The price of loose change

How curious. The last time I got an email from this person was almost a year ago. This one has been sitting in my inbox for about three days. No it wasn’t specifically for me – a group email, it asks for a reply. I am the only one of my siblings which got the email – which is vaguely curious. I grew up with this person, they played somewhat of a significant role in my life in 2001.


How much I have changed.

It frustates me sometimes when I realise how ineffective I’ve been in keeping in touch with Solomons people. We all moved and moved on. I still love them like my family. I would still spend time with them above anyone else in the world, more than the friends I have now. I would drop anything ‘important’ if they were around. But I don’t really know them anymore.

You know. I can’t even remember them. I can’t remember their voice and I only know their smile from photos.

How do you reintroduce yourself?

I’m not the Rebecca you know,
but I’m the same you knew.

I have been wondering whether to even bother replying. Something in me wants to. Something in me wants to leave the lot behind so I don’t potentially have to rehash what was. Maybe its a risk? I’m most definitely thinking things through too much, I know those of you who would say to me, “What’s your problem Bec” and those who don’t even see the issue.

Church this morning. A Sunday reoccurence of feeling vastly dissatisfied with the church I’m in. Ot’s all perfectly fine when the sermon’s going. Its really good in that respect. Yet there is this massively gaping void of relationship. If Jess is not there, if Analise is in with the kids, then there is a hello and a bit of small talk with Isobelle and that is it. I do not know people. I can’t joing a young adults small group until YITS is over as it clashes with Wednesday night class. Ostracized? Curls was there this morning, back from England – Laura talked with him, I didn’t recognise him at all until he was pointed out.

Its hard path. I was talking to God during the singing. This year has rocked what comfort I found in tradition. Jess said she doesn’t feel like going to church at all anymore. It seems just a place for Sunday, where is the living – the community outside one designated morning or evening a week? Disatisfaction. I don’t feel like I fit in ‘what I used to describe as’ church anymore, I don’t feel it is effective, I don’t feel it is the best or most useful way of doing things.

I am sitting on the top of a cliff edge looking down. I have now, a footing in a community, a footing in close relationships. One foot. I don’t have that other foot anywhere solid, that foot should be in a church community. What happens when I loose the other footing?

This year.

I might as well be a lump of play dough. I don’t know my shape any more. Every day seems to change me.

I would not trade what I have gotten out of this year for anything.

I am proud of where God has taken me, quite astounded at what He’s done. Fear is the price of growth. Risk for the non-risk taking Rebecca.

I could laugh at the seemingly small things – the riduculous simple things like having to do ‘swing dancing’ lessons and how they have quite forcefully put me in a position to examine who I am, who I was and who I want to be.

Next year.

No more fishtank, no more safety in glass walls. It’s the ocean as big as it is.

Only of losing what I’m leaving behind.

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