like you just don't care.

The fireworks finish. Group 1 Crew is rocking it. And I find myself jumping up and down at the front of the stage, my arms thrown up in the air, shouting along with the crowd as the band dude says, "God is big!"

I look over towards the tents flanking the sides of the stage and see Curt Cook nodding along with the music. I look around me. The crowd is a jumble of ages with energy in common. I look up into the night sky, and feel in the strangest way that God is pleased that I am so happy, so free. I feel safe. This is my church. That is my pastor. These are my body. I don't understand all of what is going on. But I can trust these people while I'm not understanding. I feel so safe. I am in the moment, and completely myself. I want to lift my arms, so I do. I want to jump up and down, and dance, and shout. So I do.

I guess that seems simple. Maybe it should be.

It definitely should be. Since it's not, I'll rest happy knowing that I trust this church. That's big for me.

I trust that though there are things I don't like, the people saying them see more than I do. Without devaluing my own abilities and intellect, I'll trust that they have spiritual understanding that I don't have. Without throwing caution to the wind, I'll travel with them down unfamiliar paths, trusting that their guidance will bring me closer to God.

It feels good to trust. It feels gooooood. And it felt good to get over myself last night, and to do what I felt.

Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in what others must think, I forget to trust them. I forget that I am often now surrounded by people with faiths much firmer and smarter than mine, and that I can trust their love for me. I need not be afraid of judgment--if what I am doing is good, they will rejoice with me; if bad, they will show Grace through the righting. Not that those processes will always be perfect--none of us are perfect people--but I am safe.

I realize, too, that I am taking a sharp turn here, from where I was. And that what was refreshing and interesting about me is possibly in the past. So I ask myself-- this trust, this new desire to be wiser with criticism, is this really the direction you want to go? It's certainly not the direction of many of the new Christian bloggers. But, I think I've got the mistrustful misanthrope down just fine. I've learned there what there was to learn.

Now, I want to trust. I want to learn. I want to sink back in safety, knowing that I can relax, let it all happen. I can grow.

I can throw my arms up in the air.