Finding My Place

I miss my church family from Nashville. TRBC (now The Fellowship at Two Rivers) was home. Now I am in a place that isn't home. This town has never been my home, and unless God works BIG, it never will be. The best way I know to describe it is that it's like putting on a jacket that is too small.

It doesn't fit.

Today I visited a new church. The one I've been attending isn't a fit, but I've been trying to wear it for almost three years anyway. The new one came with several good recommendations, so I thought I'd give it a go. I got there a few minutes early in order to ask questions. Unfortunately the questions made me a tad late to the service, and I had an awkward time finding a seat.

My main question was about Bible study groups. The precious lady at the information station asked what type of class I thought I would like. She showed me the list of classes, and honest to goodness, her finger kept tracing all the women's 50+ listings. They were plentiful. 

Really?

She took one look at me and decided on 50+. I don't have ANY thing against being in a study group with people older than I, but I was hoping to find something more in line with my interests, or age, at this stage. Not that I fit into ANY category.

Ms. Adorable Lady once again pointed out the AARP list before turning to say, "I don't know how old you are, so you might like one of these."

I blinked a few times a stood staring. How bad did I look? Finally, she pointed to another class. It was described as being for women aged 30-40. That was better, but it made me wonder. Was there NO woman at that church from 40-49.

Armed with my new knowledge of classes, and wondering if I need to apply more moisturizer at night, I headed into the sanctuary. I finally found a seat in the near empty balcony.

I was a bit dismayed by the music worship. It was a bit bland, but that wasn't the issue. I am not going to choose a church based on how hip the music is, even if I am a bit of a bounce and sway, raise my hands, praise with abandon, and rock out for God kind of girl. The issue here was that the congregation reminded me of chapel services in college. People went because they were supposed to- to get credit. With the exception of one man, I didn't see any passion on the faces. I did see an eye roll when we were asked to stand.

When the pastor took the stage for the sermon, I had to guess who he was. He wasn't introduced, nor did he introduce himself. He just started speaking to those he knew, in a low key voice that was half a step away from monotoned. Again, there was no passion.

I found myself daydreaming. (Just keeping it real.) I looked in the bulletin to see if there was any information about the pastor. There wasn't. Late I looked and found no information about the ministry staff on the church website. They only show a picture, name, title, and email address. That is odd to me. Churches can do better than that. I think it's kind of nice to know a little about a man when you are trying to decide whether or not you want to sit under his teaching.

After the service I walked to my car. It was a grey, misty day, but it was beautiful to me. There was an intensity about the weather that I didn't get inside the church. Inside everything, from the music to the message, was beige.

I wonder where God will lead me, and I'm excited to find out. There is one thing that is certain. This is not my home.

But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ

Philippians 3:20