As I Knelt Down

It had been six years since I stepped foot into a church. The last time had come the morning after Princess Diana’s death. It’s odd what strikes you as life changing, but her death had a strange impact on my life – even if only for a day. The day after her death was the last time I went to a church service until my husband left me for another woman.

Unlike the oddity of Princess Di leading me to reclaim my spiritual life, my husband leaving me was, I believe, God’s last attempt to reach me. I had been ignoring his signals for years. There were times in my life when I prayed, but I was never consistent and my prayers usually consisted of my asking God for something. I never prayed to say thank you. I prayed when I was at my lowest and was desperate for his help.

My life was spiraling downward. In a matter of weeks I had gone from a responsible, home-owning, wife to a single, apartment-renting waif who had little motivation to climb out of bed in the morning and face another day of what I considered God’s cruel sense of humor. How could I be going through this? How could my husband cheat on me and then leave me for her? How could God do this to me? He was about to tell me.

My sister was God’s messenger. On a night that I was feeling particularly down she begged me to come to her church with her. It was a Saturday night contemporary service and she believed that I would benefit from it.

“You have to come. What else are you going to do?” she asked. “Sit around your house and not eat.”

“Okay.” I finally acquiesced.

It was late January and the crisp night air slapped me in the face as I stepped from my car and headed to the church. As I climbed the stairs I couldn’t help thinking to myself that this was a terrible mistake. My whole life had turned into a mistake.

As I pulled open the door to the church the warm air greeted me like a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. The soft lights warmed my eyes as I stepped in from the darkness of the night. I sat quietly next to my sister and the service began.

This was not like any church service I had ever been to. Being raised a Lutheran meant that you went to Church every Sunday morning, followed the service from the green hymn book and left feeling not much of anything.

From the very moment the service began I knew that I was in for a show, if nothing else. The five-piece band began to play uplifting songs and before I knew it half of the congregation were on their feet clapping and singing along. After much praise, the congregation quieted and the pastor rose to deliver his sermon.

“Lean on God,” he said. “ Lean on God and he will deliver you. He will comfort you. He will change your life.”

It all sounded good, but I was beyond cynical. I had believed in God. I said my marriage vows in God’s house and two years later my own house was a silent shell of what it used to be; of what it promised to be. It promised to be full of children’s laughter and sounds of a happy marriage. What had God done for me?

Communion came after the pastor sat and I realized that it had been nearly 10 years since I had taken Holy Communion. I rose, walked to the altar, took my bread, drank my wine and walked quietly back to my pew. In Lutheran services, after communion, you kneel down to pray.

As I knelt down that night to pray, I felt him enter my life. Like an old friend placing their arms around you, I felt God place His hands on my shoulders and pull me close to him.

“You brought me here tonight. I know you are trying to tell me something and I’m ready to listen,” I said shocked as the words poured from me. It was as if I was hovering above myself watching some stranger in my body speak.

“Tell me what you want me to hear.”

Then the pastor’s words replayed themselves over and over again in my head. “Lean on God. Lean on God. Lean on God.” At that moment, I knew why I was brought to church. God was offering himself to me. He was telling me that if I leaned on him he would get me through the storm. My divorce, my pain, my heartbreak would be healed if I leaned on God.

As I knelt down that night to pray, tears filled me eyes and I broke down sobbing. I stayed long after the service was over. It was the only place that felt like home to me at the time. God had brought me to church, he had delivered his message and now the rest was up to me.

I had a choice. Do I listen to God finally after all of these years and let him lead me down the right path or do I stick to my old ways? Where had my old habits led me? They led me far from the path I had wanted to take. I wanted a happy marriage and a house full of children.

As I knelt down to pray that night, I knew that my choice had been made. Three years later, my faith in the Lord is strong. I lean on him. I’ve accepted that He has a perfect plan for us and that we are to accept it.

As it turns out, His plan was perfect. As I type this, my daughter is sleeping in the next room. My husband is at work. I’m happy. I couldn’t understand why God had brought me so much pain with the demise of my first marriage. I couldn't understand until years later when His plan revealed itself to me. Though I doubted His path for me many times, I still believed in Him. It was to lead me to where I am now.

Home.