Tonight was our second Sunday in Tempe, and so our second week of new church, new faces, new feelings, new friends. I remember that I didn’t want to leave. I had no one in particular to talk to. I really only know about 20 people and I’ve never been the best at making conversation with strangers. It makes me want to be invisible, mostly. We had all milled and migled over nachos in little paper boats, some folks curled up on an assortment of blankets on the ground (fleece snowmen, knit ASU blankets, a tour of the travels of someone’s life). I had chatted with most people I knew. They had asked me about the job search, had I made any progress (no). I had stood contentedly and watched a few kids playing together, pushing each other, spinning in circles, and I had watched the people I hadnt yet met, trying to guess who was in college and who I might meet another day and where had I met that one before? The sky got dark, and I could barely see anyone’s face, and some were still wrapping cords and positioning chairs inside.
Jonathan asked if I was ready to go, and I had no one to talk to, but I wasn’t ready.
Travis talked about who our church is tonight and said he hoped we would find a family here. And I only know 20 people but its true they are family. Already nachos on the lawn feels like a reunion. There’s nothing like leaving almost everything you know and have loved (so deeply loved) for the last eight years to make you learn quickly how you need a family. This one feels at once familiar and new, old and comforting and uncertain and adventurous. Who will I be? Who will I love? It’s impossible to know. But I didn’t want to leave, because I had the impression that another conversation, another connection, could be just around the corner, and it could be beautiful, and I wouldn’t want to miss it.
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