Dear Jesus: Love you, but your people… oy.

I got another email last night from someone at church, pretty much flat-out demanding I deliver some mythical project to them next Sunday. This is a project I said I was kind of working on, but is suffering from two things:

1) A significant amount of the research is in my head, and it’s the kind of thing where, well, I’m a trained historian so it would take me longer to explain how to put all the information together in a cohesive form than to do the project myself, and

2) To do the project I would need to carve out about 50 hours of my own time. Thanks to work and my home purchase shenanigans, I’m dangerously short on spoons as it is. If you’re not familiar with The Spoon Theory, you really need to click that link and read it. I’ll still be here waiting when you get back.

I was straight up o-u-t of spoons last night (Saturday was a party for a friend who’s moving on, and I danced like I was a healthy person. I’m still paying for it today, and the only thing that kept me from using my cane is that no one at my office has seen me use my cane and I will take pain and limited mobility over nosy-ass questions most days of the week, but especially Monday). When I’m out of spoons, I am not the happiest person, so I shot back a short and snappy email, to the tune of, “I don’t have additional materials, and I will not be at church for the forseeable future.”

And the reply came back, and I had to forward it to my Best Friend in the Whole Wide World to get a second opinion, because as I read it, it was a “Don’t let the doorknob hit you on the ass on the way out” email.

BFitWWW concurred that it did sound like this specific church member was washing their hands of me. BFitWWW then pushed forward the same thing he’s pushed forward every time I’ve complained about my church lately, which is “Maybe it’s time to find another parish.”

I’m starting to think that maybe he’s right.


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