So, when I asked you guys out there if you wanted me to post some writing that I've done, several of you said "yes." Therefore, I am going to post some pieces on here. Most of these are very rough and have been edited very little. So don't assume this is the extent of my writing capabilities XD
So, here it is! I wrote this a couple weeks ago or so. It's written in first person, and, yes, many parts are actual occurrences. However, as, any writer, I have pieced together many things from various times and various people's experiences. Please see it as what it is - a piece of thoughtful writing that could apply anywhere at anytime to anyone.
Unity
There it was again. It draped the north wall, proudly declaring “Unity” in large block letters and was emblazoned with the names of all the junior and senior high girls from each Sunday school class. “We're all in this together!” it seemed to say; “We're one in Christ!”
I remember the girl from my class diligently working to piece together that sliced up banner as the rest of us stood watching her valiant struggles. I remember that night when we all came together, repaired broken friendships, spoke to people we would never have ordinarily noticed, and (some of us) talked long into the wee morning hours, learning so much more about each other than we ever have otherwise known. I'd felt it that night – unity – and I knew things would be different from now on.
I glanced around the room again. There were the junior high girls – some of them, at least – near the back wall, sipping their hot chocolate and chattering excitedly. I frowned a little in disapproval as my sister walked over to her “group,” passing a quiet blonde girl standing against the wall. Along the south wall, a few chairs and tables were occupied by animated, laughing high schoolers, mostly juniors and seniors, discussing all the latest gossip and the most recent “outing” they had been on together. It was just too bad that there wasn't enough room for that boy; You know, the “big” one. He just simply couldn't fit, so he sat a few yards behind them, watching with longing eyes. In the dark corner between my seat and the junior high girls' table, a thin, pale, dark haired girl from my grade leaned against the wall. She doesn’t go to school here, so no one really knows her very well, and she's quite, so that's really no help.
As I looked back down at my lap, my youth pastor came up the stairs.
“Smile,” he said. “A real one!”
I smiled, as expected.
A quiet voice, “how are you?”
The foreign exchange student sat down across from me with a gentle smile.
“I'm fantastic,” with an answering grin. “You?”
“Senior high, to your classes!”
I got up, taking my coffee and hugging my Bible close. I followed my class, walking as slow as I felt at all comfortable in an effort to lag behind, allowing everyone to reach the room and choose their seats before I did. I walked into the room, holding the door for the last girl – the one from my business class. She's new this year, and doesn't know very many people here, so she and I sat down along the far wall. The rest of the girls, as customary, sat on the other two sides of the room.
My Sunday school teacher came in, sat down in the front of the small, cozy room, and asked almost cheerily, “So, what have you all been up to this week?”
Lively chatter ensued, accompanied by laughter and comments. I watched. Sometimes I say something, but too often, my delivery is a bit flat, and it gets a little quiet when I talk – at least, when someone notices; so I just watched and laughed at their stories.
After the week's “church-friendly” fun had all been told, class started. Per the usual, the lesson was quite well-planned. I had some thoughts that I really think might have been beneficial, but the really important ones were also a bit lengthy and I knew they didn't want to listen to someone like me, so I just tried to condense my thoughts into short, succinct quips. Sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn't, but this particular morning it seemed to suffice.
After the lesson, we got up and stood in a circle to pray before we left.
“Would anyone else like to dismiss us?” Our teacher queried with a pleading glance around the circle.
“I will!” I almost piped up. No, Reality admonished, You've talked much too much today already.
“Alright, I guess I will again,” she said reluctantly. But every request weighed heavy on my heart, and every word she said was silently echoed. As we all began to disperse, most lingered a little, chatting and slowly making their way down the hall. I didn't know what to talk about with them, and I really had no established repertoire, so I went straight for the stairs passing that banner on the way. It looked a little bleak on that bare wall in that empty room.
Unity.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned towards the sanctuary. An older couple walked in front of me, hand in hand. I was nearly late for service and they were slowing me down considerably, but I didn't mind.
I reached the sanctuary and started to walk down the center isle. All the senior high kids were sitting in the front three or four rows on the left side. Well, most of them, anyhow. The girl with the dark hair and the one from my business class sat with their families, as did the “big” boy. But that's where they always sat; it was their choice. I sat with my father in our customary place – almost with the kids from the youth group, at the edge of the fourth pew. I glanced around, looking for my sister, but she and her friends were still gallivanting about the church.
The teens in the front pews were joshing and jostling, and I giggled quietly at their antics.
“What are you laughing at?” one of the guys turned around with a laugh and a smile.
“Hi!” another one waved at me as he sat down. A girl further down their pew smiled a “good morning” at me as well, so I knew at least a few people knew I was there.
My sister finally came in at the last moment, flanked by her entourage, and sat down a few rows behind us. I could hear them laughing and talking, and I thought of that quiet blonde. Where is she? I wondered.
I looked at that gaping, empty space in the pew ahead of us. Somehow, it just seemed as though it shouldn't be there in the midst of the chatter and motion of the teens around it, but it couldn’t be helped.
As the service started, we all rose to shake hands with those around us, still talking and laughing. I shook the hand of a middle-aged woman behind me. I waited to see if anyone my age would shake hands with me, but no one really seemed interested, so I stood and waited for the director to start the service.
Across the sanctuary, I caught a glimpse of the blonde girl. She wasn't sitting with my sister's group, as most of the girls her age were; she found a seat in the back corner across the sanctuary.
The service began. The congregation sang, my youth pastor prayed for the upcoming mission trip, and a little boy was baptized.
As the coir left the balcony and the pastor ascended the steps, I glanced around the congregation. The brunette was looking in the direction of the other kids our age. I caught her eye and flashed a smile; she almost smiled back. The choir director and his wife, a middle-aged couple, sat down behind us. He put his arm around her and she scooted closer.
The pastor began his sermon. As always, it was quite interesting and his message was good. About two thirds of the way through the service, I heard a sound from across the sanctuary; I turned my head just in time to see the blonde leave the sanctuary. It made me just a little sad, but I don't think anyone else noticed.
As he finished his sermon, the pastor gave an invitation and the offering was taken. The kids in front of me snickered and whispered. Then we sang a last song and we were dismissed. I headed straight for the doors, as there was no reason for me to linger. Out in the hall, I saw the blonde girl sitting on a pew that served as a bench, looking forlorn. “How are you?” I asked, mustering a friendly smile.
“Fine.”
It was a lie, and we both knew it; but I knew she didn't want to talk to me, especially at this particular moment.
“Good!” I played along, but I tried to sound sympathetic.
My dad made it out of the throng, and we waited for my sister to emerge. Eventually she did, and we headed to the van. As we got out to the parking lot, two guys raced each other to their respective cars, lanyards flapping in the wind, their loud guffaws ringing across the parking lot. Two girls from my class climbed into one of their cars and pulled out.
I climbed into the back seat of our van while my sister triumphantly clambered up to her perch in the front seat.
As we drove through the parking lot, I spotted a girl from my drama class exiting the building. I wondered why she hadn’t been in Sunday School.
Another Sunday morning had come to an end. When we got back home, I walked to my room at the end of the hall. As I eased into my big green beanbag, my thoughts returned to that banner.
Unity. I thought of all the names inscribed in brightly-colored Sharpies, of the night we put it together, and of the peace and love I know was felt by all that night.
I thought of the Chat Room that morning, with its group, separated from each other by the empty space in the room. I thought of the boy who couldn't fit into the circle of friends, the quiet brunette, and the shy blonde. I wondered if that girl from business class still felt as isolated as she had told me she was a couple of months ago. I also wondered where that girl from drama class sat during service, and why I hadn't noticed her.
I recalled that elderly couple that slowed me down in the hall. I saw the worship leader and his wife – his arm around her and her head on his shoulder. I heard my youth pastor's prayer, honest and heartfelt.
I thought about what I had done that morning; how I'd smiled at the brunette, sat by the girl from business class, and asked the blond how she was. But then, I remembered all the plastic grins, how I'd watched the brunette and the blonde and the boy sit alone, and how I'd never even seen the girl from drama during the service.
The banner rose again before my eyes, stark and harsh against that barren tan wall, presiding austerely over the roomful of the loud, rambunctious youth group. “Unity,” it's black block letters declared. Somehow, something seemed – off about it.
What is it?
Well, whatever it was, there was really nothing I could do about it. After all, I was only one girl, and a shy, insignificant one at that. Sure, I saw things, but that didn't mean I could change anything. Besides, if I did say something, that permanently alienate me, and that wouldn't help anyone, now would it?
Well, whatever it was, there was really nothing I could do about it. After all, I was only one girl, and a shy, insignificant one at that. Sure, I saw things, but that didn't mean I could change anything. Besides, if I did say something, that permanently alienate me, and that wouldn't help anyone, now would it?
I sat up and reached for the computer mouse on my desk to start last week's episode of “48 Hours,” rubbing my head gingerly. I think too much. That youth leader was right; I'm an over analyzer.
