Untypically in Love: Religion is Exhausting
Read the full story, chapter by chapter here.
Some names and events have been changed to protect the identity of certain individuals.
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Chapter Sixteen
Religion is Exhausting
Chapter Sixteen
Religion is Exhausting
"Shut up," I said to Kristine as she teased me about the outfit I bought to wear to Church. My shoes didn't match and the white blouse I bought that summer no longer fit. I had to wear a long black sweater over my black skirt instead. It was August in New Mexico and the temperature that day read somewhere between 88 degrees and Hell.
"I think you look cute." She said. "What're you going to do with your hair?" She asked.
I looked in the mirror at my hair, cherry red. On the one day I wanted to blend into the background, I would stand out like a sore thumb. A sore, bright cherry red, thumb. "This is going to suck." I moaned as I threw half of my hair back in a small clip. I contemplated makeup and in the end decided to avoid it all together. A little lip gloss would go a long way today.
"Don't you need a bible or something?" She continued to poke the bear hidden inside of me.
"Do I look like I've done this before?" I asked her as I quickly removed the sweater, tossing a few splashes of cold water under my arms before putting it back on.
Suddenly I heard the doorbell. "Oh shit." I panicked.
"I don't think you're supposed to say 'shit' on Sundays." Kristine laughed.
"I don't think you're supposed to say it ever." I corrected her.
"I can't wait to hear stories about when you drop an F bomb in Church." She added before ducking into her room and locking the door behind her.
I was miserable. Just plain miserable. I was hot and sweaty. I was nervous and nauseous. I was tired and pissed off and there was not a single thing on the surface of the entire world that was going to make this day any better.
I opened the door.
"Matt in a suit," My eyes fell heavy and I grinned. "You look all spiffy." I said as I closed the front door behind me.
"You're gorgeous." He grinned and leaned in, kissing me once.
I gasped as he did, quickly turning to look for his parents car, which was in my driveway, but forward just enough to keep prying eyes away from once adolescent moment of pure bliss.
The drive to the Church was less than five minutes. I'd never noticed the building before that was on the way toward the mall. We pulled into a packed parking lot, large families exiting cars, vans, station wagons and SUVs. Each well dressed from the fathers in black suits, mothers in dresses and high heels, teenage sons in white shirts and ties, and the little children . . . miniature versions of the rest of their family.
"I don't blend in," I mumbled sadly to Matt as he held my door open, looking around as a family of walked by, each blonde daughter wore either pink or blue pastel. Two of them glanced at me, confused looks on their faces. Had we been anywhere other than Church, I would have asked them what they were looking at before shoving whichever was the smallest of the two.
"You could never blend in," Matt grinned at me.
We walked inside the building and two young men held the door open for us. Everyone began filing into a large room that seemed familiar. The one at my sisters Church was significantly bigger, but she had told me that in Utah they had to be that way to support so many members. In New Mexico there wasn't quite as many people, but shockingly there was enough that room had to be expanded and folding chairs added to provide seating for an overflow of people.
We sat six rows up from the front of the room where a raised seating area faced us. Three men in black suits sat conversing with one another, and to their left, three teenage boys, a year or two older than us, sat behind a white tablecloth, each adjusting it, making sure it looked perfect. A woman and her husband sat at a large organ, and on the other side of the podium in the center, sat a tall man in his early fifties, a younger woman in her late twenties, and a girl who appeared about thirteen or fourteen years old.
Soft music played as people gathered in, taking their seats and chattering with one another. Everything was buzzing around me. I didn't understand much of what was going on. When I had gone with my sister, we only stayed for twenty minutes, having arrived ten minutes late and left ten minutes early due to my niece getting sick. I had seen a partial moment of a detailed expedition, and I had taken in nothing. Even my meeting the missionaries in Utah had not prepared me. I hadn't listened. I didn't remember them saying anything other than asking questions that I often ignored or turned into complaints.
The music stopped and the room fell mostly silent as a shorter man, the middle of the three in suits, stood and made his way to the podium. A whirring noise could be heard as the stand was lowered for him to be able to look over. He was small in stature, but his smile reached to the end of the room and back.
"Welcome Brothers and Sisters," He spoke.
"That's the Bishop." Matt spoke. "He's in charge."
"Like a priest?" I asked.
"Kind of. That's the Bishops family right there," Matt pointed three rows ahead of us where a brunette woman sat in the center of a row surrounded by six children.
Matt answered most of my questions. I wanted to know many things.
"We'd like to release Sister Jensen as a Primary worker. All those who can give Sister Jensen a vote of thanks, please do so with the uplifted hand." Bishop spoke.
Suddenly, every right hand in the room rose up in unison. I blinked, realizing I had apparently missed something, and quickly rose my hand up as everyone else brought theirs down. Just as quick, I pulled my hand back into my lap. "What did I just agree to?" I asked, confused.
Matt chuckled softly.
We sang songs, listened to talks - which were much different than the few times I had gone to a Nazarene Church with my aunt Debbie. There was no pastor who preached. It seemed the members were the ones who taught one another. And everyone cried. Everyone.
We also ate bread. Or at least, everyone else did. The young men behind the white table cloth pulled it back, revealing small trays full of bread, and others with tiny cups of water. Everyone lowered their heads and one of the boys spoke a prayer. I listened to the words. My eyes remained open. Sacred words. Promises. Blessings. This was serious, sacred, special.
The tray came to our row and I took it and handed it to Matt, not taking from it myself. I wasn't Mormon. It didn't feel right. I had made no promises. I didn't understand the symbolism of what was happening. Partaking of it would feel wrong.
A closing prayer about twenty minutes later and we all stood. "Oh good," I breathed a sigh of relief. "Not sure how much longer I could sit." I chuckled.
Matt smiled at me and remained silent. "Come on, I'll take you to Sunday School."
My face fell. "There's more?"
He laughed. "Just two more hours."
"Just?!"
We separated from Matt's parents and walked down the hallway where everyone dispersed to separate rooms here and there. Adults went one way, small children another, and the rest of us were divided according to our ages. Matt reached out and took my hand and I smiled, finally feeling comfortable in this strange new place.
We walked into the room where folding chairs had been set around a table, behind that a large chalk board where a tall gray haired woman wrote the word, 'Forgiveness' in large letters with yellow chalk. As I turned to take a seat, I noticed several people our age, some of whom had been in a few of my classes.
And one I recognized immediately.
