I never had my heart broken by a boy, or a girl. My heart remained whole until I was 46 years old. There were certainly sad feelings along the way; perhaps a few tears in the muscle that healed themselves and left a small scar here or there. But broken? No.

 

In 1992, I married my high school sweetheart; and we have ridden the child-bearing and child-rearing years together. Our sons have grown into well-adjusted and kind young men. So far, marriage and children have not broken my heart.

 

My parents are loving and supportive; my small business is healthy; my few friends are kindred spirits. None of them have broken my heart.

 

Yet, it has been broken. Not by a person, but by something I loved dearly from the time I could be carried in a Sunday dress to nursery, my childhood church. The church where I was married. The church where my children were dedicated. The church where I sat on the piano bench for three services a week; pouring my talent and passion into playing hymns. My church broke my heart.

 

The damage did not occur all at once, but rather over months and years of shifting voices and failing leadership. Yet I remember the moment of the fracture like it was last Sunday. A song I had chosen for the congregation was passed over by the leadership and I found myself standing in the church office with three male deacons – for there could not be any other kind – and my father, who seemed to be caught between loyalties. When the chairman told me “you’ve always been a troublemaker”, the pain in my chest was palpable. I ran out of the room in tears, clutching my notebooks of music and my Bible. For thirty years, I had been passionate about two things – my family and church music. I would sit at my piano for hours learning new songs and planning Christmas programs. When he diminished that and called me a troublemaker, I was devastated.

 

My memoir will share my journey from “good church girl” to “Jesus follower”. What happens when the way we identify and serve is taken from us? What fills the space? And does it matter at all?