Good chat. We're on the same page. She has an actual list of names of people who want to start helping with Dinner once a month. Which is so awesome. You gotta love a church like that.
After we'd talked, we drove over to the Motel so she could get the tour and meet a few people. C.L. was there, so I introduced them and we started walking around the back to get to the Sherwood Room. As we walked, the manager's van pulled up behind us and he motioned for me to come talk. I told the others to go on ahead.
It's been a bruising week for the GTI. We're all a bit punchy right now and nervous. It's the kind of state of mind where you can do something or say something stupid and before you've even crossed the t's, you know you've really screwed up. We are aware of this and don't want to make anything worse than it already is.
So I was very careful in what I said and how I responded to things that were said. But still, for all that, the conversation ended with my being banned from the property. Apparently, I have an attitude.
So I said, "OK, Goodbye" and walked away to find my friends.
The strange thing is that for the minute or two that it took me to walk around the corner, up the steps and into the room, I felt strangely free. Wow. Cool. I don't have to worry about it any more. I'll just take the blue pill, and it'll all be over. I tried, I failed, it's all good. I'll go back to being a 'worship leader'. Or sing at the local coffee shop. A little Billie Holiday, a bit of Morgana King, seasoned with a few of my own songs.
Like some kind of existential amusement park ride that lasted for maybe 90 seconds.
Then, I had the strange experience of walking in the room and seeing my friend who lives there answering questions from a woman who isn't a friend yet, but who is definitely a kindred spirit as they planned for a future that, for me, might not happen. Very weird.
I didn't say anything to them, but after our new partner in crime had left, I said to C.L., "I've just been banned from the property." She thought that was ridiculous and we talked about it for a few minutes, then headed around to the front where I'd parked. As I was backing out, The Van pulled up behind me, blocking me in.
It turned out that for the last few minutes, the manager and his passenger, who had heard our earlier conversation, had been talking and the passenger had spoken some wisdom into the situation and the decision had been reversed.
Everybody was friends again. Everything was great. Let's have a barbeque.
Now, I'd known that I'd probably be forgiven and that things would go on and that our new friend's list of contributors would get their chance to join in the adventure, but still it was yet another 90 mile an hour into a brick wall experience.
It's just exhausting. Like I say, we're all a bit punchy right now and it's probably going to be like this until at least after the tribunal.
But again, the Dinner has proved iconic. If it weren't for that, we'd all be out on our ears, looking for some other people to love on, and sneaking around to have coffee with our friends who live there so they don't get in trouble for associating with us.
You can't throw the Dinner out with the bathwater. Or something. So we're still in.
But, like I say, I feel bruised and discouraged. No, not discouraged - more like not looking forward to what's next.
My friend who works in a similar socio-economic milieu wrote in a recent post:
Over the last couple of days, well, since what's come to be known as the Great Salmon Incident of 2008, I've been seeing evidence of his presence everywhere. Nothing spectacular - nothing even recognizable to anyone else - but each time I knew - absolutely knew - he was talking to me, just letting me know that he's here. It took me until tonight to figure it out and, although there's been these ordinary and yet incredible things happening all around me, it's been through the pages of scripture that he spoke - really spoke - to me. As I've been ruminating once again on the creation story, it seemed to me that the real message behind it all is that God is present. He's present in the very fabric of creation, present no matter where we are, no matter what we do, no matter what's going on. He's present. He's here. Now.
I know that's probably not such a big deal for you, but it's been huge for me. I'm old enough to remember the last time the Leafs won the Stanley Cup, and it's taken me this long to realize my Heavenly Father isn't going to abandon me, isn't going to disappear, isn't going to just not show up one Saturday morning.
You have no idea what this means to me.
I'm not sure whether to be envious, or to hold his hope as something to look forward to.Hoping for hope.
r
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