Longing to Be Missed

I could not remember a time since getting saved where I wasn't missed if I wasn't at church on Sunday. Someone would call or send a message via my parents or sisters and I knew I mattered, that my presence was important. That I was missed.

I didn't miss church much until after my first son was born and then there were ear infections and colds and there were still phone calls and notes of being missed.

And it was comforting. Not that being there and being noticed was the most important part of going to church or the reason I went, but it was nice to be missed. For someone to miss my hug or my face or my voice.

Then we were struggling with whether or not to stay and I was struggling with some intense health issues and we started to miss services and there were no phone calls. No emails. No texts. Nothing to say I was missed. And it hurt. A lot.

I wanted a reason to stay in a place where we were no longer wanted. I wanted to be able to have something good and hopeful to cling to to be able to make the leaving easier. But, it was not there. It was devastating to not be missed.

I have made it important to mention to those I don't see on Sunday that I miss them. That I missed their hug and their face and their voice.

But, at this place of worship we attend right now there are many people there, so many we do not know and we missed church for various reasons for three weeks in a row and not one person mentioned that we were missed. And it hurt all over again.

I don't want church to be about whether or not I am missed, but being part of a community that needs your hugs and face and voice is important. I want that again.

I want to be missed.