My Writing. My words.

CHURCH IS HARD.

Church is hard for the person walking through the doors, afraid of judgement.

Church is hard for the pastor’s family, under the microscope of an entire body.

Church is hard for the prodigal soul returning home, broken and battered by the world.

Church is hard for the girl who looks like she has it all together, but doesn’t.

Church is hard for the couple who fought the entire ride to service.

Church is hard for the single mom, surrounded by couples holding hands, and seemingly perfect families.

Church is hard for the widow and widower with no invitation to lunch after service.

Church is hard for the deacon with an estranged child.

Church is hard for the person singing worship songs, overwhelmed by the weight of the lyrics.

Church is hard for the man insecure in his role as a leader.

Church is hard for the wife who longs to be led by a righteous man.

Church is hard for the nursery volunteer who desperately longs for a baby to love.

Church is hard for the single woman and single man, praying God brings them a mate.

Church is hard for the teenage girl, wearing a scarlet letter, ashamed of her mistakes.

Church is hard for the sinners.

Church is hard for me.

It’s hard because on the outside it all looks shiny and perfect. Sunday best in behavior and dress.

However, underneath those layers, you find a body of imperfect people, carnal souls, selfish motives.

But, here is the beauty of church—

Church isn’t a building, mentality, or expectation.

Church is a body.

Church is a group of sinners, saved by grace, living in fellowship as saints.

Church is a body of believers bound as brothers and sisters by an eternal love.

Church is a holy ground where sinners stand as equals before the Throne of Grace.

Church is a refuge for broken hearts and a training ground for mighty warriors.

Church is a converging of confrontation and invitation. Where sin is confronted and hearts are invited to seek restoration.

Church is a lesson in faith and trust.

Church is a bearer of burdens and a giver of hope.

Church is a family. A family coming together, setting aside differences, forgetting past mistakes, rejoicing in the smallest of victories.

Church, the body, and the circle of sinners-turned-saints, is where He resides, and if we ask, He is faithful to come.

So even on the hard days at church—

The days when I am at odds with a friend, when I’ve fought with my kids because we’re late once again. When I’ve walked in bearing burdens heavier than my heart can handle, yet masking the pain with a smile on my face. When I’ve worn a scarlet letter, under the microscope. When I’ve longed for a partner to hold, or fought tears as the lyrics were sung. When I’ve walked back in, afraid and broken, after walking away.

My Lord

Owns the cattle on

A thousand hills

He gives orders

To the sun and moon

Tells the waves how far

To go into the shore

He is Good

AO3

“Brian William Henry Fraser.” He announces his name to his gathered family. After his sister lost her last baby, a lad buried in the family graveyard, the birth of a healthy lad is worth celebrating.

“How is Claire?” Ian asks. He still has nightmares about seeing Jenny after their last son was lost. She has been so wan and pale. If it wasn't for Claire…

“She is well, Uncle Ian.” Faith answers. She had insisted on being a part of the birth.

“Let her Jamie. You know she wants to be a healer.” Claire said before the pains got too bad for her to talk.

“Wonderful.” 

The baby is big and brawl. Fergus simply adores him. Brian, for his part, as he learns to walk, follows him everywhere.

Faith helps her mama with him. Grace does as well. 

“He will be upset.” Fergus says to his Papa. They are discussing his upcoming marriage to Marsali.

“Aye,” Jamie nods, “aye but it isn't like you won't be around.” They are building the couple a house on the grounds.

“True. But I won't be around him all the time.”

“You must live your life son.”

All three of his lasses weep at seeing Fergus take his vows a month later. Brian stares at the interloper with undisguised contempt. 

“It will be alright Mon mhac,” he says to the two year old, “he isn't fully leaving.”

A year later when Marsali is delivered of her first son, Germain, Brian immediately is smitten. He is more than an uncle and more a big brother to him.

“He is a Mackenzie.” Claire is saying. Two years after Germain is born and a young lad has come asking to court Faith.

“That doesn't help much.”

She laughs. “You would dislike anyone who comes to court her.

“You're right.”

“She is fond of him.” She continues as she continues to mend Brian's shirt. At five, he is quite careless with his clothes. Faith, at sixteen and fourteen year old Grace are the exact opposite.

“I know,” he sighs, “Roger Mac is a good lad. Mature, responsible. It is just…”

“She is our little girl.”

“Aye.” He grins. 

A year later, he stands with his family, wiping tears away as he watches his daughter be married.