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A Love-Hate Relationship

Every Thursday night, I hang out with the same group of people from my church.

We share stories from our weeks and tease each other and read the Bible and talk about why it matters that King David gave a fig cake to a dehydrated Egyptian.

I hate going, most weeks.

No one there is who I want them to be. I am never who I want to be. Conversations go in directions I don't want them to. People have opinions I do not share. Some of us talk too much *cough* me *cough* and other people hardly speak up at all. It is insanely frustrating to me.

The worst part is that every week, my pride gets slapped in the face.

There is no other way to put it. It takes a big ol' beating and I leave feeling tired and sad and with questions I hadn't had three hours earlier.

At the same time, I have no plans to quit going. I am coming to love our crew of peeps. Not just like, but love. Care about deeply. Be willing to fight for. I see myself differently and know myself in light of this little community. And every week, there is something new and startling/surprising/confusing/beautiful/humbling that Jesus communicates to my heart.

I need these Thursday nights to be difficult. It makes them beautiful.


Postscript: fifteen minutes later, I have turned my computer back on to add these two thoughts:

a. I don't always feel that it's "beautiful" at the end of the night. Sometimes I go home and fall asleep feeling irritated with the entire world.
b. I wonder how other people in the group feel about our Thursday nights. And how they might feel about how I feel.
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