starting over
For the first time in 10 years I filled in a form at the back of a church for New Members.
I was on the phone to mum on the way there, having treated myself to a sprite from Nandos (mmmm Nandos…) to accompany my time-filling window shopping, and it was only when I was about 200 metres from the door that I realised how nervous I was.
So much of who I am, of who I’ve become, is tied up with the old place – including most of my important friendships – and the thought of starting again is… scary.
Back there people know me. They know my stories and my strengths and my weaknesses. I have an identity. Strangely the best part of the last few months, when I’ve been going along to services where I know nobody, has been the absence of that – the enjoyment of listening and recieving with out any politics or rotas or sometimes even small talk. But the thought of investing somwhere new, of becoming, is hard.
But I filled in the form. I told some people my name. I was embraced by old friends. I agreed to go to the Fireworks on Saturday.
And so it begins.
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