I had visions of my family in church, how it would be. The vicar’s kids running riot, owning the place, feeling at home under stained windows, altars and band equipment.
Known so well and so part of the church family as to have honorary grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

But church was too noisy and people too nosey and I couldn’t be in the main church anyway.
Hiding in side rooms, my kids shouting at me when I tried to sing and unable to hear the preacher.
I reached the conclusion, I’m shamed to admit, that I just couldn’t do it, it wasn’t worth it for me or my family.

So church looks different to me now.
It’s stomping the coastal path with worship music full volume, watching the crashing waves, reminding me there’s something bigger, more powerful, greater than it all.
It’s a small group Bible study with mixed ages and stages, seeking the same thing, grappling with the Word, sharing the burdens of life.
It’s late at night with my journal, pouring out my woes and stress, looping back round to gratitude every time.

Finding God in the strangest of places, finding communion through my phone.
Worship songs in my kitchen, making sandwiches with small hands pulling at me.
It’s that friend who prophesies over me, that other friend who always prays, that friend who gets it, truly gets it and walks it with me.

I hope one day there’ll be a place that we can all be together.
But for now I’m meeting with God in the church all around me, my home, outside and within.