Peace, Community, and Small Joys Amid Sorrow

I've been following a church I found online for several weeks now. I've been longing to attend in person, to be part of a community, to worship alongside others—but the thought of actually walking through those doors alone has felt impossible.

Every week, I tell myself, Maybe this Sunday. But when the time comes, the fear, the uncertainty, and the weight of the unknown hold me back. I wish it weren’t so hard. I wish I could just step inside and feel at home.

From the outside, the church looked massive—almost like a megachurch, which was a little disappointing . But inside, the sanctuary was the perfect size, maybe holding 100 people. The lighting was just right, the worship team was amazing, and the entire atmosphere felt peaceful—like being at home.

Despite the comfort of the space, I still struggle with being on edge. I need to talk to Marilyn about these episodes I’ve been having—this constant state of high alert. During the sermon, I sat alone on the last row, but after the pastor began speaking, a woman walked up and sat near me. That should have been completely normal, but as she approached from behind, I jumped and even let out a small scream. I know this isn’t normal. I don’t want to live in fear like this.

And yet, the sermon… the sermon was exactly what I needed. It felt like the pastor was speaking directly to me—about loneliness, about connection, about trust, about adopting family. It was the quickest hour I’ve spent in a long time. When he started wrapping up, I looked at the clock in disbelief—had it really been an hour? It felt like only minutes.

After the service, a very kind woman introduced herself and welcomed me. She even connected me with someone leading a small group at a time that would work with my schedule. Then, she introduced me to the pastor himself. I have a really good feeling about this church, about this community. I’m so grateful I listened to God’s guidance today.

But life has a way of balancing joy with sorrow.

When I got to my car and turned my phone ringer back on, I saw a missed call from my dad. My heart dropped. I already knew—it was bad news.

Sure enough, he was calling to tell me that Memaw passed away this morning. Lung cancer. I could hear the sadness in his voice, and in that moment, I would have done anything to be able to hug him, to hold him.

On the way home, I stopped at the UPS store to pick up some electrolytes I had ordered—I'm hoping it will help with the dehydration I've experienced lately. Then, I made another stop at the farmers market. Last time I went, I thought I was buying a regular navel orange, but it turned out to be a Cara Cara orange. I had never heard of it before, but the inside is this stunning blend of pink and orange, and the flavor is perfect. I wasn’t sure how long they’d be in season, so I made sure to pick up a few more. It’s strange how something as simple as an orange can bring a small moment of joy.

Just getting dressed this morning, actually doing my hair, putting on makeup, and stepping out into the world made me feel human again. And gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, I’m on the right path after all.