There’s a couch in the front of the church that Darco and I attend. It’s grey, themed with the carpet and accented by the red chairs.
Darco is teaching Sunday School, 5 year olds to be precise, the atrium is filled with football scores and school scandals…some things just can’t be ignored.
I am an alien, a foreigner to this place. I do not exist in this realm, spinning webs of a world that I do not partake in. It’s about contests and competitions, winning, losing, and finding truth between the lies. As the sojourner I merely observe, finding struggles of integration. Perhaps I’m in need of rehabilitation, finding ways to operate within this space.
Instead, it only takes one, two individuals to speak with a forced sense of communication for me to relocate back to reality. Listening to their fears, concerns, and their heart reminds me that I’m human after all.
These are my Sunday mornings.