For most of my life, going to a big meeting would have been the source of some anxiety. Would I make friends? Would I sit with the cool kids? Would no one at all pay attention to me?
But in my pastoral effort to be a non-anxious presence–no, let me amend that–a self-differentiated, non-anxious presence, I have actually changed, gentle readers. I have changed such that when I arrive at such an event I no longer think about such things. I trust that the Holy Breeze will blow me where I need to be.
And thus it was today, as I somehow ended up sitting next to a charming Episcopalian in a gorgeous red blouse who had noticed the sign for the Village Traders thrift shop in the church basement. We finished our lunches quickly and hurried down to the shop.
While tempted by a set of rose-colored Limoges china, in the end I merely liberated Skipper. I felt I owed it to her, given the hatchet job haircut I gave to one of her sisters many years ago.
Skipper enjoyed the afternoon session and feels quite prepared to deliver a discourse on church size, preferring the Lyle Schaller model of cat and dog, but wondering if perhaps the arising micro-churches might be Dollhouse Churches? I join her in meditating on this question.
Songbird and Skipper