I sit in the back, I slouch in the pews, I pray no one will recognize me. If no one knows who I am, I won’t have to explain why I’m here and not at St. Thatguy.
I feel like I’m cheating on my parish.
I dread getting up, I hit the snooze button until it’s too late. I tell myself next week, I’ll show up at St. Thatguy, suck it up and take my lumps, the scoldings from the little old ladies (both in the pews and in the pulpit) and settle back into the routine.
Then I check the clock and figure out I’ve got three hours until the late service at the other church, and I just can’t wait to go.
In other news, I’ve been asked by my housemate who is also my landlord to find a new place to live. It’s been 18 months, that’s pretty much a record for me. I’ve been given 90 days, but other factors are leading me to complete this move sooner rather than later. Prayers for me would be rather appreciated.