We went back to the Methodist church my whole family claims to dislike. I should have know that meant they actually liked it a great deal. The service tonight was lovely. And the minister asked my dad to help with communion.
Apparently this is a courtesy given to visiting ministers. I thought it would have been more appropriate if he’d been placed on a horse in the sanctuary in honor of the church’s circuit riding heritage, but alas, apparently I’m the only person who’s ever thought of ceremonial horse-riding for Methodist ministers.
This, over here to the left, is a sight I spent most of my life, it feels like, looking at–the back of a pew and the tops of hymnals. Going to church, especially the singing, always makes me cry. I feel like I’m visiting a place I can never go home to. And I feel deeply ambivalent about that.
I like where I am now and I’ve met cool Folks who have greatly improved my life.
But I do miss it.
They read the part where Eve fucks it up for everyone and it just made me so sad. Oh, damn it, this old story. I’ve been gone almost twenty years and you’re still going on about that.
It made me sad.
Just affirmation that my problems with the Church aren’t solved by time.
But it was good to go, like running into an old boyfriend, and seeing that he’s doing what he wants to be doing. I’m glad for the Church and glad I didn’t end up there.
Tiny Cat Pants 