Remembering

Why I love writing in the first place.

Jan 20, 1992

Remembering

Driving into the quaint little seashore town for our summer vacation was one of the most anticipated moments of my childhood. In August, we would pack up our ’38 green Plymouth coupe and head to “the shore” for two glorious weeks.

Feb 20, 2024

Tonight, my plans fell through. I had something lined up that would have been good for me—a step toward settling into life here—something I’ve been trying to do for a while now. Tonight, I was supposed to be set up with a mentor at my church.

Finding a church was a process in and of itself. My hometown had exactly one Presbyterian church, so that was a given—until it wasn’t. In college, I tried both of the two options available and settled into the more familiar one. Despite NYC being more secular than my small Southern towns, there are far more options here. The sheer number of people in the city makes it imperative to have multiple churches, all with morning and evening services, which creates even more choices.

I’ve been here six months now and have tried to stay in town for as many Sunday mornings as possible with the goal of finding a church family. I believe I’ve found it. My prayer was for a place of familiarity, comfort, and obvious acceptance. A few weeks ago, I tried one last location on my list—Redeemer LSQ. I had a few friends to go with and walked in with the intention of getting involvement information.

After the service, I walked up to the info table, read a pamphlet, and set it back down—intimidated and ready to leave—when a woman approached me. She was manning the table and had seen me put the pamphlet back. We started talking, and I told her I was from Mississippi.

“Oh, my husband grew up in Mississippi too,” she said.

“You’re kidding!” I responded, much more excited than she was. “Where’s he from?”