Finding God's Love in Everyday Connections

I consider myself a religious person. What do I mean by that? I have believed in and worshiped Jesus Christ since I was old enough to understand the concept of Christianity. Through the lens of the American Evangelical church, I have gained a deeper understanding of the world. I have found purpose in life through the fundamental belief that I am a child of God, living out my calling until the day I return home. I have surrounded myself with a community of people who share similar perspectives and journeys, and we have decided to walk hand in hand, with God as our compass.

The thoughts I shared reflect a deeply personal journey with the organized religion that I grew up admiring, hoping it would guide me towards a life free from hurt, pain, and challenges. I approached it as if it were a mathematical equation, believing that if I followed the right steps—attending church regularly, spreading kindness, and sharing my faith—I would be rewarded with a life filled with joy and ease. Unfortunately, I struggled with the complexities of this equation, realizing too late that I had misunderstood it. Life is hard, unfair and impossible to do alone. 

Organized religion can play a complex and sometimes confusing role in people's lives. For many, it has been an essential support system throughout their lives. However, for others, it has been a source of judgment, hurt, and the cause for fear. It can be the most influential guide one has to navigate life’s challenges, or it can be a place that creates those challenges. A part of my journey that is different than others is that I don’t have a heartbreaking story of being wronged by the church or turning away from faith entirely. In fact, for me, the church was a safe place during my childhood, a place filled with some of my most treasured memories.

The complexities of organized religion have been especially apparent to me over the past decade. It all started with the heartbreaking loss of our son, Camden. Experiencing such profound grief transforms your perspective, leading you to question everything you once held dear. In times of sorrow, we look to the church for support, hoping it will be a source of comfort. However, we must acknowledge that we live in an imperfect world filled with imperfect people. Too often, the church faces challenges in offering the support and comfort people truly need during difficult times. Yet, every Sunday, pastors step up to the pulpit, sharing heartfelt sermons that resonate with the hurting souls in the congregation, urging them to seek solace in God and among His people. We join together, lifting our voices in songs like "You Are Not Alone" and "Come All Who Are Weary," creating a moment of shared hope and connection. 

But then, as we head out of the building, there's a stark reality: those who are struggling are left to navigate their pain alone for the rest of the week—166 hours until we gather again. The handshakes and prayer requests may bring temporary comfort, but what happens once the service ends? We need to bridge that gap, to transform our church community into a support system that extends beyond just one day a week. Let’s make it our mission to truly be there for each other, not just in words, but in actions that carry us through the weary days ahead. Meal trains, financial gifts, and prayer are beautiful, but how are we supporting each other emotionally when life's mathematical equation is failing? 

A close friend of mine, who lives in a tightly connected community, recently experienced the loss of a neighbor. Although they don’t identify as a formal group of believers, they certainly embody a spiritual bond. Watching this community support their friend and spouse throughout the challenging journey with cancer was truly inspiring. Their unwavering commitment to be present—whether daily or even hourly—showcased a remarkable depth of compassion and love during such a difficult time. 

In the final days of this man's life, he was enveloped in the love of family and friends who sang to him, prayed with him, and shared tears and laughter together. They took turns to ensure that he and his wife were never alone, creating a comforting presence during such a difficult time. After his passing, I was fortunate to share a quiet meal with his wife. She spoke openly about her husband and the remarkable life they shared, and despite her immense grief, there was a warmth to her spirit. As she recounted heartfelt, funny stories from their early marriage, I realized that while the heartache of losing her partner was profound, she drew strength from the love and support of those around her, helping her to carry on in his memory.

If you’re someone who enjoys documentaries, I encourage you to watch "Blue Zones." These unique regions around the world are home to individuals who often live longer and healthier lives than most, frequently reaching ages beyond 100. It's heartwarming to learn that while diet plays a vital role in this remarkable longevity, the sense of community is just as important. Take Okinawa, Japan, for instance. This beautiful place is a shining example of a Blue Zone, where deep-rooted social connections, supportive families, and genuine care for the elderly in the community contribute significantly to the long, fulfilling lives of its residents. 

I believe that God's greatest gift to us is our relationships. He created humanity to help us grow spiritually and to share experiences with one another. He provided us with communities where we can belong and practice love and compassion. My journey, like so many, has shown me that while life's mathematical equations can be complex and sometimes leave us feeling lost, the true constants are the relationships we nurture. Whether through the shared hymns of a Sunday service or the quiet, consistent presence of neighbors, it's in our intentional connection with one another that we truly find strength and solace. We are indeed created for community, and perhaps the most profound act of faith isn't just in believing, but in showing up for each other, day after day, bridging those 166 hours with acts of love, empathy, and unwavering support. Let's commit to being the answer to each other's prayers, transforming our shared spaces into vibrant, living 'Blue Zones' of the heart, where every soul feels seen, supported, and truly at home, not just those who show up on Sunday morning.