Starting off with a little bitch fest-when I began my blog two years ago, I wanted it to be unique, to help others and to set myself free from the chains that bind. I have always loved music-and I had a song for so many events in my life, so the next step was easy. I began using music videos to start off each writing. Now everyone is doing it and it yanks my chain.
There. I feel better.
I thought we had found a church, the little chapel in the strip mall, where my in-laws worship. We live along the Bible belt in Amish country-there are no lack of churches. Yet my man and me have a dilemma: every church we attend falls apart after three or four years. Is it us? No, not at all. After putting things in perspective, I realized that when you are growing in your faith? Well, the more you know the more critically you think about what you do and do not want in your worship haven. That’s right: church and fellowship is so intimate, so important-it matters who you surround yourselves with.
We left Hosanna, our last church, because I began to see the forest through the trees. Lovely people, truly lovely men and women-it’s just that I lost the Holy Spirit connection somewhere along the way, and for me-well, that is everything. Our pastor was a very kind man, but hesitant to step on any toes whilst preaching. The worship became more about keeping congregants than preaching the Word. Personal opinion, of course. I miss my friends, my beloveds-and that point was driven home yesterday: after testing the waters that are the congregants themselves.
I bought a gorgeous, Tiffany blue, vintage hat on Saturday. I collect them, adore them, and wear them on occasion to church-as is my wont. A few weeks in to attending a new place of worship, I wear a hat-to see how it goes over. I insist on being accepted for who I am, not what others want me to be. As we walked in the door, Dwain’s parents were greeting. Dressed in matching pink outfits (I kid you not, they do it all the time) they handed us the bulleting and we took a seat. My favorite, favorite Christian rock band of all time is Damascus Road-the very same praise team who sang at our first church. That band ruined me for life-there is simply no comparison to Miles’ voice and inherent joy that is evident when he praises God.
This band was visiting the Bridge of Hope church, and I almost peed myself when I saw my friend, the leader of the band, smiling at me from the back corner of the building.
“This is going to be awesome!!!,” I said to my husband. He smiled and kissed my cheek, clearly thrilled to see me smiling once again-it had been awhile.
Have you ever seen the commercial about the movie in which a family is torn apart because of the way their father praises Jesus in church? He runs around the church, hands up in the air, thrilling to the beat of his own drum.
“Mommy, why can’t we have a normal daddy?,” the son asks. I fall into fits of hysterical laughter each and every time I see it-because that is me. I don’t run around, but I dance and flail my arms, not caring a hoot about anything but worshipping my Lord and Savior.
“Dad, you best move over a seat-when the band starts Sara is going to need room to move.”
So we danced and sang and hooted and hollered. It was even better than I had imagined-so amazing to see people actually happy while performing and worshipping-not like they swallowed a rather unpleasant surprise, not like they want to end it all immediately after said service. For crying out loud that disappoints and irritates me to no end. If you aren’t excited, and on fire for God? It will show in your performance.
Simply stated: many people gawked, a few gave me the hairy eyeball. It was as if I were carrying a poster that said, MURDER FOR HIRE, I kid you not.
And so it was this morning, when I had to stop at the Monster In Law’s house to pick up some shoes, that I was shot out of the proverbial cannon in response to the MIL’s comment:
“I like the outfit you were wearing yesterday, but I have to say I don’t fancy the hats.”
Well smack my ass and call me Judy.
Thus ended the going-to-church-with-the-MIL experiment.
People, my dear friends, suck the big one.