It's a Small World: The Story of Babycakes

I was feeling really bad recently about everything. It was the type of bad where you just have to lay down silently. You don't even have the energy to cry. It was at this time that God sent me a little something to make me smile. 

I went on to Instagram and I saw a post from this... interesting woman that goes to my church. I was confused because it was a post of a man and a woman, and she usually only posts jewelry she is selling. I noticed that the man looked a lot like one of my Xavier brothers, and upon further investigation, it was him, Babycakes! Apparently, he married the Interesting Woman's (IW) daughter. 

A few years ago, I went to a women's retreat at church and my bunk mate was IW. She is a sweet enough lady but hard to talk to. She hardly has any words. She acts as if she is only given three words a day and has to preserve them. I don't know why the hater a$$ First Lady of my church thought we'd be a good fit. I suspect it was more about putting me in the cabin as far away from the conference room as possible to force me to exercise 🤬 Anyway, talking to IW reminded me of how difficult I found squeezing lemons as a kid. I would feel like my wrists were about to snap, trying to get enough juice to make a glass of lemonade. Needless to say, IW left me almost completely juiceless. 

"Having her as a mother-in-law must be a dozie," I thought to myself. 

The gag is that Babycakes may be one of very few people that I never spoke to in college. Ever. This is interesting because he dated my friend Legs. I remember they broke up senior year and I asked her why. She said, "In the beginning, I was excited about picking the crust out of his eyes and picking out his outfits, but now I want a man who can pick his own crust and his own outfits!" Boy, she said a mouthful there. She also said some other stuff about him highjacking her guy friends and making them his, but that is neither here nor there. 

Today, I think Babycakes is picking his own crust and outfits. IW's daughter doesn't look like the "picking" kind. The post IW posted was wishing them a happy anniversary, and he for sure looks happy. That tells me nothing though. He looked happy with Legs too. I mean, they used to wear matching outfits for goodness sakes! 

I say all this to ask, isn't the world small? I mean really small. Coincidentally, my Xavier brother married the daughter of a woman who attends my church! God knew that the peculiarness of this whole thing would give me a light chuckle to pick up my spirits. Won't He do it? 

For Whom The Bell Tolls

The theme for yesterday was death for 500, Alex. 

In the morning, I found out that my grandma's favorite and one of her few surviving cousins had died. Later in the day, I discovered that one of my beloved Xavier brothers had died. I also had a lengthy conversation with P about the afterlife. It was brutal. Brutal and heavy. 

As a Muslim, he feels like Christians don't think enough about the afterlife, while Muslims live with the afterlife at the forefront of their minds. I don't find this to be true, at least not at my church. There is plenty of talk about going to Heaven and the proper way to get there. This is especially troubling for me, seeing that I like to think about death and the journey after the way it was described to me as a child. We all have to die, but we die to go see Jesus, who lives in Heaven. Heaven is a beautiful place, and when you get there, you will get to see everyone who died before you. There was no talk of Hell, sin, or unbearable heat. There was only talk of a beautiful place to chill with your elders once your time is up. 

I prayed that both my grand-cousin and Xavier brother made it to Heaven. I am choosing to believe that they are now surrounded by the love of God and not oven-roasting to the soundtrack of eternal screams. The world, especially today, has a way of bombarding you with bad news and fears and disappointments and horrors. With that being said, is it so bad to want to believe that we all will one day be with God in an amazing paradise? How are we supposed to understand the stresses of the day while reconciling with the idea that we may also be going to Hell? How can we be present in the day if we are afraid of burning alive tomorrow?

I'm not sure, but according to P, we'd better figure it out because judgment starts at the moment of death. The very second our life ends, the trial starts. I cringe at the idea of having to explain to God why I have done some of the dumb stuff that I have done when there was a published book of His wishes available that I ignored. Yeah, I am going to stick with the Sunday school version of Heaven for myself and for the people I know who have passed on. I don't think I have the bandwidth to accept any of the other alternatives. 

The Praise Rag Story (A Savannah Request)

I have always been a reflective person. The experiences and stories of my life tend to play on a loop in my brain. My friends have often complained about how repetitive I am. So, it is very rare that I share a story with a friend that they have not already heard a thousand times. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Savannah had never heard the praise rag story. 

When I was a college student in New Orleans, I attended a Full Gospel Baptist Church. This was truly an experience, because I was raised United Methodist, which was comparatively very boring. We didn't wear big hats or dance openly in the aisles. We silently listened to the sermons and sang hymns out of a book. My family was not excited about my attending this church, but it was a fun, lively church, and many college students went there. 

One Sunday, I walked into the church and nearly screamed when an older woman pulled me away from my friends and to the side. I had seen her in church before, but I had no idea who she was. Thinking back on it, she didn't introduce herself. 

"Listen, I am making you a praise rag for you to put over your legs when you sit down," she said. I looked at her questioningly. A praise rag? What the hell was that?! She read my expression and said, "You put it over your legs so that pastor can't see up your skirt when you sit down."

"Okay," I said, just eager to get away from her. I had seen other women wearing these things, but I  didn't know they had a name. They just looked like huge, fancy handkerchiefs. I didn't feel like any of my skirts or dresses were short enough that I would need a praise rag. Anyway, why would pastor be looking up my dress? He was married! 

The next Sunday, the same woman ran up to me as I sat down and placed the heavily embroidered praise rag that she'd made me over my lap before I could even protest. I thanked her, not wanting to be rude because the embroidery on the rag was gorgeous! It had to have taken a lot of time. She never let me take the rag home. She would come get it immediately after services. 

As a college student, I thought this whole situation was funny. As a big-aged adult, the whole thing kind of annoys me. To be clear, I don't think that the pastor was looking up my skirt. But I do wish that the world would stop making women and girls the reason for male sexual misbehavior. Like I said, pastor was married. He was also about thirty years older than me and in a position of power and authority. If he had an issue looking up skirts, shouldn't he be given some praise shades or something instead of me being given a praise rag? Just a question. 

The Chase

With all the health stuff I have been dealing with, I have found myself reaching out to my friends for support. And the truth of the matter is, some of them are not interested in being present. It just is what it is. Yet, on the other hand, my church family has been consistent, checking in on me and sending me prayers and well wishes. So, the other night while I sat in the dark groaning, I asked myself why I am chasing friends that aren't interested when there are people proving that they want to be a part of my life? Why is my default always trying to cling to the unavailable? Talk about trauma and damage! These and other questions to be answered as I try to navigate life. Stay tuned.

The Flo Jo Theory

 As I have told you all before, I am ASTOUNDED that I am not one of those people who is completely unphased by death. I spent my childhood handing out with my old grandma and her old friends at a senior independent living facility. Someone she knew was always dying. And it was never really a sad occasion. Grandma and her friends would hear the news about someone who died in their sleep or had a heart attack, and they'd shake their heads, talk about what a shame that was, and go back to their ceramics. Being in that environment, I was completely death-jaded. It just felt like something you did, like picking up groceries or washing your clothes. 

Now, as I slide into middle age, I feel like I am as mature about death as I should have been then. When the avalanche of death hit my family, I was confused and irritated as if death was yet another subscription service that I didn't want to be a part of but was enrolled in. Yet as we know, death is not Hello Fresh, it's a scary, inevitable thing. 

That brings me to Ms. Nadine. She was a 40-something year old woman who attended my church. I e-met her during the pandemic when we were all going to church via Zoom. She was in my prayer group and was a very nice, perky lady. She was a mother and a caregiver to her mother who had Alzheimer's. And this woman had a heart for God. The joy she had after she got baptized. Let me tell you, you could feel the sunshine in her eyes through the computer screen. There was no way you could tell that she was in horrible, excruciating pain, but she was. One minute, she mentioned that she had bad stomach pains during a prayer call. Soon after that, I prayed with her about it in the wee hours of the morning. She was in so much pain, she couldn't sleep. Soon after that, she found out that she had stomach cancer that was spreading. We all prayed for her. She prayed on her own. Her family prayed. She died a couple of weeks ago. 

She was in a lot of pain after a long time of chemo treatments. The last time I saw her was Easter, and she had lost so much weight that I didn't immediately recognize her. Look, I get that people die. That I will die. That the people I love will die. But what I can't wrap my mind around is the attitude about death that the Christians in my life have. 

"I just called to tell you that Ms. Nadine has lost the race," my spiritual mentor told me. I honest to God didn't know what she was talking about. Then at church during a dedication the prayer group put together, the attitude was that she had now won the race because she was Jesus. It took everything I had not to boo my minister. Won the race? I think that Ms. Nadine would have liked to be healthy and alive to live and spend more time with her family, not pulling a Flo Jo in an imaginary sprint! I mean, what is wrong with people?! 

I am having hard time with people. Ms. Nadine was a sweetheart who is dead. Meanwhile, there is some pedophile serial killer out there on a beach vaykay and living his best life. It seems to get more confusing for me with each death of a loved one that I experience. I am not sure what to do. I guess I should keep a bag packed with sweats and a pair of Nikes, just in case I myself have to make a spiritual run for it. 

According to JC- The Art of Shooting One's Shot

Ladies, if you are anything like me, you are confused. You aren't sure where your femininity stands in a fast-paced dating landscape where women are now required to be "savages" and "stallions". If you are anything like me, you are probably disgusted as well, for the news has been grim. The state of affairs has gotten so sad that women are paying for their own engagement rings and buying men drinks at the club. It's a topsy-turvy world out here girls. Those of us who were trying to be damsels, waiting for our knight in shining armor, are being forced to be aggressors, hunting for men with a spear and handbag while men sit back and gather their dreadlocks into man buns. Again, if you are like me, this picture just doesn't seem right. But it's okay. JC from church has cleared it all up for us.
I know what you are wondering:who is JC? JC is a 31-year-old man that attends my church. I think most of you would think that he is cute but he's tall so I think that we can agree that how he looks doesn't really matter. Anywho, he is a young man with his ear to the dating streets. I know this, because I have it on good authority that he has tried to talk to three of my church homegirls. And according to him, he's not finished. He announced that in 2020 he will be officially trying to "shoot his shot" at a woman at the church. This interested me.
"What would it look like JC if I wanted to shoot my shot at a man?" I asked. This was of interest, seeing that social media has informed me that men no longer feel like it's their job to approach women.
"You just go up to a guy and let him know how you are feeling, because most of the hints you think you are dropping we don't get."
Eye-opening! But I still had reservations.
"But wait. If a woman approaches a man, doesn't that impeded on his manhood?"
JC shook his head, his dreadlocks shaking. "Approaching a man does not make you the man in a relationship. He still has to take you out and prove to you that he is interested."
Wow!
I think that this all sounds good in theory, but after watching a video of a woman proposing to a man, I don't know if it really works. But 2020 is here and the goal is to be open. I will try it at some point. I will keep you posted on the results.

Reviews

Apparently, my church singles ministry isn't as boring as I was originally led to believe. During the church's recent women's retreat, I was informed by my bonk mate that the singles often go on these cute little group dates. It's like Jesus's answer to speed dating. Naturally, I wanted in. So I asked her about the guy I like at church, Bill, and she had bad news for me.
"Yeah, he's single. But he has bad reviews."
I felt like someone had let the air out of my balloon. He's really hot. Really sweet. Employed. But the review is that he is a bit of a man-child. This wouldn't be that big of a deal if he were not about three years older than me.
Later that night, I found myself mourning Bad Review Bill. I liked him so of course, his reviews had to be bad. But then it dawned on me: who amongst us doesn't have bad reviews?  I have made it a point to completely cut off communication with any man I have ever talked to romantically, but if I found their number in an old phone and asked them for my reviews, I am betting they would be worst than Bill's.
Sickles would say that I am a tease that is way too available. Because I was lonely, I would still accept his calls, when he did call, which could be anywhere between 2-3 times a year.
H-Town, this overly optimistic tard that I met at the mall would tell you that I am a downer. His relentless glass-half-full attitude made me feel even sadder than I was usually. He gave me no space to express my real feelings, so I found myself often lying about my mood, sweetening all of our texts with happy emojis that I didn't mean. He went back to Texas for a job and I was happy. I'd rather be depressed than fake excited about life.
The others would take note of my fear of germs, refusal to French kiss, and irritating naivety when it comes to dating. Pool Bae from the pool at the gym would have worst reviews that that, upset about how I wanted him to be my boyfriend and cut him off when he said that that was not an option. He liked me and all, but his main girl was paying all of his bills, which was great because he paid a butt-load in child support, and he didn't want to shake things up. I found that unacceptable and we stopped talking. I'm sure he would say I'm not understanding.
As we try to find love in our 30s, should past reviews even matter? Another woman's complaint could be your Godsend. Or should us mature daters pay even more attention to 2-star guys, seeing that we no longer have dating time to waste? I guess that depends on the woman. I myself am not sure, but Bill is cute enough not to care either way.

Single, No Mingle

Kyndra invited me to the church singles ministry's July 4th BBQ, and I was excited to go. My past few July 4ths have been lackluster, so I was eager to get dressed up cute and meet some eligible bachelors. Imagine my surprise when I got there and realized that most of the men where 24. I didn't want to date a 24-year-old guy when I was 24! But that isn't even the biggest jaw-dropper. Dating isn't the primary focus of this singles ministry. Huh?
"It's not all about dating," Kyndra explained. "It's about singles coming together and encouraging each other in their walk with God."
That's cool I guess, but I assure you if I would have known that, I wouldn't have worn a dress.
I talked to another woman at my church today about the barbeque. I told her it was fun, but I had never heard of a singles ministry where no one was dating.
"Before you find love with a man, you need to understand God's love. Only after that can you even begin looking for a good man."
I frowned. That sounds like work. It also sounds like a long time coming. I'm 33. The last thing I have is time.
This same woman said that the good thing is that the singles are getting to know each other as friends.
"Take it from me," she assured, "you want your mate to be your friend."
I smiled and nodded, but I have always found that school of thought to be a complete load. I have friends. I need a man that I can tolerate to keep me company for the rest of my life.
This is all new to me. I am just really trying to better understand it all while attempting to grasp the concept of being single with no mingle.

Church and the Broken Vagina

Going to church on a regular basis has broken my vagina. At the very least, it has essentially depleted my sex drive, and at the most, has catapulted me into early spinsterhood. I was alarmed by this at first, but Tasia assures me that this is the effect that church should have on you.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," she said over brunch. "How did you not know that that is what church does to you?"
Uh...because no one told me!
As you know, I am a girl that loves to have a crush on somebody. It has always been fun for me to have little secret crushes on men. This has helped my heart to fill full during the lonely times and given me a good list of people to stalk on Instagram. Now when I look at pictures of these crushes, I feel nothing in my lady parts. All I see are brown faces of boys that I once went to school with. My jay-jay is unimpressed.
I want to get to know God. I want to become a better Christian. But no one told me that that would include me putting my vagina on the shelf with an Out of Order sign taped to it!
It is my belief that there's a science to this whole thing. Once I started going to church, my heart started to change. I began to allow the word of God to cleanse it, purging it of lust. Well, everyone knows that your heart and your lady parts are connected. You see, my heart is trying to do better now. But since my vagina truly doesn't know how to do better, it just shut down completely. She is a team player, and she wants my heart to win. So she took one for the team and is now on vaykay for God knows how long. I hope she comes back soon, I miss her.
Her hiatus has shown me that I was giving her a little too much power in my life, allowing her to take the wheel. I think that I have a crush on a man that I met at church, but I can't tell you. My vag is giving me cold silence. My mind should be able to tell me what's up, but it can't. I see now that this whole time, my mind has been in my undies. Not cool.
The plus side is that now that I am no longer fantasizing about running away with that boy from my old sociology class, I now have more time to pray and read my Bible. I guess my vaginal breakdown was all a part of God's plan. Man, He works in mysterious ways.

Positively Negative

I find myself desperately trying to hide how negative I am at church so that I can make friends. It has become clear to me that my sweet, pure, and dare I say beautiful form of pessimism clashes with clean, innocent, dare I say naive Christian optimism.
My friend Kyndra, who invited me to this church in the first place, did something that I would never do which is invite someone that I sort of know into a personal space. People know that she invited me, so I have tasked myself with trying to be on my best behavior. For me, I am seeing that this includes not being too honest. My honestly comes from a negative place and as you probably well know, negativity is a virus that spreads through the garden and murders all the roses. I don't want to kill her super sweet, warm, welcoming, and unrealistically encouraging and hopeful friends. I don't want to be the weed in an otherwise healthy flower bed.
Talking to the women in the church is the hardest. They are so nice, yet it is hard not to scream, "What a load!" whenever they speak. A couple of Sundays ago I stood with a tight, manufactured smile as a young woman with a cool, funky haircut named Paula spoke excitedly about how her ex finally deciding to get into church. For her, this was a milestone met on their way to getting back together, becoming "equally yoked" and jumping the broom. I smiled hard as her other friend, we will call her Peggy, listened along excitedly, praising God for the miracle of getting a young Black man into church. That is a miracle, I won't disagree with that.
When Paula finally took a breath, I asked, "What if none of this sticks with him? Are you prepared for that?"
I instantly regretted it. The power drained out of her eyes as if I had unintentionally turned off the lamp in her brain. "What?" she asked confused.
"Holly wants to know if you'd be okay if you two don't get married," Peggy chimed in. That is not what I wanted to know at all.
Paula inhaled, her power coming back on. "That is okay. I am more concerned with him getting saved."
I nodded, smiling so hard at this point that my cheeks were burning. I wanted to tell her that the whole thing smelled like a boy lie. I wanted to tell her that I could see this young man going as far as he felt he needed to before she agreed to sleep with him again. Then he would vanish from the church so fast it would be like he was never there. But that, good friends, would have been the type of honest negativity that makes it so no one wants to talk to you after service. I like after service talks.
As I have said before, I am trying to build a relationship with God and get better with changing my way of thinking. My current thinking is a hard skin to shed, seeing that I credit it with saving me from some decisions that could have been devastating. But being negative can be exhausting and preventative. Maybe one day I too can experience the joy of just knowing without a doubt that things are going to work out. Faith, it's what's for dinner.
Until I get to that point, it is all tight smiles and nods from the peanut gallery, secretly taking solace in being positive that negativity is the way for me, at least for now.

Church 2: Church Men

I am a negative person. I have learned to accept this about myself. And I am not ashamed to say that I thought that there was some funny business going on when I walked into the church and seemed to be genuinely greeted warmly by men. They gave me hugs, but I made sure my shoulders were stiff. They asked me my name and I responded with a grunt. One young man walked me and my friend to her car, and I politely said thank you, while mentally trying to iron out how I could elbow him in the neck if he perchance attempted to rob us. What can I say? I'm bitter. 

But in my defense, men have never put there best foot forward with me. As a kid, boys made fun of me. In college, they ignored me which, believe it or not, is worst than getting made fun of. And as an adult, they have tried to use me! Luckily I had nothing or these dudes would have taken me to the cleaners! On top of this, I am harboring some heavy resentment towards my uncle cursing me out after my grandmother's funeral while my other uncle and brothers said nothing. And you mean to tell me while I have been holding on to all of this heavy, designer knockoff baggage, there were men at church willing to walk me to the car?! Get out of here!

I have been going to this church for almost two months now, and low and behold, the men are still kind to me. I have positioned myself mentally in a space of observation as to be prepared when the true colors start showing. I fully expect to walk in on these men laughing about how fat my ankles are or plotting on how to best ask me out just to stand me up. I have grown to be so fond of these clean-spirited men that I am hoping this won't be the case. However, my experiences tell me that it most likely is, so on the defensive I stand. Better safe than sorry. Amen. 

Church 1- The Invite

I don't know when I got so far from God that I began to think that everyone that went to church was some type of a nut. I assume that it happened somewhere between college graduation and everyone that I love dying.
Before this most recent invite to visit someone's church, I took offense to being invited. Receiving a church invite always felt like the person extending the invite was trying to shade me, saying that I looked like my life was such a mess that I obviously needed to go to church. Plus, the few times that I accepted said invite, I found myself walking into some foolishness. Either the church felt like a front for some type of illegal activity, or the minister seemed less like a messenger of God and more like a standup comedian.
My mood has been as such lately that I am really not up for any foolishness. But when my friend Kyndra invited me to her church for their Black History Month service, I said yes without hesitation. Any church that has a Black History Month service is obviously somewhere I would like to be. I wasn't prepared, however, for the changes that have happened in church since the last time I was there.
For one, no one was super dressed up. At the most, everyone looked like they were dressed for a brunch date. And the choir has vanished. I don't know where the choir has gone, but it wasn't at this church. They have a praise and worship squad consisting of what I assume would have been the best singers in the choir if there was one. There are no hymnals. This church only sings Top 20 Gospel hits with the assistance of a live band. And for the most part, there are no Bibles. Everyone looks up scriptures on their phone. The church has its own social media accounts, and you can give your offering online.
But one thing that hasn't changed that I remember from when I was a kid at church is the sense of community. People still stop and ask you about life and give you hugs. You have no idea how those Sunday hugs have changed my life. I think I will continue to go here, but as with everything else in my life, I am ready to quit and run at a moment's notice if things go wrong.

Go to Church Part 2- The Christian Dork

I was invited to a White Party to celebrate the 30th birthday of my friend Kyndra and her twin sister. I was excited to go! Although I don't look great in white, I love a good party, especially when I know for sure that there is going to be cake.
When I got to the venue with our mutual friend Sarina, I was surprised at the number of people out on the dance floor dancing clumsily while laughing and goofing around. I wasn't there long before it became obvious that I was in the company of dorks. And no, this is not a bad thing as one may think. I have always enjoyed the company of dorks. They like to have a good time and love to live like no one is watching...although everyone obviously is.
While dancing in my seat, a woman came over to me and introduced herself. She told me that her name was Marie, and asked me how I knew the twins.
"I only know one. I volunteer with Kyndra," I informed her.
"Oh cool! I go to church with them."
My heart skipped a beat. I looked past her at the dorks behind her, dancing in circles. I wasn't just in the company of dorks...I was in the company of Christian Dorks. YASSS!
If you are not sure what a Christian Dork is, you either have never been to church or you are one. They are just cool, dope, Christian people who like to act silly and are always happy and friendly. You see, I have experience with Christian Dorks. For a weird period in high school, I was one as a co-president of The Y Club.
Man, those were good times! I loved the retreats with Y-Club members from other schools where we went to Bible workshops and sang Christian songs while a cute dude with long hair jammed along on a guitar. Everyone was so nice and warm and welcoming and just apologetically dorky! At those retreats, I felt like I had found my people. I'm not sure what happened...
I had a good time, dancing and meeting Kyndra's church friends. While munching on cookies with the twins' names on them, I wondered if the fun, light-hearted, I'm not being judged feeling would be what I felt if I started going to church again. The very thought took me back to a period of time when I was 17 and actually happy; a pocket of time where my naysayer attitude had stepped to the side so I could enjoy life.
Marie invited me to their church and I just may go. She said they are Bible-focused and have a really good singles ministry. If I don't like it, I can just leave and pick up a husband on the way out.

Me and Kyndra at her birthday White Party. 

Go To Church!

Recently, an older friend of mine told me I need to go to church. This can't be a good sign about the state of my life.
We were in a conversation with another friend who was telling us how she was receiving blessings on blessings on blessings, and that she had reached all her goals. She credited God for this, saying that she was a spiritual person, and that her consistent self-affirmations also helped.
I don't know why I felt safe enough to say out loud that I feel that goals are unattainable sure ways to disappoint yourself and that affirmations are stupid, but I did. That's when my old friend told me I need to go to church.
"Do you go to church?" she asked.
"Nope," I answered honestly.
"You should go."
And, without me meaning to, I frowned, let out a grunt, and began to sink down into my seat. I don't know why. I'm not against church...I don't think.
She essentially told me that I need to go to church and pray it out.
"I pray for you," she said. I was relieved. I don't know where I would be without old lady prayers.
"Why do you think affirmations are stupid?" my other friend asked me.
The long and short of it, "Because I am negative," I answered. Real talk.
"I am going to pray that negativity off of you," she said.
I smiled. Silly woman. My negativity is as much a part of me as my adorable cheeks. It can't be prayed away. Surgically removed, sure, but not prayed away.
Sigh. Would it hurt me to go to church? No, but I don't want to. I am more comfortable lying to myself, telling myself that praying at home alone when I am in a pickle is doing the trick for my life. Side note: it isn't. Perhaps I do need to get more in touch with my so-called Methodist life.

The Lonely Journey

As you all know, I have started attending church. But as with everything in my life, there is drama associated with it.
Point blank, my family hates me going. Why? Well, besides them being joy-suckers, they hate it because it is a non-denomination church and we are United Methodists. OK. But the funny part is that we have not stepped foot in a Methodist church in God knows how long! I just got tired of feeling crappy and bad all the time and started going to church. Plain and simple. You might as well have told my Mom and Aunt that I had started worshipping The Devil!
This annoys me. And it shouldn't because I am 25 and can do whatever I want, clearly. But I have tried to get my siblings involved and that didn't work. My sister rather go to the Kingdom Hall with her little homie (which my mom thinks is cool), my brother Cass is going through is own little baby religious awakening/questioning on his own, and my brother Anthony just doesn't want to wake-up early enough to get dressed to go! As you all know, I can not drive, so my Aunt drops me off on Sunday, equipped with an attitude and a sour face. My mom makes jokes about it. Just yesterday she told me she was going to tell my Uncle Henry on me, you know, the United Methodist minister?
This also makes me sad. And not just because I feel like those closest to me should be happy for me, but have instead chosen to shit on my happiness. That is an everyday thing. It makes me sad that I find happiness and peace at this church and my family wants no part of something positive that I feel is changing my life for the better. I go to church and see families and couples and groups of friends coming to worship. I feel sad because I have to embark on this journey, this important part of my life, alone. I guess I am just going to have to shrug this off and keep trekkin'. It's one of those times where you just have to know what you are doing is right for you and keep on keepin' on. I just wish I didn't have to trek on my own.

Raisin' Hell

As part of my quarter-life crisis, I have taken a bigger initiative to strengthen my relationship with God, and can I say that it has been refreshing! I have always wanted to, but after being disappointed by my former church (for reasons best fit for another post) I decided to take a breaky-break from the church scene. But am I glad to be back! I like waking up on Sundays to be in the company of really kind people. But I am also getting better acquainted with God's word through the messages being taught, thus getting reacquainted with the idea of Hell.
Hell. Yikes. The one hot-spot that NO ONE wants to visit. I was talking to my buddy Waddles about it last night, and we both agreed that even though there are descriptions in The Bible and in literature, there is no way that the human mind can possibly fathom how HORRIBLE it must be. I can't stand Atlanta in July, so I think I better get my shit together soon before I spend eternity in a furnace.
Now I don't think that I am a bad person, but I'm no angel. A woman who sings at church asked the congregation what we do when we think that no one is looking. Good thing that was rhetorical! A couple of things I listed mentally I know for a fact is on God's no-no list.
Ugh, that damn no-no list! I have a lot of friends that chucked it long ago. Their thinking is that you only live once, so you might as well do what you want. And I agree...partially. It just seems that all the cool, freaky things I want to get into may not be on the list, but I am sure that JC and his daddy wouldn't think they are cool. Plus, isn't it stated somewhere in The Bible that thinking about sinning is just as bad as doing it? In that case, shouldn't you just do what you want since thinking about it will get you sent to the pits just as quickly?
So many questions and, according to my minister, so little time to get things straight. You are either good or you ain't. I guess the best thing I can do is be the best person I can be at all times and hope that God is impressed. Hopefully, he won't nickel and dime on the specifics.

Church Chillin'

I do believe that I mentioned my new gym friend Mony that invited me to her church. Well, after two weeks of having a heavy schedule, I was able to finally join her and her husband at the Saturday night service.
On the way to the church, I got to know Mony a bit better. She came to this country from Cambodia when she was ten and used to work for a coupon magazine until it went bust. She and her husband have been married seven years, and she just loovveess the Lord! She and her husband are just adorable. They put me in mind of those couples that are already in your picture frame when you buy it.
But back to the church. It is a relatively young church and so is the congregation. There was actually a coffee house inside with smoothies and lattes and the whole nine. The inside of the church looked like a theater, and there were two huge flat screens that played professionally made church announcement commercials. The stage had a playhouse quality backdrop created for the church's own Christian rock band.
I have to admit, I felt a wee bit out of my element. I have not listened to Christian rock since Creed broke up! The members were mostly White married couples in their mid-20s to early 30s. They all looked like what I imagined Hanson's fans to look like as adults. There was a theatrics performance and professional ballerinas and a minister that used words like 'dude' and 'bro.'
The message was about Peter being a mess up, and I actually understood it. I have to say that I liked the service. All this time, I was looking for a small Baptist church like the one I attended while in college, but I feel that I may have found a sweet church home in this huge church. I will keep you posted.

Sundays with Mony

I few posts back I mentioned a woman who came and prayed over me while I was on the treadmill. After having a few other encounters with her, I found that her name is Mony. She is a very adorable very fit little Asian woman, probably in her early 30s, that has a Southern accent. Something about Asian people with Southern accents tickles me.
Well, yesterday, during my tread from Hell, she came over to give me some encouraging words. Usually, I hate it when people cheer me on as I work out, but I did need the push. Ten minutes into my work out I wanted to cry and throw the treadmill up against the mirror in front of the machine, the lovely three-way mirror that documents the sweat, sadness, and strain on your face.
So Mony and I spark up a convo, and she invites me to her church on Sunday. Usually, I would decline a church invite, but Mony seems really nice so I accepted, even though my Aunty warned me that they are rumored to speak tongues at her church.
The last time I went to someone's church on an invite, the church ended up being creepy. It was one of those churches that you can tell used to be a car wash or something, and the members did weird chants that I was NOT familiar with. Truth be told, I have not had a stable church home since I lived in New Orleans. Many of my friends didn't like the church I attended there, primarily since the preacher didn't really...preach. I didn't care though. The people were nice. I liked to see everyone's outfits, and there was music. Don't forget the music!
Plus, I find that just going there every Sunday did something for my spirit. I was happier when I went to church. I did not feel as alone, whether I was really taking anything away from the services or not. Now, living at home and always being broke and annoyed has REALLY worn on my spirit. It is past due time to head back to church.
I will let you know how it goes. Hopefully, this church is normal. I don't know if I can be a member of a church where they make human sacrifices or use snakes or ask you for your W2s before you join. You never know these days in the A.