churchy. what. what.

I am churchy.

I realized this while talking to my roommate last Wednesday. I was feeling really tired, and roping her in on the debate as to whether or not I should skip church. On the pros, I could barely make sense. On the con side, I said, I haven't skipped church "just because," since I got here. And the legit absences could be counted on one hand.

Her eyebrows went up, and that's when I realized. I'm in this.

I mean, I've known I'm in this. That has been blatantly obvious for awhile now. The first time you show up at the church at 7:15am on a Sunday, bleary-eyed with the caffeine shakes--it's on. But the surprise on her face really drove it home. I am churchy. I should just go buy a Max Lucado book. Then stop using Max Lucado as the prop of choice in my churchy slams.

After months of making fun of churchy-ness in others, it's time to face the truth. That's a dumb way of saying this: It is time to let go of the skeptical cynic I was, and embrace that I have become something else. Though I may never stop seeing the "strangeness," I am now much more like my community than I am different. And my residual sarcasm serves only to make me feel alienated, and to in fact alienate me from people who I so greatly admire, and love. Those who have so greatly loved me.

I return to who I was, mistaking that for who I am. But I'm not that same girl who came here to mock and ridicule. I don't believe in some sort of infallible intelligence any longer. I accept my inability to be God. I respect the authority He has placed in the leadership of a church I love. Done.

Standing in the kitchen, watching my roommate watching me, it suddenly occurred to me that she really doesn't understand what she's seeing. We moved in together about two months ago. She doesn't know any other me than the me who volunteers at church, and pulls out paraphrased, pop-infused references to the Old Testament (only when provoked). She'd be surprised to read some of the early entries of this blog.

The reality that I live (but have been poorly living in) is that God came, and He shook, and He loved, and He changed. And I don't have to be the cynic any longer. I get to be the enthusiast. The one who belongs. The one who worships. The one who claims His name without any shame.

The one who knows better than skipping church.