I cry in church. Just about every time. It’s slightly embarrassing and I don’t know why I do it and I try to not make it noticeable when I do. Sometimes that’s easy and other times I just want to run out of the church.

Church is new to me. I was never raised with any faith. I was baptized by Pastor Wells at the Hollis Ave. Congregational Church in Queens, New York and I think that was the last time my parents took me to church.

A few months ago, I read a book on Christianity and it blew my mind. It was given to me by a friend (read: I stole it from him) who was the person I least expected to be reading it. Because I felt so horrible in underestimating him as a human being, I figured I shouldn’t underestimate the book and I would read it at his suggestion. I had nothing to lose.

Reading it, I was overwhelmed. I went into it with preconceived notions and little to no understanding of Christianity at all. But I dug in away. I had highlighted the book. I noted questions in the margins. Sometimes, I just put the book down and stared off into space. I read the whole thing in 48 hours. When I was done, I felt a little like a pinball trying to find the right peg to bounce off of or the right chute to fall into.

I went back to my friend and sked him, “What do I now?”

His response was perfect. He just said, “You ask that like you don’t know.”

Well, damn. He was right.

I mentioned all of this to two co-workers who I know go to church often. One’s dad is a pastor. The other is the epitome of what I would consider a man of God. I joked with them that I didn’t even own a bible. When they came back from lunch, they had bought me one. It is beautiful and inscribed with a message so lovely that I ugly cried in my office when they gave it to me. You seem a theme…

Two friends of mine, Susan and Sandi, and their husbands go to the same church and it’s close to my home. They said I could join them any time. So on New Year’s Eve I went to church. I didn’t tell them I was coming because I wanted to be able to back out if I felt like it. I didn’t. I just went. It was awkward and I was by myself and more than a little terrified. My friends are two older couples and they all knew I had been dealing with some difficult things over the last few months. They welcomed me with open arms and let me sit with them.

The sermon was Deuteronomy 2:3 – “You have circled this mountain long enough; now turn north.” The pastor spoke of spinning our wheels, denying our truth and knowing our path. He talked of knowing the path that God has created for us and trusting in that as it is the cradle of all hope. He spoke of seeing what we have to do and having the faith and courage to do it.

Susan leaned over to me at the beginning or the sermon and just said, “He’s talking to you.” Twice while the pastor spoke she knew it was hitting me very hard as I had started that ridiculous charade of pretending there was something in my eye. She would just tap my knee with her hand and smile at me.

At the end of the sermon I felt a calm I had not felt in a very long time. It was the first time in months I felt I was going to be okay. I got to my car where I was finally alone and away from people and I just cried. I mean, I sobbed. I am crying as I write this just replaying it in my mind. It was a beautiful moment and the next week I went back and then the week after that and the week after that.

Last Saturday, my soul hurt a little. It had just been a long week. So, even knowing Susan and Sandi would not be there and that I would know no one, I went to church. I feel compelled to go even though sometimes it’s hard and it’s real and it challenges me. It makes me happy. It clears my mind. It gives me good to focus on. It makes me a better person. And just about every time, it makes me cry.