I I
I'm in the basement of a church on the second third of a three hour presentation about the background and mission of the church. I'm sitting at a plastic round table with 4 people. The young man to my left is from Africa, his name was complicated so I forgot it. But he is here at Yale studying neuroscience. The young black woman to my left is named Ella, she has large round misaligned eyes. She works for a pharmaceutical company and talks excitedly about a new style of server to a young man about to move to Seattle once he finishes his degree in computer science to work with databases.
I provide marijuana for friends who are my family and spend my days disciplining a toddler.
No one asks what I do anyways.
I forgot to wash my face.
I cannot remember the last time I washed my hair.
Come as you are.
More and more I follow through with this notion set forth by Him.
It smells like fake maple syrup and bacon cut from mistreated pigs. Genetically modified orange juice squeezed from Monsanto fruit. Scrambled tortured eggs and oversized pesticide strawberries. Poked and eaten with plastic silverware on paper plates.
I cannot step foot near the cloying breakfast table illuminated by fluorescent lights.
I'm being over dramatic for the sake of description.
Time was spent preparing in genuine love for this generous breakfast.
I'm grateful for the offering. But, old habits of control have proved difficult to extinguish, and I am disgusted. Group eating still makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Only God can turn us back to him through sheer grace.
We need him to do work for us that we can't do.
Break number two and we have 45 minutes left. My back is beginning to ache from this plastic folding chair.
I'm doing this course, it's only a three hour session, as the beginning steps in my getting baptized. Which the idea of, not so much frightens me as the fact I have to give my testimony in front of the entire church before taking the plunge in a large wooden box they keep tucked on plain view at the front of the church.
Sigh.
I'm still not comfortable with the idea of communication with these people and committing to fellowship.
Christ drives people who would be enemies to loving unity into the living breathing body of Christ.
Ugh. I understand, I want it but I just don't do it. I always just want to go home and digest.
The small talk I have been invested in for the last seven years is with people on drugs. Nothing is remembered or concrete. Hence my boredom.
Social limbo.
That's why I started going to a recovery group for Christians addicts.
Help shape and be shaped. Commitment is the key to growth.
I provide marijuana for friends who are my family and spend my days disciplining a toddler.
No one asks what I do anyways.
I forgot to wash my face.
I cannot remember the last time I washed my hair.
Come as you are.
More and more I follow through with this notion set forth by Him.
It smells like fake maple syrup and bacon cut from mistreated pigs. Genetically modified orange juice squeezed from Monsanto fruit. Scrambled tortured eggs and oversized pesticide strawberries. Poked and eaten with plastic silverware on paper plates.
I cannot step foot near the cloying breakfast table illuminated by fluorescent lights.
I'm being over dramatic for the sake of description.
Time was spent preparing in genuine love for this generous breakfast.
I'm grateful for the offering. But, old habits of control have proved difficult to extinguish, and I am disgusted. Group eating still makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Only God can turn us back to him through sheer grace.
We need him to do work for us that we can't do.
Break number two and we have 45 minutes left. My back is beginning to ache from this plastic folding chair.
I'm doing this course, it's only a three hour session, as the beginning steps in my getting baptized. Which the idea of, not so much frightens me as the fact I have to give my testimony in front of the entire church before taking the plunge in a large wooden box they keep tucked on plain view at the front of the church.
Sigh.
I'm still not comfortable with the idea of communication with these people and committing to fellowship.
Christ drives people who would be enemies to loving unity into the living breathing body of Christ.
Ugh. I understand, I want it but I just don't do it. I always just want to go home and digest.
The small talk I have been invested in for the last seven years is with people on drugs. Nothing is remembered or concrete. Hence my boredom.
Social limbo.
That's why I started going to a recovery group for Christians addicts.
Help shape and be shaped. Commitment is the key to growth.