I tried. I even got there early. I found a seat that I thought would feel the most comfortable for the task. I got a pen ready to write down anything that could potentially inspire me. I stood up and sang along with the first song (okay… maybe it was more I stood up white knuckling the seat back in front of me and said the words as others sang them). The next song was in Swahili or something like that. I have a hard enough time singing songs that I don’t necessarily “believe” the lyrics of let alone a song that reminds me of the Lion King. I sat there (presumably with a scowl – as that is my facial expression of choice as of late) drinking my coffee wondering if it would be terribly rude to just get up and leave (because sitting with a scowl while consuming coffee is not terribly rude…). As I was prepping to make my exit, Steve got up to do communion – pretty sure there was a big neon arrow pointing at me. At that moment I felt clarity – that I do have an opportunity to have a relationship with God again, that I can be with Jesus, that I can be free and whole. It was beautiful. I was moved. I had tears in my eyes… then I told myself that I’m not good enough to take communion and that I shouldn’t bother with hope. I let that moment of the hope of healing pass. I stayed in my seat and sipped on my coffee like I do every communion.
How I wish I could be sitting here writing that I raised my hands and began to actually worship God, that I took communion and had a restoration of our relationship. I wish I could say that. Instead, I’m just typing the same things I’ve been typing for months. Something has got to give.