Familiar Buildings

I wrote earlier this week about being at a wedding in Edmonton, my home town. It was good to be there and see some people that I don't get to see that often anymore. It was nice to connect with some friends who used to be regular fixtures in my life, but due to distance can't be. It felt good to be able to drive around the city without GPS and know where I was going and how to get there. The city and the places felt familiar. I had already built memories in the streets and buildings that we drove and went into. And I remembered them fondly as I witnessed the ceremony, went to the mall, and ate at the reception.

Love these people

But I think the weirdest, most difficult place to be in should have been the most comfortable. It was the church; the church that I attended and served in for years, the church I grew up in, the church I made friends in, the church I got married in. I felt detached from it and some of the people in it. Where it once felt warm, it was cold and callous. We have a tainted past, I suppose. Not the building and I, and not even the entire body and I. Just one or two people and I. It's funny how such a large building with so many people in it can feel so small and claustrophobic because of the presence of one person.

I started the day well. On the way to the ceremony with my husband, I told him that I was excited. I was excited to see some friends that I hadn't seen in a long time. It would be a good day. I was nervously excited to see a friend (can I call her that?) whom I love, perhaps more deeply than I ever have, but no longer have a relationship with. And that's ok! I have this tremendous, God-given peace about the entire situation, and if anything, my peace has only been strengthened as my heart is no longer wondering and searching. Truthfully, it was good, so good, to see her. My husband and I sat behind her and her husband, and after the ceremony we struck up a conversation. And while it was perhaps meaningless, surface conversation, it was good to hear her voice and hear how she is and what she has been doing. Most of all, it was good to know and feel like I didn't drop the ball because I didn't let my insecurities get in the way and spend my time avoiding and alienating her. We could have easily done that to each other. And maybe she wanted to, I don't know. All I know is that I wanted to show her in some small capacity that I have, indeed, moved forward and learned, even if she doesn't feel able and ready to give me the opportunity to show her that on a deeper level. We hugged goodbye, and I held tightly. It was like this symbolic "letting go" and since then I have been much less obsessive about seeing how she is via any social medium available to me, and my limited permissions. I teared up, my heart felt it. I took a few deep breaths, and then moved along. I am actually really looking forward to the next time we meet, whenever that is.

My husband and I were making our way to the door, and then I saw her. She was a leader at the church. She was my leader at one time. And while I'm sure her intentions were good, her execution was terrible, and she tried to mediate a relationship and lead a ministry when she was ill-equipped to do either. I don't respect her. And while I have moved forward, past the anger and resentment and into God's loving arms, I still don't have any desire to run into her. I could be cordial, but not without my guard up.

We didn't even run into her. I think that both parties quite purposefully missed each other. I was at church the next day, and we were always on opposite sides of the room, speaking with different groups of people. Ultimately, I think it would have been fine to say hello to each other. But I just don't know that either of us would be intentional about it. And that's ok, too. Honestly, when I visit the church, it's to be with the people that I love and who know my heart, not the ones who don't.

I went into the weekend expecting that it would be cozy. I expected that, because of my history with the places, they would feel homey and warm. But for a moment, a very distinct moment, it didn't. That's just proof to me that a building isn't the foundation of a comfortable space, it's the people. And as long as there isn't peace, there isn't comfort. But when there is peace, like with this friend I used to know, that comfort is deepened. I was really thankful for that experience.

-SP