That feels like my life right now. The silly little WordPress page-loading “sounds” describes my present very well. I’m waiting.
I’m waiting for my editor.
I’m waiting for my meeting with my pastor.
I’m waiting for my gentleman friend’s letter (because we’re both old school and I really like that about him).
I’m waiting for the 5 o’clock mark to go home.
I’m waiting for Saturday so I can go to the Bristol Renaissance Faire (again).
I’m waiting for a lot of things.
I have reached a very comfortable stage in my life where work is good, family is good, the cat-monster-under-my-bed is good, and life is generally good. But I’m fickle. I like change. I like change when it moves in my favor, and hate it when it moves against me. So in all honesty, this waiting period should be a good thing. The problem is, I never know what to do with my hands.
There’s something very important that your parents and adult mentors don’t tell you when you’re a kid–you’re going to be waiting for a lot of things. They always tell you life goes by fast, you’re nothing but a mist in the wind, a grass of the fields, and all this will pass away. But sometimes you get caught in limbo and you twiddle your thumbs wondering what to do with the time given to you. So you wait.
-Beep beep boop-
A lot of wise people will tell you to chase after your dreams, but you can only run so far before your legs collapse and your windpipe can’t digest enough air and all you want is a tall glass of water. I’m not saying this waiting is a bad thing. I just don’t know what to do with myself. I go to work. I come home. I put off dishes and play Terraria to pass time. Then I go to bed. When I wake up, I start the day over. I wonder what my editor is scribbling with his Red Pen of Madness. I wonder what my gentleman friend is thinking about worlds away. I wonder if I can skip out of church and jobs to spend every weekend at the Renaissance Faire until I disappear into the beautiful tapestry of fantasy.
-Beep beep boop-
Something is loading. I can feel it. I can feel the shift in the winds.
I was talking to a friend the other day. She has a natural gift for reading people. I read books. She reads people. And she’s 99.9% right about what she reads. She read that the church–our church–is dying. That our leaders are closing their ears and eyes to the needs of the congregation. She read that all our friends are leaving one by one because the church is not growing. She read that the Spirit is not moving, that the old people who have been there forever aren’t doing their part, that the new people are too pushy with their agendas, and that everyone has an agenda and no one is working together.
That’s not a good read. The church is dying. No one wants to hear those words, but unfortunately it’s true. I can see it now that she’s brought it to my attention. It worries me. Part of me says I can weather out the storm and come out the other side to a brighter, Spirit filled church. Part of me says 19 years is long enough and nothing has changed or will ever change.
Maybe it’s finally time for me to move on. I wonder that sometimes. When is it my turn to move? I’ve been in the same town, same church, same community for most of my life, so when do I get to move? The trouble is, I’m loyal to a fault. I really am. Do you know the only reason I’m still at the church is because I have two–count them, two–friends still there? That’s it. What happens when one decides to finally leave? Do I leave the other behind and go my own way, too?
As you can see, this is really troubling me. I won’t talk about it, but I’ll write about it. Most of you don’t know me. You don’t know my church.
-Beep beep boop-
Well, I guess I’ll wait for this page to load and see what’s on the other side. Restless feet, you’re just going to have to sit this one out.
This has been,
Fanny T Crispin