I spent my New Year’s Eve watching Garden State (again) on DVD while stuffing my face with spaghetti. And it seemed so perfect to be reminded again that this is it, this is life and that is all we have. Then I got dressed and headed to church for the night service. I was late (again) but only half of the sanctuary was filled and that’s fine too. It was a very intimate service—by that I don’t mean to use ‘intimate’ as an excuse or cover-up for the lack of a better word. It was informal and our pastor left the preaching to the people.
One by one, they took their secret longings and visions to the stage. I don’t know if open-mike gigs could ever be this inspiring, but you know something is right when you see the church sharing their dreams with one another. They were calling something that is not as though it were. They were spilling bits and pieces of their humanity out there, unashamed like little children. Naked as we came.
With that, the midnight barbeque shindig later made more sense. All that sweating over the pit, talks over the semi-cooked chicken drumsticks, marshmallow burnt lips, oily fingers and carbon-filled bellies seemed worth it. And it still is.