the art of mindbending

the life of zooey who happens to be Bipolar 2

the bread and the — hammer

Very dear friends of ours group texted us yesterday afternoon. They lured us with blueberry pancakes and coffee as bait. We are weak and took their invitation to go to church and breakfast.

We “heathens,” as the 4 of us call each other, have been friends a long time. We started out at the same church,

Come with us...we have pancakes!

Come with us…we have pancakes!

three of us were in the band. We also helped on other ways as this was a church start up. But the inward focus, cliques and a music director who didn’t think much of the band put a very sour taste in our mouths for organized religion. We left and took a very long break. Starts and stalls at places which didn’t fit.  The burns were deep. Hubby and I were not inclined to hurry back, even with nudgings from family members.

So off we went WAY too early this AM to a non denominational church. As a former Navy wife who had to relocate several times and as a church start member, I’ve visited a shit-ton of churches. I try not to be too jaded. But I did my research and observed as we walked in. Their website spoke of justice and their local/global mission initiatives.  I could see their 22 year relationship with a church in El Salvador evident in art around and some of the programs and classes.

We sat in the back as we got there just when the service was starting. I look up and what do I see?  My therapist!  No shit, there she was, holding the bread and placing it on the table. We were far apart, but we made made eye contact. I haven’t been to my therapist in over 2 years. We agreed that if I needed more help from the behavioral screens_feature-2174standpoint, I’d make an appointment. I still see my psychiatrist for medications and bi-yearly checks on how I’m doing. But to see her in this setting was, well, a bit unsettling. We sang the same songs, listened to the pastor speak about Joseph and his brothers from Genesis. We both took communion. Thank God she wasn’t serving it.

The last song was a blast from the past. I sang If I Had a Hammer last in GRADE SCHOOL. Even that far back, I didn’t need to look at the words. We probably sang it at a concert so it was memorized then.  Peter, Paul and fucking Mary, people:

Written in 1949, it became a hit song of the 60’s and a banner for the hippy folk. Old enough when I was in grade school to be ‘old’, it was a safe song to sing by then. So us 6th graders could feel slightly rebellious in singing it.

Can_18f36c_161073Bellies full of Cracker Barrel breakfast, we parted ways from our friends for the day. All in all, it is a maybe for us. The church is very outwardly focused with global and local commitments and activities. This is extremely important to us. The band leader plays for the Kansas City Orchestra. Yeah, she is good.  I can get over having my former therapist at the same church. After all, she’s sworn to secrecy and a pretty cool person. It would have to be me to dance over her to say hi, I imagine. Until then, she can’t touch this!

Yo, let me bust the funky lyrics,

zooey

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This entry was posted on September 20, 2015 by in burnout, friends, perspective, Quality of Life and tagged , , , , , , .
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