Confessions of a Sunday-School Hater
Have you ever been poked with a stick, fork, trident, or any other demonic poking device? That's what it felt like this morning when Ivor came into my room saying in one of those prolonged tones "Nathaaaaaaannnn, you coming to chuuuuuurrch?" I'm pretty sure God kept me immobile as he does any other morning/first ten minutes I'm awake. All I could muster was a grunt, but in my head a rude dialogue took place; One that, with a cleared head, should never be spoken. So, I rolled over and twenty minutes later Dan had the audacity to ask if I was going. This time being a little more in control of my motor functions, I frown and shake my head side to side. "Well," he started, "do you need someone to take care of the bread?" A parade of curses just sprung up in my head as I pushed myself off of my bed, coveting how it got to stay right where it was. I just forgot again. I am in charge of setting the sacrament up and once again, dropped the ball. Luckily, Dan is like this volunteer superhero and he consented. A feeling of shame and guilt began to swirl around my chest like a hot acid bath. "I'll buy you dinner or something," I said almost scrambling for an "I'm sorry" or a "Thank you" that never surfaced. He just left without another word about it. I climbed back in bed, but somehow it wasn't going to be the same comfortable warmth it was before. As my fingers hit the keys, I'm thinking what's my deal with church up here anyways? It wasn't like this back home, but then again my Dad is back home. Still, church is just different up here. With everyone always moving and this overwhelming insecurity of making first impressions and trying to find a spouse, I never could just go and think about God. For the most part, the Sunday school teachers just read out of the scriptures for an hour with little blips here and there of themselves or the manual. Priesthood isn't any better. I just feel like I have to go and walk through a feast of china-ware every Sunday. The Bishops and counselors are amazing men. I'm not throwing the church down by any means. I do have a strong testimony of the gospel and Jesus Christ. I just feel like Emily Dickenson about how I can feel God in my garden and don't need a special building to find him. (I probably butchered that, sorry Emily) I just crave a meeting where it more than a peacock dance or a reading session. I'm looking up the number for the singles ward, but I'm still unsure. I do notice that I feel more independent on everything, and not in a good way. I need the Lord's hand in my life, especially right now. I'm just going to hike the "R Mountain" butte and read some scriptures myself. The atmosphere would be better anyways.