I Saw The SignDecember 17, 2008 at 1:25 AM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
Sometimes the reason is "irony."
It was funny, because just last week, some missionaries from my church came into Domino’s to get some pizza. I didn’t let on that I was a member, but I did chat with them, starting with, "Shouldn’t you boys be wearing coats?"
I asked them where they were from. It’s a standard question; if you’re a member, you know that the missionaries are never local, they are always sent somewhere else. If you are from Utah, Colorado, Idaho, you get sent to the Midwest. If you’re from the Midwest, you get sent to…Peru. One was from Arizona–I told him he didn’t know any better, then. The other was from Idaho. "I know you have winter in Idaho."
We talked a bit, but I was busy. They may have guessed that I was a member–but generally a member would offer up what building they go to. I didn’t. To paraphrase an old joke, "I’m here because I’m apostate, not because I’m damned."
Apostate just means fallen. I gave them their pizzas and sent them on their way.
The other night, we had a carryout on the rack, and I just happened to walk by and recognize the name. I waited to see who it was who came to pick it up. It was my bishop–my former bishop–from many many years ago. When I first met my ex, this was the man who…it’s hard to explain. He’s a good man. He didn’t judge me (too harshly), and helped us out with guidance and direction. He has a soft spot for my ex, the way you might have for a wild animal that you are trying to train that will occasionally look at you with big, soft kitteh eyes but all the while it chews on your leg.
The man came in–and it wasn’t him. But I had to ask, "Are related to the (same name) from Florissant?"
"Yes, that’s my dad."
His dad had moved out this way, as had he and his wife. He remembered my name, and definitely remembered my ex’s name. I said, "Yeah….we got divorced."
The same non-judgmental attitude: "Well, that happens."
He remembered me working in pizza, and whaddayaknow, here I am again. The circle of life is a large pepperoni pizza. I said, "Well, tell your dad I said hi, and tell him both (my ex) and I are doing fine."
I’m not going to offer up any other comments, because I don’t really know what to say. I’d kinda like to return to church. I do know that if or when I return, the first thing that would happen is I would be excommunicated, or at the very least disfellowshipped. And I wouldn’t be able to return as a full member at the very least until after Detroit and I are married.
And she wouldn’t be a part of that. I’m okay with that. My dear one: no church can tame her wild heart. But I would be free to do as I please. Of course, church service (and Service to The Church) does take time out of one’s life. Right now I don’t have it to spare. Someday…
The important thing is, I still believe. I haven’t turned my back to God. Maybe my shoulder, slightly. But I would never deny Him. I still feel his presence, albeit slightly. A return to the fold is always in the cards.
Tonight someone called to order a pizza, then she asks me, "Do you have wings?" I looked behind me, over my shoulder. "You mean me, personally? No."