The Disconnect (64/90)

It's Easter Sunday and I'm sitting in church beside my Dad.

Writing in my journal what those around me think are sermon notes, I'm sure. I feel like I'm missing something here. None of this makes sense to me the way that it used to.

For some reason I can't remember last Easter but I assume I was here, in the church I've grown up in. But the several years before that I was at the USF Sun Dome with thousands of other people running around serving the mega-church. Doing administrative tasks and being an "armor-bearer".

That was my life. The serving. And as with everything else in my life I gave until I was empty.

And here I sit, back for the first time in over a month feeling disconnected from it all.

As I pulled up to the church this morning I was greeted by my uncle who was serving as an usher at the door. He looked at me with surprised eyes, then gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Hello dear, welcome home," he said.

Though without mal intent those words were loaded.

As I walked up the stairs to the narthex I realized that I have become the person I used to judge: The bi-annual churchgoer sitting in the pew totally preoccupied and unashamed.