August 15, 2004

Close Encounters of the Sunday Morning Kind

I spent a minor portion of Saturday evening in a half-hearted, and ultimately futile, push to just skip church this week due to lack of sleep. In the end I decided that it would be wise to pick my battles, and that I didn't particularly mind in any case.

Plainview isn't quite the middle-of-nowhere, one-hour-from-anywhere podunksville I was afraid it would be. It's actually quite a nice little town, all things considered. The population is just over 22,000 and they have a decent selection of restaurants, a Hastings, a Super Wal-Mart, and so forth . . . all of this within 10 minutes of the house (which is also quite tolerable, in spite of someone's nasty habit of leaving the thermostat set at 90 friggin' degrees). It is, however, at least an hour from any of my various relations, and from any church that the aforementioned would be at all likely to attend.

So it was that I felt the need to rise at the ungodly hour of 8:45 to make an 11:00 service (My Grandma: "You need to be there by 10:45.") at the United Methodist Church in Slaton, TX with my grandparents and cousins. My mother was in Dallas for the weekend, visiting some nursing school buddies she hadn't seen in 15 years. My father attended a church called The Springs (which meets, btw, in a barn-like structure that used to be a dinner theater) with Micah and Ian in tow. And ever since Brett got a car, no one has ever known where he is or may be at any given hour of the day or night. I assumed he would be attending the service at Trinity, but later discovered that he had "overslept" and skipped entirely.

My dad woke me up, as instructed, at 8:45 on his way out the door, but I continued to wallow on the couch that doubles as my bed until 9:15. After a quick shower, I felt a bit more alive and ready to face the day ahead, but I had to rush out without any breakfast (I used up breakfast-time ironing my pants, which were in a sorry state indeed).

The drive to Slaton, which I made alone, is one of the most boring commutes I know of (having had the misfortune already of driving it five times). It consists of a one-hour straight shot (and I do mean straight) down Texas Farm-to-Market 400 with nothing but cotton on all sides. I spent the time in deep meditation/contemplation, but I don't remember about what. And I listened to my wonderful Cold Mountain soundtrack.

I arrived at my destination, unfortunately, at 10:50 . . . and immediately discovered that my race-against-time was being closely monitored. The pastor (who I've met once or twice before) was standing at the door, and as I entered he wrung my hand and greeted me loudly with, "Oh, good! You made it!"

I then walked forward to join the relations, where I was greeted with another cry of, "He made it!" This was softly echoed by the denizens of the surrounding pews as I took my seat and the service got started . . .

I was particularly fortunate in that my grandma did not realize that it was my first Sunday attending this church so far this summer, so I was spared the general proclamation of my presence during the announcement time (everyone seemed to know I was there, anyway) . . . Hmmm, I suppose I should mention that this has been my grandparents' church since roughly forever. I think regular attendance numbers range between 100 and 150 people each week. My dad grew up in it, and probably half the churchgoers have known him since he was a littl'un. The organ player gave him piano lessons. The choir leader used to play checkers with him. I'm famous . . .

I needn't describe the sanctuary or the service, I shouldn't think. Standard, uniform Methodist fare . . . Portraits of the 12 disciples and Jesus (anglicized, of course) lined the walls between the stained-glass windows . . . I enjoyed singing the Doxology (don't do that very often) . . . There was the usual short childrens' service up at the front which consisted mostly of sly, subtle jokes aimed at the adults . . . The sermon was an analysis of The Lord's Prayer, but I missed most of it because I was trying to hunt down something in Acts (I found it, Acts 17:11).

I was well and soundly greeted during greeting time . . . saw Suzanne (a former co-worker from the dreaded Boll Weevil place) and my Uncle Ferrel and Aunt Laura Jo (my grandad's younger brother and sister-in-law), etc. After the service I was soundly greeted again, and then soundly . . . ummm . . . "farewelled" and finally escaped to the inevitable Sunday lunch destination: Rosa's Cafe (to the best of my knowledge, my grandparents' haven't eaten anywhere else for Sunday lunch in several years). There we met up with my Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helen (grandma's older sister and brother-in-law) who had dropped in for a visit (they don't attend church on anything like a regular basis, I don't think).

My afternoon plan consisted of a lot of reading at Barnes & Noble, but I was prevailed upon by Micah and Audra to take them to the movie theater to see "The Village" . . . It was okay, I guess. That percentage you see on the right is a temp . . . Actually, all the ratings from the 12th on are temps. I haven't gotten my movielist to open properly yet so I don't have my scale to rate by for the next few days. And speaking of the right, please to note new linkage . . .

And that is all the news that is even a little bit interesting for the moment. I'm going to go find something fun to do now . . . It probably won't involve sleep for several hours . . .

Posted by Jared at August 15, 2004 11:12 PM | TrackBack