Latter Day Saints

I am on a journey of faith. That doesn’t mean I’m a perfect person. Some might even say I’m not a particularly good person. I smoke, drink, curse, and am as deeply neurotic and tragically flawed as the next person.  I have days where I am faithful and positive and obediently listening for the voice of God, and there are days when I am wretched, negative, self pitying, small.

I thought today would be a latter day. By the time I finally managed to drag myself out of bed this morning, church had already started and my Aunt and cousin had taken both cars. I wasn’t particularly worried about this since my church is right around the corner from my house.

I quickly washed up and brushed my teeth. So far, so good. But the dress I had planned on wearing was dirty, and my backup dress had somehow lost its hem (and by lost I mean I accidentally pulled the only mission-critical string on the entire dress), and my happy napps were being- well, not so happy.

3 Second Background (3SB):

1. I loathe pants and prefer to wear dresses or skirts whenever possible
2. I don’t leave the house looking bad- I own a cosmetics company for chrissakes
3. I go to a ritzy, white church and I feel personally responsible for representing black people in a positive light at all times but especially on Sundays

At 11:35 I gave up on my hair and grabbed the first clean piece of clothing I could find, which happened to be a pair of very stylish wide leg dove gray slacks that I obviously hadn’t worn in a while, because they were falling off my hips.

While pants may not be frowned upon at my church, I was pretty sure two inches of exposed pink and black penguin thong would be enough to raise an eyebrow or two among the frozen chosen, which is how I ended standing on the corner of Mayfield and Monticello, ten minutes before the end of service, looking homeless chic in my cousin’s oversized (and ratty) hoodie, baggy, wrinkled pants, flats and a beanie; crying silent tears of self pity.

See? Wretched.

I was about to write the entire thing off as a loss when a man stopped me and asked if he could bum a cigarette. I have this thing about cigarettes. I’ve been a smoker for far longer than I’ve been an (arguable) success and smokers were always generous to me in the past, so whenever someone asks me for a cigarette, I give it to them, unless it’s my last one.

So I gave this guy a cigarette. And he gave me his life story. I wouldn’t feel right sharing it here, it’s not my story to tell. Suffice to say he was in that shadowy place the soul goes when you need confirmation that you matter, that you belong, that you are needed.

I didn’t have anything to give. I was going to ‘get’ myself. So I invited him along.

We walked to my church, taking our seats as the last song was being sung. I felt like crap warmed over, but this man’s spirit had somehow been fed. As I introduced my new friend around he said to me, “I was heavy, when I came here. Sad. But I feel lighter now.”

And suddenly, I did too.