Well, I did it...

I did it. I went to church yesterday. It was disastrous. I wish I could tell you something different, that it went smashingly well, but I can't. Let me tell you a little about what happened:

By the time I left the house, I was visibly shaking. I was scared. I just did not know what to expect. Isn't that weird? I have been going to my church for almost ten years and I did not know what to expect?

More to the point, I did not know how I would react/respond to being there. My possible reactions were my source of fear. I did not trust myself and my raw emotions ~ I knew I probably would not be able to keep them in check. Turns out, I was right.

So I get to the church parking lot and parked in a spot that wasn't very occupied. I thought it was a good place from which to make a getaway. Only trouble is, an usher/parking lot attendant came up to me and said, "Ma'am, we have certain people we like to park in these spaces so if you don't mind..." I just said, "Okay!" in the cheeriest voice I could muster and shut my car door...maybe a little too abruptly. I moved my vehicle into a designated (via another usher in an orange vest) parking space and sat there for five minutes trying to muster up my courage. Then, I walked into the building.

The band struck up and much to my chagrin, both sets of double doors that lead from the church's lobby into the sanctuary were left open! I made a quick dash into the coffee shop and grabbed a cup. I stayed in there for just a couple of moments but the lure of music was too much to be ignored.

I wandered back out of the cafe' and slowly moved toward those threatening double doors. I didn't make it all the way to the doors when I got my first glance of the band and the worship leaders. The bass player caught sight of me right away. Nobody else did, that I could tell. My stay at the doors lasted a few seconds before I bid a hasty retreat.

Somebody saw me hanging in the lobby and came to me. He hugged me and asked why I was standing outside the lobby. I made some glib reply and he responded with, "It's not against the law to go in." I had another fast comeback ready and then watched him walk away from me and into the sanctuary.

Alone again. This whole time I was fighting tears, and sometimes they spilled over. With each new song I wandered back to those doors to have a peek, but just could not bring myself to go in!

Finally, I heard the acoustic player start what I knew was going to be the last song. About halfway through, I moved toward the doors again. I slid to the left and looked at the soundboard in search of a friendly and familiar face - the sound tech who has been there forever. I did not see her, but low and behold...Pastor Barry. He isn't "pastor" anymore, but he'll always be one to me. This man shepherded me with a lot of love and high expectations. He showed and expressed more confidence in me and my abilities than anyone who'd ever pastored me before. Consequently, he got more out of me and got me to do more than anyone else ever had, simply because I had confidence in his confidence in me. (Note that I did not have confidence in myself.)

With my eyes fixed on him, I moved into the sanctuary. I stood a little behind him and off to one side. He's distractable so I knew it would not be long before he turned his head around. When he saw me, he opened his arms and I moved into a gentle, caring hug. Barry asked how I was and the floodgates were opened.

Poor Barry! He just does not handle tears well. He tried to make jokes, told me I looked nice, and went back to the jokes. I tried to make it easy for him. I turned the subject to him and then ultimately to the way the sound was being run. After pointing out a few things Barry said, "Well you know, when your sound tech isn't a musician, they don't think about those little nuances." He's probably right.

By that time, Pastor Mike was headed up to do the announcements and preliminaries before the offering. Out of respect, I moved away from Barry and found a seat at the very end of the very last row, nearest the doors where I could make a fast, clean getaway if need be.

Andy played the intro for the offering and I sat stock still - more like frozen - in my chair. I'd heard that our senior pastor wasn't going to be preaching and that just added to my "flight" status. When the offering was about over, I made a beeline to those precious doors and around to the back, where I knew Andy would be coming out to join me.

His first words to me? "Man...you look like a rat in a trap!" That's how I felt. That is -exactly- how I felt. I told him about the guest speaker. Andy suggested we go into the choir room and with the rest of the band and singers. I thought it was worth a try but the second I set my foot in the door, I froze up. I do not know if Andy caught it or not but much to my relief he suggested that we head to the cafe' for coffee. I told him I'd buy and that was that.

We spent the entire service sitting in the lobby, drinking coffee and talking about my situation. I really hate the fact that I'm whining and pouting so much. A few people came by to chat ~ one who has muscular dystrophy and is having a terrible time with it. Boy, did I feel like a baby, then!

The time came for Andy to head back to play for second service and my feet took to flight. Back to the safety of my home. The day did not really get any better from there. In fact, parts of it were worse. And I did a really dumb thing: I went to Wal*blech*Mart. BAD idea. Truly bad.

I have been thinking a lot since yesterday, trying to figure out why I am so upset about this guitar thing. I am a real believer in examining motives so that is what I did.

The first thing I asked myself was if I wanted to play in order to get recognition. I shot down that theory very quickly. Whenever some stranger in a public place gets a flash of recognition on their face and says, "Heeeeeeeeey! Aren't you the girl with the pink guitar?" I feel embarrassed and shy. There are people who have been with me when this has happened and they could tell you the same. Not much in the way of glory hound behavior, is it?

Playing guitar was one way I could serve God and my brothers and sisters while doing something I truly love. Music has always been an important part of my life - it ranks right up there with coffee! This does not mean I put music ahead of everything. It simply means that I have a love...a desire...and I was able to use it for good. That is gone, now. I do not know what to do now in order to serve God and man. I have searched my heart and soul to see if there is any other desire within me. There is just nothing there. Nothing.

So..I feel like I am not serving..doing something for the advancement of my/our beliefs.

And..there's the fact that I got some of my self-worth by being able to play. I felt I had something of value to offer and now I have been stripped of that. Somewhere in my tortured brain, the connection has been made that I am not as valuable as I was when I could play.

That's the bottom line, I think. I feel worthless. Of no value. What do I have to offer? What can I give if I cannot play?

It is worse than that, though. This feeling of worthlessness is starting to spill into other areas of my life. I am not worthy of other things. I am of no value so I should not be treated well. I should not be able to achieve the things I seek.

This terrible mindset is dictating the types of conversations I have and the way I think about the world in general. I am becoming more and more reclusive. I want to be left alone. I crave quiet. I know I'm hurting the people who care about me, but I don't feel that I have the strength to stop this vicious cycle.

Can you say, "Depression?" Good! I knew you could! You are worthy of a gold star. Maybe you should get more than one. After all, you read this entire post.

Thanks.