Just Like You

I stand at the entrance of the church and watch all kinds of people come in. I am doing my job. Nothing special about me. In fact, given a choice, I’d skip that part of my job completely. I feel uncomfortable and awkward. I don’t know what to do with my hands, and I’m not sure if drinking coffee is rude or welcoming, but I stick to my cup like a 3 y/o to her favorite blanket.

Then I wait. And I look. And I strive to hear. I’m listening to the prompting of the Holy Spirit as I glance at men and women rushing in through the doors. Sometimes He’s hard to hear, but I strain with everything I’ve got. The next few minutes depend on it.

There are some who want to be left alone. Their eyes warn me – stay away, we know where we’re going, so step away from this moving vehicle. I comply, without much argument. I’m afraid of them anyway.

Then there are the ones who are starving for human attention. They have spent the whole week cooped up in their home, and they are overwhelmed by life and circumstances. Their faces tell me they have been waiting for me, for my smile, my greeting. I have to be careful with this group. I risk being blown away by the gravity of their lives, but I can’t help myself. It feels good to be needed.

There are the newcomers. They look lost and confused. The church feels big. It is big. And they have no idea where to go, what to do. They haven’t figured out whether they want me to greet them or not, their ignorance betrays them, and I pounce at the opportunity to do my job well. Once in a while, I get bonus points for walking them to their desired locations, and I feel the thrill of a job well done.

Today I saw the famous ones. They are the folks who have rubbed shoulders with Hollywood. Of course I froze which was disappointing since I sensed the Holy Spirit nudging me to say something. But I chose to leave them in their seeming desire for anonymity. Did I lose a chance to treat them like who they really are – brothers and sisters in the Lord? Too bad, I’ll never know.

I see some singles streaming through the doors of the church. I know they are single by their clothes. They come in two categories: the impeccably dressed, and the purposefully disheveled. Either way, they usually have a cup of coffee in hand – none of the marrieds have the extra time for that pit stop – and a roaming eye. They are silently checking out the scene. Is so and so already here? Where should I sit? This could be the day God brings Mr. or Ms. Right into my life. Don’t want to miss that divine encounter. I know. I’ve been there before. It rarely works, but I still chuckle to myself.

Then of course there are the families with kids. I’m impressed by the early ones. How did they get all 5 of their kids dressed and through that door 10 minutes early? Did they sleep in their clothes, I wonder to myself? Did they hurry up and fight, or simply threaten and bribe? Or perhaps they just couldn’t wait to drop off all 5 in the nursery and finally get a few moments of solitude and silence?

Before I know it time’s up and the service has started. A few more trickle through the door, hoping to avoid the rush, hoping to avoid people like me. I leave them alone in respect.

I’m the women’s ministry director of a mega church and I’m growing into my job. If they only knew I’m as nervous standing here as they are walking through that door. If they only knew – maybe they’d smile. If they only knew. I’m just like them, trying to hear what the Holy Spirit is saying.

So with all that I am I strain – just a little bit more.

And I hear.

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