We don't really go to church anymore.
It's not because we've lost our faith or don't believe or hate Christianity.
But we don't really go to church anymore.
When we first married and everything was bright and shiny, it was fine to be childless. After the first year of marriage, people asked us when we would have kids. "Oh, we aren't ready yet." we'd say. Because we weren't. And then when we were ready, or as ready as you can be I suppose, it didn't happen. And for the first year or so, this was fine. We were still young; not everyone our age already had kids. But here we are, four years later. And everyone our age that wants kids seems to have them. And we do not.
Church is the hardest place to be childless if you want to have kids. And maybe if you don't, but I can't speak to that perspective, so I won't try. When we first visited the last church that we were a part of, we were involved in a wonderful Sunday school class. For the first time since we started all this, we weren't left out at church because we were childless. It was amazing. And then that class merged with another class that was incredibly large already and there wasn't room. And so we intended to look for another, but then people ask, "How many kids do you have?" And when you figure out a polite answer that doesn't involve shouting, "BROKEN UTERUS!" in the lobby of a church building, people give you a look. It's often fleeting, but it's there. And it conveys one million things: sympathy, sadness, disinterest, non-commonality, and avoidance. And some of those things are fine; while I don't want you to be walking around patting my arm incessantly and asking me to let my feelings out, sympathy is kind and welcome sometimes. But it's the disinterest and the lack of commonality and the avoidance that hurts.
You see, life isn't lived in Sunday school. Life is lived between Sunday school and church meetings. It's lived in carpool lines and walking to pick up your kids from the children's area and play dates and Muffins with Mom and at the dog park and at dance recitals. And we only go to the dog park. We don't run into people and we don't have discussions about teachers and principals and the like because we don't have those things to discuss. And so when we attend church and a Sunday school class, we're sort of extra.
And the thing is, I know some of this is my emotional baggage and I can't expect people to bend over backwards for my feelings. But I also know that the church is supposed to be a place for everyone and there never seem to be any people like us. There never seem to be conversations about anything other than kids and schools and play dates and VBS. And sometimes there are sentences, more often than you'd think until you listen for them, like "To be like God is to create life." and when you hear those, it's exhausting and sad and hard because of the aforementioned broken body that can't create life.
So we don't really go to church anymore.
It's not because we've lost our faith or don't believe or hate Christianity.
But we don't really go to church anymore.
When we first married and everything was bright and shiny, it was fine to be childless. After the first year of marriage, people asked us when we would have kids. "Oh, we aren't ready yet." we'd say. Because we weren't. And then when we were ready, or as ready as you can be I suppose, it didn't happen. And for the first year or so, this was fine. We were still young; not everyone our age already had kids. But here we are, four years later. And everyone our age that wants kids seems to have them. And we do not.
Church is the hardest place to be childless if you want to have kids. And maybe if you don't, but I can't speak to that perspective, so I won't try. When we first visited the last church that we were a part of, we were involved in a wonderful Sunday school class. For the first time since we started all this, we weren't left out at church because we were childless. It was amazing. And then that class merged with another class that was incredibly large already and there wasn't room. And so we intended to look for another, but then people ask, "How many kids do you have?" And when you figure out a polite answer that doesn't involve shouting, "BROKEN UTERUS!" in the lobby of a church building, people give you a look. It's often fleeting, but it's there. And it conveys one million things: sympathy, sadness, disinterest, non-commonality, and avoidance. And some of those things are fine; while I don't want you to be walking around patting my arm incessantly and asking me to let my feelings out, sympathy is kind and welcome sometimes. But it's the disinterest and the lack of commonality and the avoidance that hurts.
You see, life isn't lived in Sunday school. Life is lived between Sunday school and church meetings. It's lived in carpool lines and walking to pick up your kids from the children's area and play dates and Muffins with Mom and at the dog park and at dance recitals. And we only go to the dog park. We don't run into people and we don't have discussions about teachers and principals and the like because we don't have those things to discuss. And so when we attend church and a Sunday school class, we're sort of extra.
And the thing is, I know some of this is my emotional baggage and I can't expect people to bend over backwards for my feelings. But I also know that the church is supposed to be a place for everyone and there never seem to be any people like us. There never seem to be conversations about anything other than kids and schools and play dates and VBS. And sometimes there are sentences, more often than you'd think until you listen for them, like "To be like God is to create life." and when you hear those, it's exhausting and sad and hard because of the aforementioned broken body that can't create life.
So we don't really go to church anymore.
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