It was a balmy morning as my family and I headed off to church this morning in time to get our teen to his youth discipleship class, which takes place an hour before service. Not a big difference from many other churches, except that there are very few adult classes offered at that time.
So my husband and I sit. And wait. For an hour and fifteen minutes. The upside to our wait is that I usually head in to the sanctuary and place my purse, bible, and journal on our preferred seats. This gives me a chance to socialize and my husband is usually part of the greeting team. I know that church isn't about where you sit, but our sanctuary is kept dark and our preferred seats allow for some light to spill from the stage so I can see while I write notes.
This morning I stepped into the aisle for a moment to speak with someone. Imagine my surprise when I went back to my seat to find all of my belongings moved and someone else sitting there. Now there was only one seat left for my family of three. When I commented on the move the individual responsible looked me in the eye, laughed and said , "Whoops!" No apology, no acknowledgement, nothing. I wasn't happy, but okay I'd move. So I grabbed my stuff and turned to find another seat...difficult to do at this point as worship had started and people were filling aisles and rows.
Finally found three seats together, set my stuff down again and had another individual reach over the seat and move my things again. At that point I grabbed my belongings and this time walked out of the sanctuary. You see, this isn't the first time this has happened to me. I've been told, rudely, not to sit somewhere, asked to move to accommodate someone else's family, and been told that the seats I chose were reserved.
I know it isn't about the seats. In fact, our Pastor makes jokes about it. But the reality is we all have our comfort zones. A friend and her husband always sit in the same place. The youth always sit in the same place. The pastor's family always sits in the same place. My family always sits in the same place. For four years we've sat in the same place. I think what bothered me most is the fact that I wasn't asked if I could, or would move, my things were simply moved so someone else could sit there, with no thought to my family. Yes, I knew who moved my things. Considering who it was and their response I was flabbergasted. And pissed.
I'm sure I overreacted, but it didn't sit well with me. After being moved twice I felt really unwelcome in my own church so I left. Even though I've been back a few times since the incident I'm still not convinced I'll stay.
Monday, October 1, 2012
What Did I Get Myself Into?
For years I've been kicking around the idea of going back to school to get my degree. Every time I'd think about it LIFE would rear it's beautifully ugly head and give me thousands of reasons not to head down the road.
Hindsight is 20/20 and I wish now that I had been able to manage a full-time job and full-time education right after high school. At the time I made the decision best for me. And then one day I looked up and it had been decades since graduation and I began having small feelings of regret about not getting my degree.
A couple of months ago a very dear friend sent me an email containing one sentence and a link. The sentence was, "When you are ready." The link was to FAFSA.gov. It took me weeks, but after many prayers and deep breaths I clicked on the link, completed the application and was stunned to find out I qualified for financial aid. Good thing too, because without financial aid there was no school in my future.
After a few false starts I found the right online college for me. I completed paperwork, I waited, I completed more paperwork, I waited. Several weeks later I got the letter I had been waiting for. I had been accepted to college 29 years after I graduated high school! I think I was more thrilled than any graduating senior getting their first choice acceptance. I posted a quick note on Facebook, which apparently elicited a whoop of excitement from my son in the middle of his geometry class (yeah, that's another blog).
As excited as I've been once I got my first look at the syllabus for the first class I alternated between apprehension and abject terror. A paper due in the first week. Assignments due on Day 1. A ton of weekly reading. A separate book to read. A final paper due at the end of the class. As I sat stewing myself into a frenzy it was the encouraging words of friends, some from high school and other from more recent life, as well as words from my son that kept the terror at bay. Everyone was encouraging, full of reminders about what I've already accomplished and reassurances that I could, in fact, do what I'd set out to do. When my Mom told me she was proud of me, we both teared up. Suddenly I knew I was capable of accomplishing my goal.
And yet, as I sit here on Day 1 of class looking at all I need to accomplish this week, I can't help but wonder... "What exactly did I get myself into?"
Hindsight is 20/20 and I wish now that I had been able to manage a full-time job and full-time education right after high school. At the time I made the decision best for me. And then one day I looked up and it had been decades since graduation and I began having small feelings of regret about not getting my degree.
A couple of months ago a very dear friend sent me an email containing one sentence and a link. The sentence was, "When you are ready." The link was to FAFSA.gov. It took me weeks, but after many prayers and deep breaths I clicked on the link, completed the application and was stunned to find out I qualified for financial aid. Good thing too, because without financial aid there was no school in my future.
After a few false starts I found the right online college for me. I completed paperwork, I waited, I completed more paperwork, I waited. Several weeks later I got the letter I had been waiting for. I had been accepted to college 29 years after I graduated high school! I think I was more thrilled than any graduating senior getting their first choice acceptance. I posted a quick note on Facebook, which apparently elicited a whoop of excitement from my son in the middle of his geometry class (yeah, that's another blog).
As excited as I've been once I got my first look at the syllabus for the first class I alternated between apprehension and abject terror. A paper due in the first week. Assignments due on Day 1. A ton of weekly reading. A separate book to read. A final paper due at the end of the class. As I sat stewing myself into a frenzy it was the encouraging words of friends, some from high school and other from more recent life, as well as words from my son that kept the terror at bay. Everyone was encouraging, full of reminders about what I've already accomplished and reassurances that I could, in fact, do what I'd set out to do. When my Mom told me she was proud of me, we both teared up. Suddenly I knew I was capable of accomplishing my goal.
And yet, as I sit here on Day 1 of class looking at all I need to accomplish this week, I can't help but wonder... "What exactly did I get myself into?"
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