For once, this blog isn’t about weight loss or my efforts, or lack of effort more recently…they’ll be more on that at a later time, and this is admittedly a long post, so I apologize, but I needed to get this out of my system.  

Most of you in the community know, but for those of you who don’t, they are tearing down our church.  Now, if life were a hallmark movie, this could turn out very differently. There’d be some handsome RaceTrack executive who comes to visit the church he is partially responsible for tearing down and he’d sit next to the preacher’s daughter (played, conveniently, by yours truly) who upon recognizing him berates him with dialogue along the lines of “how could yous?” and “I hope you’re happy with yourself”…you know the kind of lines.  He’d be offended and yet somehow something about the preacher’s daughter would inevitably draw him in and he would feel compelled to further their interactions. This would lead to a moment when she would tell him just what the building his big conglomerate company was tearing down means to her. Touched and recalling a similar place that was special to him as a child, he’d feel remorse for his actions. With the new church already being built, and the wheels in motion, he wouldn’t be able to stop the moving of the church, but perhaps he could still help his new romantic interest preserve the current building.  He’d hatch a plan to stop the racetrack from being built and the church would be transitioned into a museum that would serve as a testament to the role of churches in southern culture. The preacher’s daughter would serve as the curator of the museum. Touched by the Racetrack executives actions, she would find her heart softening towards him, but he would have to go back to his corporate offices, ending the chance for a relationship to blossom. However, as the church museum opening looms, the night before as the preacher’s daughter works furiously to put the final touches together she hears someone enter the building.  It is, of course, the racetrack executive. He couldn’t stay away. They kiss, fall in love, and end up happily ever after. The new church is built, it grows and thrives, and the old church remains as a representation of the many wonderful memories it holds for the community. The end.  

Life isn’t a hallmark movie though, I’m no Candace Cameron Bure or Lacey Chabert.  There is no handsome, young Racetrack Executive. No chance that the corporate wheels in motion that are destined to pave my Christian paradise and put up a Racetrack parking lot will suddenly stop turning in the name of love.  The house that built me will, unfortunately, be torn down. In this scenario the happy ending that I’ve constructed here will not be the one that comes to fruition before the credits roll, and to be frank, it sucks. I’m heartbroken.  

I know, I know it isn’t the building, it is the people in it, but the line that keeps coming to mind from the song referenced above is, “I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, the brokenness inside me might start healing.” I couldn’t tell you the number of times, desperate for a little peace, a need to feel grounded and connected to something, that I’ve driven to my Rock of Ages here on earth and sat parked, my car pointed towards the altar.  I didn’t have to go inside, just being in the lot of the place I have loved so much was enough, and the idea that this will be gone from me soon feels like a heartbreak akin only to when dad left it for the first time when I was 14 years old.  

My history at Macedonia Baptist pales in comparison to many members who have been there much longer, but while I may not love it more than anyone else, I certainly love it as much. When I walked through the doors at 9 years old I knew I was home.  For five years those people transformed into my family. They sheltered me with love, spoiled me with attention, and diligently prayed for me. The day dad left, I thought I’d never recover. I remember listening that awful day to the song Red Light by David Nail sitting at the intersection with the words reverberating in my mind “my world’s crashing down on a Sunday in the sunshine at a red light”.  Pulled away from home, from the place and people I knew and loved the most.  

Were they still there?  Yes. 

Did they still love me?  Yes.  

Would things be different?  Yes.

That difference I felt then, is in many ways probably what scares me most now. I won’t lie, only upon dad’s return a few years ago did that brokenness finally heal.  I carried it with me. Many times I couldn’t go back because the change was too much, too overwhelming, it hurt too much. Other preacher’s kids may know what I mean when I say that, and truly it’s one of those “unspoken” rules that we aren’t supposed to talk about it, except maybe with one another, because after all our dad’s are just following the Lord.  

The same concept has kind of applied to this move.  I know I’m supposed to maintain a positive attitude, be a good influence, and I’ll get there, but right now I’m sad.  I’m mourning. I quite frankly hate it. I hate that if I one day get married and have kids, that those people I love, my potential future husband, my potential future babies won’t get to see where I was saved.  They won’t sit in the pews where so much of who I am was shaped. They won’t see me sing from the corner behind the piano. They won’t know how much my time spent on the swingset out back meant to me with old friends.  They won’t see the sunday school room where a dear friend told her testimony only for me to realize I desperately wanted what she had. They won’t see where their cousin/his nephew was saved. I won’t get to stand at the altar and say my vows to the person so many of the members have prayed I’d find in the same spot where so many of my friends did to their person so many prayed, including myself, they’d find.  That physical beacon of all that history is being torn from me. So I’m sad. I’m referencing every song I have ever sung with that place in mind. Posting every picture and meme that manifests how I feel about this event like:

And 

Because, if I am being honest, and I always am…these are pretty representative of how I feel.  I want to stop it. I want to protest it. I want someone to get me through it by any means necessary.  Grief is not an emotion I do well with. I am sentimental to a fault. I cried when dad sold the suburban we’d had since I was in 3rd grade…. I carved my name in several pieces of furniture and doors in our house one time because our librarian read us a book about a girl who was forced to move and wanted a piece of herself to be a part of her house forever (we weren’t even moving, we still live in the house, I did it just in case).  So I’m not dealing well. I’m writing scenarios of hallmark proportions in my head that will never come true because it gives me a little hope and comfort. I’m crying to songs that come on the radio left and right. I’m breaking down randomly to coworkers trying to explain to them how this is the straw breaking the camel’s back after a rough year.  

No this is not a hallmark movie, but yes I will be okay.  All these sweet things people are posting about how we will overcome and we are going to make new memories and pulpit encouragements  will eventually stop ticking me off (sorry dad) and at some point I will get to where I am embracing them. I will even begin fully believing in them.  My outlook will change and I will be hopeful and positive, but right now I’m honoring this hurt. I am soaking in every last bit of what this place means to me.  I am pitching a fit. I am creating imaginary movies with alternate happier endings. This is my grieving process and I am not sure if it is right or wrong, but it is me, and I promised you all when I started this blog some things wouldn’t be pretty.  They’d be pretty heavy or just downright heavy. This is one heavy heartbreak for me, but I know one day it won’t be. So until then, pray for me. Pray for our church. I know good things are coming, but until they do, this is where I’m at.  

Xoxo,

Ashley Caylor