Family Living: Abbott Style

At some point in my journey, I forgot that church leaders are flawed humans too. I have a tendency to overly respect authority for the sake of their position. I assumed, being a pastor meant that there is some how a higher spiritual connection. Consequently, I would turn off my own discernment in favor for whatever I was being instructed to do by our church leader. The person I have grown to distrust the most and the person I betrayed the most was myself.  Examples: Early in our journey, we had a small group. For the most part, I LOVED small group nights. Until we had a change of seasons. I had just had my third baby. We were living in a rental property while renovating another home ourselves. I was working on leading our developing children's ministry and feeling over my head. Ian worked afternoons so either small group would take one of only two family nights or would be when he was working, leaving me to attend alone most of the time. Our small group had roughly 10-15 small chil...

Certainly, I've expressed my aversion to hyper-spiritualized language before. It often feels contrived, lacking authenticity—a facade of piety. Perhaps it's projection. Maybe jealousy. Or it could stem from a sense of disillusionment with the Christian community. But every so often, amidst the noise, a truth resonates deeply. "There is a root and fruit connection between heart and behavior. People and situations do not determine our behavior; these things provide an occasion where our behavior reveals our hearts." - Instruments in the Redeemer's Hands I've been navigating through my anger, confronting myself in the mirror. What does this anger unveil about my own heart? Surely, they aren't as enraged with me. In fact, they probably don't spare me a second thought. If anything, they—as sincerely as they can muster—bemoan my status as an apostate. So pitiful. My fruit is anger. And too often, I'm tempted to point fingers elsewhere as the source of my...

*In Usher singing voice: This is my confession* I am angry. I am rageful. I am bitter. I am reminded over and over that anger is not necessarily a sin. But trust me, I have crossed the line into sin. I told my director that I needed to write her number on my hand so I had someone to call and bail me out. Their stupid conference had me triggered. A plagiarized conference based off their cult leader, Doug Wilson. In a building that so many faithfully gave for them to purchase. Most of those givers no longer attend. I had daydreamed about printing us all t-shirts that said "Time to trip Sally"--A play off a sermon the pastor preached about-- 'this is not saying that there is never a situation where physical force maybe the most loving thing you can do..right? Sometimes the most loving thing you can do, is maybe, actually, to use physical force. Not simply, you know, physically turning the other cheek........At the same time, if Sally is coming into church to hurt people, may...

Throughout our time in that community, I imagined many of the people in our church would be in our lives forever. I pictured attending our children’s weddings together. Specifically, to celebrate marriages to each other, if we were lucky. I wanted to make my church family, my children’s in-laws. We did lake weekends together. We cried on each other's kitchen floors. Ate at each other's dining room tables. We did life together. And not in the cliche ways church usually means. Like, we did all of life together. We went to the gym together. Our children mostly went to the same schools together. Until we all pulled them out of public schools and homeschooled them. Membership to our church was not taken lightly. It was a covenant relationship. covenant. (noun)- an agreement. A promise. Usually with God or God’s people.  In a life where I felt like I was constantly being left, I loved the security I felt in such a deep and intense relationship. A covenant. I felt like my membership ...

At the time, deciding to leave felt like the most agonizing part of the whole ordeal. In hindsight, a few years of prayer journals were filled with distressing agony over desiring direction and reconciliation.  So much turmoil and emotional pain all the time. But we were constantly told that was to be expected. Hard was good. Hard truths. And iron sharpening iron. But in reality, We were all enduring death by a thousand paper-cuts. In reality, it was spiritual abuse.  In July of 2022, I sat in a lawn chair in California. It felt like a million miles from home.  We had been traveling the US, and hadn’t been home in weeks. I sat there, eating my bowl of chili.  As wonderful as the trip has been, I started to miss home. In my reflections. I counted my blessings. Home was good. Except one thing, I had a sense of dread when I thought about church. My chest would go tight. And my body felt shaky. I craved Jesus. I craved worship. I craved devotion. Being in God’s creation,...

Grief doesn't follow a straight line. And honestly, there's not much out there about grieving the loss of a church community. I can't offer you a Biblical or scientifically backed explanation of what this type of grief should entail, but I can share my own experience: Among the waves of devastation and panic, grief first presented itself to me cloaked in bargaining. It was a familiar guise, like slipping into a well-worn hoodie, but accessorized with shame and self-loathing. The bargain was simple: "If I can just fix myself, I can go back." Years earlier, my husband and I sought counseling from a Christian therapist who understood the challenges faced by first responders. In a moment of desperation, I reached out to her again, explaining that we had stepped away from our church for the foreseeable future. I acknowledged my own role in the situation and sought guidance on how to address it. The plan was clear: six months of counseling to fix myself, then we could r...

 "You said that he left when you were around 18 months, tell me more about that." I didn't even notice my own word choice until they hung there in the air. He left. He left you.  Rapid fire, memories of being left flooded my brain.  My dad. Boyfriends in high school. My dad some more. And if his coming and going wasn't bad enough. He died. He left me forever.  Being rejected, yet clinging on so tightly, runs really really deep in my soul. I don't give up. I don't leave. I keep fighting. I keep apologizing. I keep forgiving.  Until I didn't.  Until at 34, I finally left.  But why do I still feel so abandoned?