Growing up, church was a refuge from a complex, chaotic childhood. It was in church I found escape, stability, and safety. In my late 20s, though, I felt the need to step away to find a different relationship with God. I needed a break from all the things — the choir, handbells, workshops, the A/V board, retreats, and several paid staff positions. The break served me well, beginning a journey of healing my past so I could truly meet my God. My faith intensified, no longer just protective but grounding. This path served me well for years.

Last year I married my amazing husband. The second iteration of my professional life was booming. Life felt secure, stable, balanced — a true feat for children of chaos. Yet something felt off. My soul was getting crispy. My sass, humor, and wit were becoming bitter. I let myself feel the discomfort deeply and then heard a “psssst,” a knock. It wasn’t Avon calling, it was my God.

God had something to share, so I heeded my grandfather’s advice: I shut my mouth. I shut my eyes. I listened. Through the algorithm of social media, God whispered, and I found myself researching Palmer and then live-streaming the service. I listened deeply. Was it time to reconnect with others? To reengage in a communal journey? God said, “Maybe. Go find out.”

So, I fought my social anxiety. With the bell tower providing the soundtrack, I walked through the massive doors. The pew wasn’t as comfy as my recliner, but I settled in and took a deep breath. Eyes closed, mouth shut, I listened. The organ rattled my core, sending shivers through my skin, and I stood up. The incense passed, my head cleared. The crucifer passed, my head lowered. And silently, I said, “Maybe.” By the end of the service, I felt pretty certain — yes, it was time.

A Sunday or two later, God confirmed it through a fine-tuned algorithm while I was driving in and approaching the Mecom Fountain. My Spotify shifted from Sir Elton John to Sir John Rutter. “For the Beauty of the Earth” played. My eyes welled up; Rutter is a favorite I had not heard in ages. Then, like a kid, I opened the windows, the sunroof, and turned up the volume as if it were disco music. The song finished as I pulled into the lot. And after communion, the final hymn started … “For the Beauty of the Earth.”

After walking out those massive doors, I had a moment with God unlike any other. I found myself sitting alone in the grass, sobbing, my back supported by the nave. Except I wasn’t alone. Next to me, holding my hand, was the spirit of my God whispering, “Welcome back.”

Thanks be to God for moments big and small. For moments of connection, disconnection, and reconnection … for the beauty of the earth.