Dear ponytail kumbaya guy who was sitting one row ahead and across the aisle from me at church last week,
The reason I was in a pew all by myself was specifically because I did not want to hold hands during the Our Father. When you crossed the aisle to hold hands with the man standing in front of me, did I try to break in? Did I look sad that I had been left out? Did I do anything to indicate that oh if only I could be included in the hand holding that my religious experience would be complete? No I did not. I hold hands with my husband, my grandmother and my mother. That’s it. Strangers are not in my hand-holding lexicon.
So what about me compelled you to break your hold with the guy ahead of me, turn around and beckon me to join you? Was it my crossed arms? My stiff posture? My refusal to meet your eyes until I realized you were not going to go away until I said something, which I did, which was, “Thanks, but I’m good?”
I was almost tempted not to shake hands during the peace stuff and say something namby-pamby like, “Oh no. I have a cold and don’t want to make you sick,” but that would have been a lie and a lie in church is like three lies in real life, so I decided to stick to my non-hand-holding guns. Yes, you gave me a look of pity – that “I’ll pray for you because you are so unenlightened that you probably think the Marty Haugen music in “Gather” stinks and what’s worse you probably vote Republican look” – but honestly, I don’t think God spends a lot of time worrying about people who do not want to hold hands with complete strangers.
And neither should you.
Happy in my own little bubble at church
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