from Dale: We all live within the tension of longing and satisfaction. Yet how does the soul respond to that disappointment of promises undelivered? Are we expecting too much? Is the community promising too much in order to keep its members in the doors? This Freedom Builder shares the grief of putting behind all they put into their church. Hear the ache of leaving “gifts at the alter” as if they willingly gave to a lying god who required the wrong kind of sacrifice.
Grief Poem #1
(16 Nov 2015, On having left church)
If it were a death, there would be a body.
If my loss were physical, I would be able to speak of it.
As it is, there is no corpse to dress, no attire to select,
No funeral to attend, or service to order.
It has been a long slow death, anyway.
The death of a dream
The death of an ideal
The death of desire
I wanted the lovely intangibles
I wanted …
To be heard
To be seen
To be known
I left my gifts at the altar
As a reader, how have you grieved your wounds in community?