Mine? Oh, well, you know how when you’re really not good about talking about your feelings and you’re hit from all sides by the fact your family is going through an obscenely rough patch but then you find out that the bad stuff they’ve been telling you about is only a ridiculously small fraction of the actual bad stuff going down but they’re keeping it from you because you live about a thousand miles away (although they’ll call your sister who lives three thousand miles away to tell her) and also because you and they have kind of a strained relationship because you’re ‘the quiet one’ and also shy and also hi, spent many many years with your fat mouth shut because all you wanted to do was jump up in the middle of the dinner table and shout “I LIKE GIRLS”, neither you nor they know all that much about each other?
Know about that? Ok, good.
Now imagine that all the isolation and lonlieness and fear and grief winds up and wallops you in the back of the head as you’re leaving the altar rail, on a Big Church Meeting Sunday so attendance is high.
The middle of church is both the worst place and the best place to burst into uncontrollable sobs.