Chapter 31: Tiny Town, Take 3

Coffee.

The delicious liquid calling my name every morning, “Monicaaaaa, come drink meeee”. The scent wakes up my brain, the taste is an immediate jolt to a tired mind. I have a lifelong, rather passionate love affair and a solid addiction to this substance. Please don’t send me a twelve-step pamphlet, I’m no quitter, and I’d only use the back of it to jot down BUY MORE COFFEE.

I’m not sure it’s the substance itself, but what it represents that is so tantalizing. Coffee is a morning drink, and no matter how bad yesterday was, a shit pile on a raging dumpster fire aboard the Hindenburg, as I pour a cup of delectable, somewhat bitter bean juice, I am delivered a new chance. One could point out it’s just another opportunity to create a whole new shit pile, but a new chance it remains, and I remain stubbornly (stupidly?) optimistic.

And I do eventually awake from zombie-slumber, and cautiously pull back the covers, one brown eye peeking out from my blanket-fort to see if there’s a reason to climb out today. I test out my sea legs, tentative steps into an unknown future. Days are relentlessly persistent in their visit to your door, no matter how undesirable a guest they may be, bearing mysterious surprise gifts, what’ll it be today?? OHBOYOHBOYOHBOY Aaaahhh, shit. I didn’t need this at all.

Hang on, now I somehow want more coffee…

There! ahhh… So. What happened next, you ask?

DH is done. Finished. Kaput. Exit, stage left. I have watched this man give the last 18 years of his life completely to the church, but he exits the train at this platform, no longer anywhere near interested in being a pastor. He actually rather flees the platform in a get me the hell out of here sprint. Makes perfect sense to me.

I’m not quite as wise.

I love doing what I do, but I am in a quandary with how to proceed. I have given up the idea of interviewing at churches, having no idea what kind of craziness I’m getting myself into. Not my first rodeo, folks, there’s always some kind of hidden shitshow at church, pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. But for me, the curtain has been pulled back, and I can’t unsee the shenanigans previously concealed. Unbelievably, and a little irrationally I am still open to the possibility of leading again.

What could possibly go wrong?

We had heard of a smaller, kind of renegade church in Tiny Town that was causing a bit of a stir, known for trying new things and breaking the rules.

Perfect.

As busted up as we are, I decide we should set foot in a new church one Sunday, a fraction of the size of the church we were tossed from, and completely different.

It’s a very relaxed atmosphere, they have a little coffee area, and by golly you can bring that magical drink with you to sip during the service! So, we grab a couple cappucinos and sit in the padded blue chairs (WHY are churches always blue? Every. Single. Church we were at was blue. Blue chairs, blue curtains, blue on the walls…when we first started at Church #2 in Tiny Town, I was thrilled at the totally outdated-but at least not blue-burnt orange chairs, but when we built the new auditorium, the new chairs were… blue. Ugh.). The end of that sentence looks like it’s flipping you off, heh heh.

The pastor is speaking about things that go wrong in the church, about finding your faith after it has been trashed, about redemption and hope. This is good. This is great! I think I may be able to work with this.

After the service, we speak to the pastor.

Pastor Almost.

He has heard our story, he knows who we are already from the community. And, he… kind of gets it! He experienced two bad church situations, the first one in which he was working for a pastor he loved and trusted who turned out to be having affairs, or much more colorfully, in the second case, the senior pastor was caught in a prostitution sting. A prostitution sting! Yes, you read that correctly. My brain can’t avoid picturing the look on that pastor’s face as he realized that his deep, dark secret was about to become billboard-public front page news, sexual excitement crashing to a limp finale as he realized he was staring at a police badge.

Kills the moment every time.

I can’t remember how exactly it came about, but it was inevitable. As any skilled musician will tell you, when you are in a church, it’s only a matter of time before they start hinting that gee, they sure could use you on the worship team. I have to give Pastor Almost credit, though, knowing we had already been traumatized in the church, he really didn’t push us, he just left the door open, and damn if I didn’t walk through that door once again, and BOOM I found myself hired as the worship director. DH, who has no interest in ever being employed by a church again, wisely chooses to simply volunteer on the worship team, a side dish this time through the buffet line, so if it falls off, he merely misses out on dessert, instead of the whole damn plate crashing to the ground.

This time will be different, I tell myself. Seventh time is the charm, isn’t that the saying?

I set about restructuring, rebuilding, teaching and leading once again. This church was much smaller, but holy wow, what we pulled off on this team.

Pastor Almost is delightfully hands-off. He isn’t a musician, but has been involved in the Christian contemporary music scene his entire life, and well understands the Proper Care And Feeding Of Your Music Leaders. He gives us free rein, and suddenly we are kids tearing through a toy store, let’s try this, I wonder what that will do, let’s climb up there, OOOHHH look what I found!

So what happens when spiritual leaders get pitched from one church in a small town and are hired at another with the carte blanche to do damn near anything they want?