In our church, we don’t meet on Wednesday nights during the summer. In late August we finally get back into the routine and it makes me feel like we’re at a family reunion because Wednesday night church is a totally different animal from Sunday church. This is the first time we’ve started a fall semester at our church as regular people instead of youth leaders and it was so good to just be part of the family instead of taking charge.
As a family, we start with a big supper cooked by the new chef, Ms. Connie, which just so happened to be my favorite meal.
Because when you’ve had a horrible, no good, very bad day like I have, a big plate of homemade spaghetti and meatballs can just about fix it.
And if it can’t fix it, our small group can—crammed into our little Sunday school room beginning our semester long study on denominations and what they each believe. Some of us have been in this group from the beginning, some folks are new, some folks are a little older but feel like themselves with us ‘young adults,’ sometimes shy college kids, unsure of their newly adult status, wind up in our boisterous class and sit quietly. Tonight, we discussed the lesson for 15 minutes, then per usual drifted into our version of therapy—telling the group all about our gripes and struggles and triumphs for the week, giving each other advice, and praying together at the end. We pray for one another, for the people we love, for the church and city we love, for everything under the sun. And when we leave at the end of the night we all feel supported and like we’re never alone. We have a Father who loves us, but we’ve also got each other for that hour in our mauve and white room with the perfect view of the sunset every Wednesday night.