Last of the single syllable vignettes. I have an order in mind for the pieces. After revision, I’ll post the all four as I want them read. But now, the last draft. As with the sea walk, I’ve more to say about church. But this is the simplest of starts.
We hear of a house church, go for a month or two. Our girl is small. She cries and I take her up the stairs to a bright yard fenced by shrubs. We wait. There is a cow tank in the yard. We quit church.
When we go back to the house church we have our boy too. We are tired each day. While the church sings I nurse my boy and give my girl bread and fruit. I eat truth. I am still tired.
God wants all of me. There are parts I do not yield. I think I want to. I can’t see how. The church sings, lifts hands, shouts. I sing, lift my hands. I weep. I have this hurt I want healed. I shout for that, when I am in the car with my girl and boy in their seats. I drive and shout I want this hurt gone. This hurt has a deep root and takes years to heal. I ask. God is firm and kind. I ask. He does not stop a good work. I ask for love and joy. I need love for my girl and boy. I want joy for my day.
At church there is a song or word or verse and I break. All week this goes on. A song or word or verse and I fall. This is what it is like to be made. I want to quit. I beg for more love, more joy, more peace.
I let go more.
One day the church can’t meet in a house. It’s a law so we leave the house and move from one hall to the next. The halls aren’t clean, but we go. The church sings, lifts hands, shouts. I still can’t shout. But I want to know how much is all.