Well, here we are again...another Sunday...you know, I don't consider myself a heathen but I would guess others do...I don't attend church on a regular basis, don't have a church home. When I feel the need to go to church, I do. I pray, and read my Bible faithfully and consider God to be the head of my life and know that I am blessed. There are some things that my granny would tell me that I should be doing that I'm not: tithing, fellow-shipping, serving, etc. As a Christian, it is written in the Bible that we should go to church to be amongst others like ourselves, to learn from other Christians, to congregate and listen to the word of God together; I get that. I used to attend church regularly, until one of the married deacons started hitting on me and grabbed my behind in the baby nursery one Sunday morning (yeah, you read that right). Now the right thing to do would have been to tell the pastor, or maybe even to leave the church and find a new one. But this was the church that I had attended since I was 10 years old; I was baptized in this church...married in this church...was going to raise my child in this church. I became so incensed and so disenfranchised that I just stopped going. Then I heard the deacon had a heart attack but I still couldn't bring myself to return...

Then my pastor died...and I stepped foot back into that church for the first time in a long time. I can't even remember how long I had been away, but being back in that church felt strange...I can't explain it. I loved the pastor; he was wise and majestic; but human...everything you think a pastor should be, he was. So I had to go to his funeral to pay my respects and as I sat there, I thought of what he would say to me if he saw me sitting there, after my long absence (he was close to my family; had married everyone in my family, performed all of our funerals, baptized all of our babies, knew all of our business, even though the church was a 3,000 member church): "Ms. Marva, you know I need you in that choir...I want to see you up here next week." And when Pastor asked, you usually didn't question or turn him down.

That's one of the reasons I never looked or never even thought of going somewhere else. Even though I was detached from the church, I was still attached somehow to the people, from Sister Hawkins, to Ms. Lynn, to Sister Johnson and Ms. Ruby, to Deacon Hawkins (not the butt grabber) and Pastor Butler...I know them like I know my family...I've been to other churches, but I'm never comfortable; never moved to join; never motivated. I've heard good sermons, good choirs, but it stops there.

I still get calls from my granny about goings-on at the church; she still includes me, I guess hoping one day that I will return...maybe one day I will

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