I think I am ready....

When I moved to West Texas in 1995 it was to escape a bad marriage and help care for my grandmother who was dying. During the first month in Brownfield I got to know a special man and his wife. My grandmother had been a member of the FBC for 72 years. I have no idea how much money or time she gave during that time. She was a faithful member. The preacher, who had been at that church for many years, came to visit twice.
On the other hand there was a minister from the Presbyterian Church, where my mother and step-father were members. Several times a week either he or his wife came to the hospital. When he walked in he would address my grandmother and speak to her. She was the most important person in the room.
I spent ten years working in every aspect of that church. Like most churches in small towns the membership was shrinking. This church had the extra problem of having controlling,destructive spirits who wanted to get rid of the minister and close the church. It took several years to get rid of him and sell the building. A few of us tried to keep the small group together while the rest moved on to other churches.
I was told that there would be a grieving process akin to that accompanying a death. To me this was not a death but a murder. I had no way to come to grips with a senseless murder of a church. Four years later I am still dealing...or not. I didn't visit other churches or consider joining somewhere else because I didn't want to go through that again. I had not lost my faith in God but people.
To be continued.....