As I rose on Sunday morning, I felt faintly nervous.
It felt like coming home, as I stepped inside the cool building, letting the door swing to behind me, puffing a last frantic burst of fragrant summer air at my heels; my skirt billowed a bit, but settled calmly around my calves as I entered the unfamiliar chapel. I don't like sitting next to strangers, but I perched next to a perfect one. Everyone in this place was a perfect stranger... the most perfect of them sitting on the stand behind the pulpit. I could see the grey of his eyes from where I sat in a pew near the back. But he wasn't what I came for.
The back wall of the chapel was lined with men in dark jackets, like crows on a wire, their hands folded in front of them and their heads bowed as they listened to the speakers. The girls were scattered throughout, some with their arms around white-shirted men, some sitting by themselves or with friends... all in pastels and denim skirts, clean hair and shining barrettes.
Later, Ann Marie's voice like a hand patting my hair on a bad day as she spoke. The grey-eyed stranger raising his hand, offering up support for her teaching, mine finding its way into the air as well as she asked for opinions. Briefly passing gazes with the stranger and finding myself frozen to the spot without a smile for him. Turning round and opening my hymnbook to the right page, nearly searing through the paper as I made an effort not to look at anyone else.
Six months away from my church... almost six months since I set foot inside a formal gathering of members, other than a wedding reception. In those six months, I have had my beliefs called up on the stand, turned from side to side, examined and torn apart and every possible question asked about being Mormon.
I never felt like I had to defend my beliefs, or that I believed any less... it seems I just forgot that there were other people who gathered together once a week under the same roof, under the same umbrella of religion.
I remember now.
It felt like coming home, as I stepped inside the cool building, letting the door swing to behind me, puffing a last frantic burst of fragrant summer air at my heels; my skirt billowed a bit, but settled calmly around my calves as I entered the unfamiliar chapel. I don't like sitting next to strangers, but I perched next to a perfect one. Everyone in this place was a perfect stranger... the most perfect of them sitting on the stand behind the pulpit. I could see the grey of his eyes from where I sat in a pew near the back. But he wasn't what I came for.
The back wall of the chapel was lined with men in dark jackets, like crows on a wire, their hands folded in front of them and their heads bowed as they listened to the speakers. The girls were scattered throughout, some with their arms around white-shirted men, some sitting by themselves or with friends... all in pastels and denim skirts, clean hair and shining barrettes.
Later, Ann Marie's voice like a hand patting my hair on a bad day as she spoke. The grey-eyed stranger raising his hand, offering up support for her teaching, mine finding its way into the air as well as she asked for opinions. Briefly passing gazes with the stranger and finding myself frozen to the spot without a smile for him. Turning round and opening my hymnbook to the right page, nearly searing through the paper as I made an effort not to look at anyone else.
Six months away from my church... almost six months since I set foot inside a formal gathering of members, other than a wedding reception. In those six months, I have had my beliefs called up on the stand, turned from side to side, examined and torn apart and every possible question asked about being Mormon.
I never felt like I had to defend my beliefs, or that I believed any less... it seems I just forgot that there were other people who gathered together once a week under the same roof, under the same umbrella of religion.
I remember now.
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