I know I should've taken the granola bar. It was my mom's way of doling out her love to me and contributing to my day's welfare. But it was so humid when I woke up this morning and the heat kept me up all last night. I didn't want the Nature Valley bar she was waving at me from the car. I wanted an iced coffee. I didn't want to take the ten steps it would require me to retrieve the fruit-and-nut-mixed snack that would most likely end up unopened and smooshed under the contents of my backpack for the next three months. I wanted an iced coffee. I wanted air conditioning. The Panera I was headed toward promised both, so I ignored my mother and kept walking.
In our home, air conditioning is reserved for the following two occasions:
1. The arrival of the rare houseguest
2. Temperatures that breach 90 °F (sans humidity)
It is a reservation that does wonders on summer electricity bills. And it is something that never really bothered me... until now. Now, the full-moonlit summer night transforms the werewolf into a hungry beast, and its sweltering humidity turns me into a Grade A bitch. And if it's not the heat, it's the food or the curfew or the nagging or the lack of privacy. Lately, it seems the list of things that fuel my hunger for independence might be inexhaustible.
Thumbtacked nearby is yet another growing list. It is titled "Things I do not like about the Church."
Bulleted below it can be found (to name a few): "the 'purity' culture/ mainstream worship/ commercialized conferences/ lofty approaches to short-term mission trips, evangelism, race, culture, mental health, sexuality, and sex."
This was the condition of my increasingly bitter heart when I rejected my mother's rectangular-shaped token of love. And as I walked away, I began to face a sobering realization: In my attempt to gain "independence," I had grown distant and apathetic toward the person I love more than anyone else on this earth. For reasons all too similar, I had done the same toward God, who I love more than anyone—period.
I am not yet 22-years-old. I have as much experience with being a church member, committed to building up the community and embodying its mission, as I do with being a fully functioning adult. I am a fool to think that moving out of the house will grant me the satisfaction of what I keep referring to as "independence." I am a fool to think that disassociating myself with the Church will free me to experience "truer" intimacy with God.
Running away always achieves so little.
...
Later tonight, while preparing dinner, my mother will replace the granola bar in the fridge to keep it cool until tomorrow morning, when she will offer it to me again. Earlier tomorrow morning, I will be woken by my alarm and met with sweltering humidity, new mercies, and grace.