Truth be told, it is quite a small production and major cities, such as New York and Chicago, have the upper hand when it comes to throwing a party. That being said, there is something more precious involved in this high school play rendition of a party.
Sitting in a golf cart decked out with purple streamers with stacks of candy ready to hand out as we trailed my church's float, I watched the community, my newly adopted community, prepare for their big moment.
Now, I am a "big city girl." Raised in Chicago, lived in Manhattan for three years, and then spent a few years in the San Francisco area. Rather, I should say I was a "big city girl." After moving to this tiny, little town in Michigan, I changed. To my surprise, it took only three years for my conversion to a "small town girl."
Sure, I miss the conveniences and variety that big cities offer. But, all their glitter pales in comparison with the hearts of the people I have come to know here. In large communities, anonymity rules. The number of people who have time to develop relationships is significantly smaller. Why? Because of time. Time is a commodity. Time is money. Time is limited.
Those hearts that I mentioned in the previous paragraph are genuine and tender. Most of them, I found in a local church. Again, reflective of the community, it is a small congregation in comparison to churches in the big city. Small in size, big in every other way. To them, I am not a handicapped (aka limited, helpless) woman. I am valued and loved. I am a part of their story and it is a good one.
Their story is part of the metanarrative of the Bible. A story of loss and redemption. A story of love and acceptance.
This is my story, too.
