program, I don’t want youth group and Bible studies, and sitting twenty feet from people. I want to go into creation and meet God the way I always do when I’m there with him. I want to share intimate communion with the people I love the most. I want to sit at a table and share a meal with sinners such as me and speak of the things He has revealed to us. I want to love deeply by making space for people in my life to show up just as they are.

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If I’m not allowed to give myself permission to change my entire life during quarantine, sometimes, I wonder what the point was.