I went to Cornerstone Church for worship this morning, which will be (most likely) the last time I go there for a while…working in a church on Sundays kind of makes sure of that :). Anyway, I was sitting during worship, aware of the fact that I was sitting alone with an entire row empty to my left and a girl two seats away to my right and I was holding a stiff upper lip about it. Figuratively, anyway. The songs in worship today were perfect and I teared up a bit…anyway…on the inside I was lamenting: Woe is me. I’m alone, I don’t know how to meet people, and let’s heap some more woe on there for good measure. I got a little carried away, perhaps, but feelings are feelings. On the outside I wasn’t going to show it. Nope. I was stoic, turning to the pages of the Bible in my lap for preoccupation, rather than facing the awkward time of waiting for people to sit next to me (some eventually did) and hoping to be introduced and become fast friends with things to do. I think this probably occurs less frequently in a big church anyway, but recall my upper lip was set.
The text today was from Matthew 26 in the “first look at the coming king” series and the pastor spoke about the passage about Gethsemane with a poignant, and perhaps too close-to-home message. Jesus was sorrowful, he was distressed, as he prayed. The point that stuck out to me today was that there isn’t anything “unspiritual” about being sad, being lonely, being burdened by stuff that’s heavy in this life. We can be honest about the junk we can’t handle, and not only will Christ provide for us, walk along side us, care for us, the people we know will share that burden–they’ll know to be praying, they’ll know to visit or spend extra time…but not because they are experts in mental telepathy or thought-reading.
So, my reader[s], I’m comfortable telling you that I felt pretty alone this morning. And while the feeling wasn’t great, it prepared my heart to focus in on the message from Matthew today, which is sweet.
I mention this a lot…probably even in blogging, but it’s so weird to actually be an “official” adult that I don’t really know what to do with myself. I especially don’t know how to socialize. I understand perfectly that the reason I am not going out and doing things is that I’m perfectly content to stay at home and do quiet things by myself or with family, but how am I ever going to step into a more social role? At this point a small group would be a small victory…getting out of the house for a committed time of fellowship and study. My best friend’s mom passed along some advice she’d given her son about dating to me, and though it’s applicable to dating in my case, I think any friendship could be substituted: You can’t expect the [person you’re supposed to meet] to fall into your lap while you’re watching TV or reading a book at home.
On another note, I have so much stuff, and I’m dreadfully attached to it. I come to an eraser shaped like a frog and I immediately remember the day I bought it at the fourth grade book fair (one for me and one for my mom, of course). Which means I can’t throw it out, right? But I won’t use it (and mar a uniquely formed eraser?)…and I’d love to be rid of it. Alas. Yarn is the same way. I find myself hanging on to DUDS of projects because I could salvage the yarn, no matter how awful it really is. I managed to throw away the beginnings of a bolero I found in a stash bag today. I could’ve salvaged the salmon-pink homespun yarn, but it’s a tough cookie to frog (the bumps get caught and then the tension gets wonky). So I put it in the trash. I might crawl back to it tomorrow and rescue it, but for tonight, hasta la vista, baby.
I hope my new room has enough room for the stuff I’m bringing. It may be good that I am not sharing that room just for the sake of trying to move fully out of my “home”…just because my dad lives nearby doesn’t mean that my stuff has a free and safe home there. My pencil stash is pretty impressive, just saying. I might have a thousand (or more) just in boxes/packages. I haven’t honestly checked, though. Finding all of the paper, yarn, pencils, even staples makes me want to write and knit and consume these things which I have plenty of, however then I know I’ll have to save the bits of paper or the knitted disasters…and the entire problem is not helped but harmed because I’m more attached to the element of me within the new product. It’s no good.
Last item: I needed a dish rack for the sink and decided to go ahead and buy it from Target without checking Wal Mart’s price first. When I checked at wal-mart, it was 50 cents more there. Boo-yeah. When does that ever happen?