Inside the Beltway

We missed church, the last 2 weeks.  Ron wanted a day off the drama of trying to get to church on time. 

Overall, work is very flexible, which is great, 'cause anyone else would fire us. 

Church is on a set schedule and we hate "walking" in late. 

So.  The first week was Ron's.  The second week I was extremely depressed and figured no one would want me around, so when Ron asked to skip again I didn't argue. 

Last night one of the guys called Ron to see how we were doing. 

That's never happened before. 

Now, I swore up and down I wouldn't compare churches, and I won't.  I will say, out of the entire denomination, ours is the only church in the Houston Metrolift/bus service area.  The only one, and they have several.  The churches here have all gone to the suburbs. 

Mine's the only one that went inside the Beltway.  I value that. 

Like Jesus, they hang out in the "iffy" parts of town.  Respect.

Ron was happy to tell our friend we'd be present.  Our friend was delighted.  

What he didn't know, if you want us somewhere tomorrow you need to call before 4 PM the day before, so Ron can make the arrangements.  But he had. 

"What role does he have in the church?" Ron queried. 

I thought for a second.  "Well, the pastor's the head, and [name] is the heart." 

Ron agreed. 

I had some hot milk with french vanilla powder, and a protein bar, for breakfast.  I got pretty carsick, we had a long, bumpy, ride, and I helped Ron work on his cell phone. 

I ran by the gas station and got some cold diet soda.  I was horrifyingly queasy. 

I managed to get it under control. 

I do have a problem, attending church, when I'm depressed.  I cry. 

Not loudly, I'm more of a "leaker".  I cried and cried during the mission trip video (about a month ago).  I cried during the "dancing missionaries" (per pastor) today.  I cried during "I surrender all".  Happily they have tissues, but next time I need to bring a bandanna. 

I did discover I can get my hand up under my (new) glasses to dab my eyes, pretty easily.  I guess that's a good thing. 

The nice thing for me: no one got wierd about my tears.  I know they were happy to have me there. 

I do suspect the guy who called us may have viewed my Facebook and read about my depression.  I have an open profile.