And now that I've begun, I have no idea what to say next. Oh dear.
Well, I guess I could tell you that I'm sitting in a cute little coffeeshop right now, a couple towns over from where I live, whiling away some time until the church up the street starts its eleven a.m. service. I write "eleven" because the numbers from one to six don't work on my keyboard, thanks to an unfortunate incident involving spilled tea. But the point is, I actually wanted to attend the church's 9 a.m. service. I left home a little late, and the weather was bad, and then there was a detour on the road, so I ended up arriving about ten minutes past the hour. Rushed in, found a seat, joined the congregation in singing whatever song they were singing—and then the pastor came up and gave a few words that I suddenly realized sounded kind of like a benediction. Which, as you may know, comes at the conclusion of a service, not the commencement. I had arrived just in time for the end.
In my defense—8 a.m.? Seriously?
It's actually been a while since I've attended any church in anything like a regular fashion (meaning, mostly I don't attend). Something about the church routine has been evoking a sense of frustrated weariness in me every time I even think about it, though I feel more drawn to God, to Christ, than I have in a long time.
So perhaps you could say I've given up church for an extra-long Lent. Except maybe for today, but we'll see. It's awfully cozy here in the coffeeshop...