I don’t care, I’m only fifteen. What’s the point of even going there? I’ve gone to that place my whole life and it’s been the same thing over and over; people sing, dance, pray, and preach. I cannot stand sitting through another sermon. I’ve always been told it is for my own good. God has a plan for me. I was created by this wonderful being and I was even graced enough to be made in his image, and the least I can do is devote a few hours of my life to him, her, or it every week. I’ve also been told to never be disrespectful in its house, its temple, its tabernacle, its sanctuary, its lair. At the same time they are disrespectful towards the dwelling places of the other false gods.
I sit on my cushioned chair in the cool building. People are all around me exclaiming the same thing in different ways.
"Praise God! Halleluiah! Amen! Awesome and POWERFUL is your name! You're worthy You're WORTHY!!! kakakoki kobala bekoko kirambashaba!!"
I'm scared. There is a man at the front of the long, white room who is conducting the service. He is mostly bald except for a mustache which covers his upper lip. He has a strong bone structure in his face in which his cheeks strongly standout. His dark brown eyes are hidden by thin, slick glasses which blend nicely with his completion. He is also wearing a grey suit which fits him perfectly and has class. When he starts praying in the unfamiliar tongue everyone joins him with enthusiasm, for they feel as if they are one with their pastor and God. All the people around me and most of the people in the room are standing, and out of those who have stood, most of them have their hands risen. The people all around me are all reacting in different ways, some are dancing, some are singing, some are praying, and others weep as they pray. There is a lot going on all around me, too much for me to take in at once. Music is blasting in my ears, and the man at the front of the room has to scream in the microphone so that everyone can hear him when he utters words from his lips. The volume is so high I can hear him breathing. Every inhale and exhale comes with ease. On the other hand, my breathing is quick and sporadic. My heart pounds with every rapid beat of the drums. I jump every time I hear a shout from behind me. Sweat is gathering under my arms, on my face, and on my back, so perhaps I should remove this jacket.
Finally, the music begins to become softer. The creatures running around the room begin settle down and the mood finally becomes peaceful. I am starting to become calm. Everyone has a bright red faces and are breathing heavily. Some people’s hair has become messy and their clothes wrinkled. If I wouldn’t have know better I would have guessed that…Next the man at the front of the room began to speak.
“Isn’t HE good?!”
People in the audience give one final shout and allow him to speak again.
“I swear we have the air conditioning turned on in this place, but God’s at work here! Now tell a neighbor beside you that it’s alright.”
Suddenly a wave of voices echo at random intervals, “IT‘S ALRIGHT!”
“Now tell at least three people you love them before you leave,” commanded the man at the front of the room before he dismissed everyone.
I stood and looked around. People were hugging each other’s necks and talking with one another. There were about fifty conversations occurring in this small room all at once, some people were making lunch plans while others were talking about the football game which was going to start in about an hour. It’s amazing how quickly the people had forgotten what had just happened five seconds ago. They made an almost instant transition from the spiritual to the temporal right before my eyes. No matter, I just wanted to leave. Get me out of this place! As fast as my long legs could carry me, I made my way towards the green Honda van my mother drove. I believe I was the first to make it out of the building.
I waited and waited for a long period of time. My sister, Lauren, walked out of the building not long after I did, and then about an hour after that our mother found her way to the car. She strolled up to it and got in. We both gave her looks which expressed our annoyance.
“What?!” she exclaimed, “Why are you two looking at me like that?”
“The service ended about an hour ago and we are still here,” I stated, “We should have eaten lunch by now.” I made it clear to her in my tone that I was not pleased with her.
“Oh! That reminds me,” she began, “We are going to eat lunch with this wonderful family from the church. The Carpenters! Won’t that be fun kids?!”
This response was no surprise to me, she often had moments where she would start on a whole new conversation in the middle of an older one. I unfortunately take after her in this area.
To this, Lauren and I just looked at each other and mouthed FUN to one another. We were hungry and just wanted to be fed. Whatever, just give us some food and we will be happy. So, with the key placed in the ignition and a twist of the wrist, the car came to life and we headed out of the parking lot reaching speeds of thirty mph before we even touched the cold, black pavement of the street.