Thanks, But....

I turned down an offer last night. Go figure. Five months of therapy and God only knows how much prescription medication and I finally got an invitation. I said, "No." What am I gonna do with me?

I think it's progress, truthfully. I wasn't interested. It was merely convenient and I was a little off my game (to be polite)...and yet I still declined. I demured, in fact. I didn't just defer, I deflected and dismissed the very notion. I came home at an appropriate hour and alone. All this...and more...without the benefit of a paid professional. I couldn't be prouder. I think.

Tomorrow I'll be received in to membership at the Mayberry Assembly of God. I figure I've touched their piano enough and complimented the ladies appropriately, so in I go. No questions asked, interestingly enough. I did have a spill-the-beans conversation with one of the other pianists, however. In Dairy Queen. How 1950's is that? She related that the evidence of her imperfection was running around us in a little pink outfit with bright red hair. I thought that was nice of her to offer. She also offered this...

When she discovered that she was pregnant (and un-wed), she went to the pastor of our church a few years ago to lay her cards on the table. The pastor, to my horror, had her get up in front of the congregation on a Sunday morning and tell the story. I almost threw up right there in Dairy Queen. The story continues, though, that the Lady Pastor then picked up a box of rocks from behind the pulpit and made her way through the pews offering one to everyone with the instruction that Jesus had given in the New Testament: "Let you who are without sin cast the first stone." She said she's never heard another word about it since.

Of course, having babies isn't the same as sodomy when we talk about church circles. We all know that. For all our protestant protestation that there is no one sin greater than another, we very quickly turn our nose up at - and our back on - some sinners more quickly and completely than others. We all know who tops that list. And it's not the murderers. It's the mo's.

Sister Piano Player advised to be judicious about sharing The Story. I took that as a warning shot across the bow...in the nicest possible way, of course. I wonder if they'll do the "If anyone has objections to the acceptance of these persons into membership..." sorts of things. I might cause a commotion. Folks might jump over pews to be the first to tell this old, old story. Nothing like a little competition to get the saints out of their seats, you know. I'm not worried. If they don't do right by me, I'll leave. I've done it before. I know the way out like the back of my hand.

But for now, it's sooo good to be there. I feel like I'm contributing what I have and helping out in a way that was needed. The fit feels good. I know what they say about All Good Things, but I'm sticking with the 12-steppers on this one: One Day At A Time. If it's good today, I'm good. I don't know if that's the disease or the years talking. Maybe it's both. I don't care for the building drama beneath the surface of this experience. And I don't think I'd survive the whole Throwing Stones object lesson. But for right now, I like it very, very much.

(Notes to Various Readers:

Dear Pittsburg...If you only read the Proust entry repeatedly, you run the risk of looking exceedingly odd...if only to me. I appreciate your voyeuristic interest, but that entry is among the least interesting of the Blog. I'm thinking of taking it down just to see what you might read in its place. Still...thanks for visiting...so often...daily...)