I am one of those followers of YHVH who doesn’t fit in. I am a square peg in a round hole, the one who wears black to church. An artist, which is my first sin; a philosopher, a dreamer, a creative, and sometimes a prophet. The prophecy is the nail in the coffin. Seeing visions and dreaming dreams scares people these days.
Going to the usual sort of church, for me, is an exercise in futility. Uncomfortable in crowds, not satisfied by empty ritual, repelled by fake cheerfulness, and unwilling to hug strangers (or shake sweaty hands) I am invariably judged for it. For not being an extrovert.
I am also an empath who can spot ‘fake’ a mile away, and ‘fake’ is everywhere in the usual sort of church. I feel like I am standing in a sea of plastic people, shells made to look proper and good, while the real humans inside are cheerfully going about their sin just like every other sinner out there.
No, this is my church: talking in the dark, whispering to God, and seeing His truths alone in the night. I wonder if anyone will fellowship with me.
I am unusual, and I have one absolutely unforgivable thing about me: I am an introvert. I am an INFJ in fact, if you follow the Meyers-Briggs Personality Inventory. The rarest of all personality types.
And no, I will not try to change who I am. I like who God made me to be, and I am comfortable with my relationship with YHVH. Take me or leave me.