The not so friendly, previously untold, unwanted, naked Truth

The not so friendly, previously untold, unwanted, naked Truth

The truth is I hate my church.

It couldn't be said any plainer.

I love God. I love fellow believers. I love worshipping God. I love hearing the Bible preached. I love someone pushing me to be a better Christian, a better wife, and a better mother. I want to be vulnerable and accountable, and open to godly counsel and wisdom.

I want to share in Christ's sufferings, but why does it have to be at church? The thing I dread most in my week is going to my church. More than scrubbing toilets, putting gas in my car, or asking for assistance at Walmart. I hate it more than the feeling of biting my tongue to respect my mother, or some idiot boss. More than rush hour traffic and week long migraines.

Every time I go I die a little bit. Not in the die to yourself, be Christ's slave fashion. The put on my clown mask and big red shoes, and pretend to always smile and accept whatever bull is thrown at me kind of dying.

No, actually I don't like your big fancy facilities that robs us of the ability to pay our own bills and take care of the poor.

No, I thought the worship leader was a bit squeaky and full of herself, and the songs were so vague they could be about anybody.

No, I thought the sermon was plagarized faddish self-help crap best left in dusty Used Bookstores.

No, I don't want to come to your homegroup and have to pretend to be okay with your lack of preparation and cliqueish behavior.

No, I absolutely don't want the opportunity to minister alongside you ungrateful, unorganized charlatans with a Pharoah complex.

No, the truth is I HATE my church.

And it couldn't be any plainer than that.

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