Pews
Church is my away
time. It is my time to reconnect and to acknowledge my week with God, and how I
can sufficiently become a greater follower—with the hope of receiving
everlasting life with my Savior.
We always sit on the
end of the pew—it’s an old habit. When you don’t have kids, you don’t mind
moving to the middle, being surrounded by people—with children, especially when
babies enter the picture it all changes—you must sit at the end for a fast
getaway. Breastfeeding, exploding diarrhea, screams of the unknown,
uncontrollable laughter that sadly irritates your fellow Christian brothers and
sister—all of these demand the end of the pew seating. So here we are with
children all of a proper age, no more nursing, diapers, or interruptions—end of
the pew sitting out of habit. When it’s time I gently glide out of the end of
the pew and make my way to receive the body of my Lord Jesus Christ; slowly I
walk back to my pew with the scary acknowledgment that my 300+lb body must now
walk from one end of the pew to the opposite end. The distance between the area
to sit and the opposing side of the pew in front, is a distance that terrifies
my legs, my knees, and my perceptually vision of whoever is noticing how my
thighs are not thin enough to walk through the pew as a naturally sized body
does—legs side by side as if really walking! I try to be refined, I try to
pretend as if it isn't a massive ordeal, that the sound of my pants are
supposed to sound as if they are crying for help—as the pressure of being
squeezed between pews is causing severe pain and anxiety. If I were to go
faster it would appear as if I am galloping—lift one foot up and place down,
drag opposite foot around thunder thigh, lift up, place down in direct position
above front foot, repeat until near the end of the pew—if exercise regimen of
walking through the pew is too rigorous of an activity—if the mere thought of
trying to perform the diligent task of the straight lines obstacle course
places too much worry (could never turn and face the front and shuffle to your
spot---never could I admit such a defeat) one could always forgot their spot
and sit down towards the middle, look around in surprise and disbelief and
smile shyly at the onlookers realizing that -oops- you sat in the wrong spot
and gently slide down to your designated area on the pew—with an ass large
enough to slide right into position.
Through prayer,
praise, confessions of the heart—one has at least a half hour to find a remedy
for how to maneuver through the rigidity of God’s house.
Sister Rose
