Bright eyes. Sparkling smile. Bouncy ponytail. Cute baby.
Ugh. I hated her.
"Amy! I didn't know you attended this church," she squealed happily, as I reluctantly greeted her. "This is our first time here." She turned to her husband in excitement. "Amy is the one who slid mean memes under my classroom door." Obviously he wasn't quite sure how to digest that information.
She wouldn't have noticed me suddenly stiffen beneath my bulky winter coat. I'm pretty sure I managed to repress my eye-roll, heavenward, as I thought, "Really, God?"
Today was the day that I was deciding whether to continue attending here or to move on.
Impressively patient, my husband was getting tired of our years-long practice of church-hopping as I sought out a church home that fit my impossibly-long-and-impossible-to-fulfill list of requirements. "Church home," I can hear some of you scoff, "I can commune with God in nature or wherever I am." That's great, y'all. I'm sure you are well-practiced at pondering the Psalms beneath the pines, sleuthing out the inner meaning of Scripture as you weave your way down a river, being all Thoreau-like as you hike. I spend all my time in nature trying not to trip over rocks and swatting away bugs. I am L-A-Z-Y and self-centered. If I am not deliberate in seeking out the Lord, He gets lost in re-runs. So I NEED church to keep me from screening God.
"Let's give this one two months," Brad had suggested after we'd pretty well exhausted most of the houses of worship in the three county area. As long as there is an exit strategy, I can commit to almost anything, short-term (That sentence should have made you laugh).
Our friend, Michelle, had joined us as we sat with Cayla and her wonderful family. Michelle is like a UN ambassador or an Instagram influencer. She is warmly diplomatic, infuriatingly calm, patiently persuasive, reasonable, kind and, because of these ridiculous qualities, doors open for her. And...she always graciously pulls others in with her. Michelle's presence in our pew communicated to the congregation that Cayla was, clearly, one of God's own.
"But what about us?" I seethed, as Cayla and her husband were given the tour of the building, shaking hands with the pastor before being provided with a schedule of kid-friendly activities. "What about us?" Brad asked. "The pastor has only shaken my hand once since we've been here," I told him. "That's true," Brad admitted, "and that was only because he had the misfortune of getting between you and the door." I frowned. "You don't exactly project a welcoming aura, you know," Brad continued, "You are either wrestling with a hangnail or tying your shoe during the passing of the peace. You took a picture of the car in the parking lot with the coexist sticker and yelled 'Pick a side.' The only time you've engaged in the service is when you raised your hand when they asked if anyone listened to the Kelce brothers' podcast."
I glared at him. "Are you saying this is my fault?"
To be fair, I already knew it was my fault but my husband, blinded by love with my perfection, shouldn't know that.
"I bet there is a picture of you in every pastor's office in Western New York," Brad went on as I searched for anything serviceable as a weapon in our car. The ice scraper was almost in reach. "That's ridiculous," I snapped, the tips of my finger just brushing the handle. "Remember when you threatened to cut Pastor Calvin because he was blocking your exit?" Brad said, turning left abruptly, causing the ice scraper to slide away from my seat. "I was joking," I exclaimed. "You told the poor guy in Batavia to back off because you're a flight risk," he went on. "I was being humorously personable!" I shouted. "What about that nice lady who asked, 'What's your story?' and you said it was none of her business?"
So today was supposed to be the day that I determined if we'd stay or move on.
Cayla smilingly implied that my presence at that church may have been a sign for her and her family (which is quite ironic seeing that I attempted to terrorize her at work on a regular basis). She didn't realize, though, that God may have actually been using her presence at that church as a sign to me.
"Let's give it another month," I said reluctantly. Maybe I needed some goals other than finding creative ways to avoid passing the peace. It might be time to take a self-guided tour, venturing out of the sanctuary and edging out past my fragile comfort zone. "Next week," I told my husband, "I'll figure out where the bathrooms are." Brad laughed. "Is that your number one goal?"
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