Sit Still

It is unfair to impose culturally-derived morals indiscriminately on everyone.

Sometimes, I can't sit still. Can't is not the right word. I can always sit still, but sometimes, it is especially difficult. I suppose I should say, I really don't want to sit still.

On Sundays this is a problem. I don't know how I squeaked through school, but I don't do well sitting in place listening to a sermon for more than a few minutes. Sometimes, I'm ok. But sometimes, all I hear is a few words here and there -- or so it feels. I notice hairstyles and shoes and the way the light shines in the window. I think about the color of the walls and the speakers and the deacons walking around checking whatever they check and doing whatever they do. I hear the pastor, and I give him as much attention as I can muster. Still, it's not much, and I am so uncomfortable.

"You know, I have a hard time focusing too. I'm always telling you guys to pay attention to me..."

At our church before the sermon begins the children are escorted out to what we call children's worship. Over the years, it has not been unusual for me to step out of the sanctuary at this time of transition for a variety of reasons -- such as it being a good time to use the toilet when you're pregnant and constantly urinating. Of late I have been going out into the foyer to sit and color or draw while I listen to the pastor's message. Chris comes with me and really appreciates being rescued from trying not to bounce around too much.

Today, I saw him taking clear notes on the sermon; they were interspersed in his doodle design. Not only was he not a distraction to anyone, but he was not thinking about not being a distraction to anyone. And neither was I.


With no apparent hesitation or embarrassment, she was in no way apologetic for being different from everyone else.

One time I was in an unfamiliar large group women's Bible study, barely hanging on to whatever was being discussed. I noticed one woman working on something with her hands. She's the kind of person who strikes you as being sure of herself all of the time. She wears her lack of concern for others' opinions of her -- whatever they may be. It was some kind of needlework or maybe crochet. She seemed to pay very close attention to it. I didn't see her write anything down. She didn't seem to need to talk much. But when she did have something to contribute, she spoke -- with no apparent hesitation or embarrassment. She was in no way apologetic for behaving differently from everyone else.

I'm not like that. I wish I was.