Last year, I spent Easter at the Vatican. This year? Well, it sure ain't the Vatican. And that's just how life is. One moment, you're in Italy, eating a Margherita pizza in the Piazza della Signoria and the next, you're eating tuna out of a can, waiting by your computer to see if you're emailed resume was accepted. Or, if you're a celebrity, one moment you're marrying an A-List television star with matching hair highlights, the next you're at the Oscars, sitting front row with your new love and your ex-wife is on stage as a presenter.
But since I'm not a celebrity and just a regular person, I've been doing the former for the past few weeks, looking for a job. And for some reason, that's when I started thinking about church. It had been forever since I've gone to church. Before, I went almost every Sunday to church with my family, but ever since I've moved here...Sunday seems to just pass on by. I think it's a living on your own type of thing. With no parents around, you forget about doing the little things, like going to church, eating your vegetables, making sure the hooker your paid for leaves after the first hour, so she doesn't charge for the hours she sleeps over.
Not being of the Catholic faith, I didnt wan't to go to the cathedral across my apartment. The bells ring too early and when it's noon, it rings for a full two minutes, which makes it that much harder to sleep in. No, I wanted to find a place that was charming and quaint, and had at least a handful of well-dressed, fashionable people. That's when I saw it. St. Paul's Episcopal Church. It was a beautiful sanctuary made out of red Lake Superior sandstone with tall angel statues greeting you at the front entrance along with detailed, original Tiffany's stained glass windows. And a lady, wearing a rabbit coat, walked into the small garden where the church office was located so I knew I would spend Easter there.
On the way to St.Paul's, I realized I didn't have any money for the offering. I never carry cash, since it always gets wrinkled and crinkled in my pocket and I never seem to have enough when I approach the cashier. And unless the church had an ATM, I was gonna have to do that awkward oh-darn-what-pocket-did-I-put-my-wallet-in, dance. So, in a short, succinct prayer, I told God that whatever money I found on the ground, on the way to church, I would put that in the offering, thinking I would find a couple of coins, at the very least. I didn't. But on the way back from church, I found $10 bucks laying on the street.
I took it as a sign. Maybe my luck was changing. Maybe, if I kept my promise to God about giving any money I found on the street to the church, things would start to change. At this point, I was desperate to believe in any signs that came my way and so I knew I had to go back.to St. Paul's. And I did. I was hoping to catch someone during the church's half-hour long, noon prayer and meditation service, but when I got to St. Paul's, they were closed. The double wooden doors wouln't budge. I spent half an hour walking around the building, trying to find some way in, when I saw a FedEx delivery guy leaving the church office. The door closed, before I could reach it and so, I buzzed the front bell to be let in. But nothing. Then, a black girl with a bad weave came limping up the pathway on crutches, and I knew, surely, they wouldn't turn us away from a church. If only we had a scarecrow and a tin man to accompany us...
But we didn't and still, no one came to the front door. We rang and rang the buzzer and knocked on the door, but nothing. I even stuck my hand through the mail slot, hoping I could push open the door. But that didn't work. The black crippled girl with a bad weave, eventually left and I went around the back to see if I could find anyone else. And this time I did.
It was security. They were called by the secretary, who saw me put my hand through the mail slot, and thought I was trying to commit a B & E - breaking and entering. Apparently, it's custom for a church to be closed the Monday after Easter Sunday and since the church has a daycare and Pre-K and Kindergarten class, the secretary became worried. I admit, sticking my hand through the mail slot wasn't the best idea, but I was just trying to find a way to give the $10 bucks to the church offering. The secretary and security personal found my story of telling God I would put whatever money I found on the street a little weird and a little odd, even after I showed them the mud-stained, crinkled dollar. But it was the honest-to-God truth!
Walking home, I wondered what went wrong. I mean, the $10 had to be a sign. Nobody finds $10 on the street, out of the blue. Especially after promising to give it to God. I felt depressed all over again. I tried to do something with good intentions and it totally backfired. I don't know what went wrong. But as soon as I turned my computer on, I got an email for an interview for a front desk position, this Friday! No good deed, goes unpunished. If only my black cripple friend with the bad weave were here to say, "God bless us, everyone..."
But since I'm not a celebrity and just a regular person, I've been doing the former for the past few weeks, looking for a job. And for some reason, that's when I started thinking about church. It had been forever since I've gone to church. Before, I went almost every Sunday to church with my family, but ever since I've moved here...Sunday seems to just pass on by. I think it's a living on your own type of thing. With no parents around, you forget about doing the little things, like going to church, eating your vegetables, making sure the hooker your paid for leaves after the first hour, so she doesn't charge for the hours she sleeps over.
Not being of the Catholic faith, I didnt wan't to go to the cathedral across my apartment. The bells ring too early and when it's noon, it rings for a full two minutes, which makes it that much harder to sleep in. No, I wanted to find a place that was charming and quaint, and had at least a handful of well-dressed, fashionable people. That's when I saw it. St. Paul's Episcopal Church. It was a beautiful sanctuary made out of red Lake Superior sandstone with tall angel statues greeting you at the front entrance along with detailed, original Tiffany's stained glass windows. And a lady, wearing a rabbit coat, walked into the small garden where the church office was located so I knew I would spend Easter there.
On the way to St.Paul's, I realized I didn't have any money for the offering. I never carry cash, since it always gets wrinkled and crinkled in my pocket and I never seem to have enough when I approach the cashier. And unless the church had an ATM, I was gonna have to do that awkward oh-darn-what-pocket-did-I-put-my-wallet-in, dance. So, in a short, succinct prayer, I told God that whatever money I found on the ground, on the way to church, I would put that in the offering, thinking I would find a couple of coins, at the very least. I didn't. But on the way back from church, I found $10 bucks laying on the street.
I took it as a sign. Maybe my luck was changing. Maybe, if I kept my promise to God about giving any money I found on the street to the church, things would start to change. At this point, I was desperate to believe in any signs that came my way and so I knew I had to go back.to St. Paul's. And I did. I was hoping to catch someone during the church's half-hour long, noon prayer and meditation service, but when I got to St. Paul's, they were closed. The double wooden doors wouln't budge. I spent half an hour walking around the building, trying to find some way in, when I saw a FedEx delivery guy leaving the church office. The door closed, before I could reach it and so, I buzzed the front bell to be let in. But nothing. Then, a black girl with a bad weave came limping up the pathway on crutches, and I knew, surely, they wouldn't turn us away from a church. If only we had a scarecrow and a tin man to accompany us...
But we didn't and still, no one came to the front door. We rang and rang the buzzer and knocked on the door, but nothing. I even stuck my hand through the mail slot, hoping I could push open the door. But that didn't work. The black crippled girl with a bad weave, eventually left and I went around the back to see if I could find anyone else. And this time I did.
It was security. They were called by the secretary, who saw me put my hand through the mail slot, and thought I was trying to commit a B & E - breaking and entering. Apparently, it's custom for a church to be closed the Monday after Easter Sunday and since the church has a daycare and Pre-K and Kindergarten class, the secretary became worried. I admit, sticking my hand through the mail slot wasn't the best idea, but I was just trying to find a way to give the $10 bucks to the church offering. The secretary and security personal found my story of telling God I would put whatever money I found on the street a little weird and a little odd, even after I showed them the mud-stained, crinkled dollar. But it was the honest-to-God truth!
Walking home, I wondered what went wrong. I mean, the $10 had to be a sign. Nobody finds $10 on the street, out of the blue. Especially after promising to give it to God. I felt depressed all over again. I tried to do something with good intentions and it totally backfired. I don't know what went wrong. But as soon as I turned my computer on, I got an email for an interview for a front desk position, this Friday! No good deed, goes unpunished. If only my black cripple friend with the bad weave were here to say, "God bless us, everyone..."
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