No More C's
My "Abandoned Texas" calendar.
There are no C's anymore. The W's are weightlifting, and the K's are karate. The G's are game nights. There used to be C's in the left column.
I've had back-to-back bad relationships with C's. Part of me wonders, was I expecting too much? Miracles, perhaps? I had friendship, and a place to go to hit the cosmic Reset button. Why wasn't that enough?
It wasn't enough for the same reason that a marriage to a warm body that pitches in with the bills isn't enough. I want more, or I want nothing.
Maybe this is six decades of life talking. Maybe I'm just being a grouch. I want competency. I don't want a pastor who's really a frustrated entertainer. Neither do I want a pastor who couldn't get a better job. Both of these cases were with the same denomination. I don't want to call them out here. They're already dying. I don't need to shove them down the stairs.
The other denomination I'm comfortable with, historically, split in two. Do I want to deal with the fallout?
No. I am not liberal enough to defend it, or conservative enough to care.
Guess it's just me and God now. That's all there will be at the end, anyway. Might as well make peace with that, before that ultimate peace arrives, and I am undone.