Now that I got that out…I feel better.

But not much.

I really thought I’d be able to sustain the blogging thing while I wait for the church thing to be resolved, but I’m not doing so hot at it. That’s the beauty of me—the deeper the emotions connected to an issue, the less likely it is that I’ll be able to write about it. Were it not for a friend who dragged me to the friendly neighborhood noisy Starbucks, I wouldn’t even get this on the page.

I knew in my mind this would be hard—watching my priest and his wife endure vicious rumors and endless difficulties with the hierarchs, finding myself on the outside of a physical church building I had grown to love as a place of comfort and safety, and waiting for our next step to materialize.

However, in my soul, it’s much harder than I could have ever imagined. This past Sunday I could not, did not, even go to church. Think of this as a type of confession, I guess. It is the first time I have ever “skipped” church since I began attending the Orthodox Church. I have missed services due to travel or other odd/random obligations, but never have I hit the “off” button, and buried my head under a pillow until I knew it was too late to get up and go.

I think I’m ashamed of myself. I guess I should be, for allowing the behavior (or misbehavior) of men to dictate the way and the time I approach my God. But I did. And I guess I worry that I’ll do it again.

In some weird way, I feel like I’m a toddler trying to keep pace with the teens and adults in my family, without a stroller or someone to carry me. I don’t think I’m even the “youngest” Orthodox in our church, but for some reason, right now, I can’t seem to keep up.

Sorry for the whine fest. Forgive me, my brothers and sisters. And pray for me, for all of us.