Some visiting students were in search of a confessional Lutheran church and contacted my new parish, so there was a sign-up sheet for drivers to get them from a nearby metro to the church and back.  I signed up.  Shocking, I know.  I was trying to be other than me.

I arrived first and greeted the group, but the leader wanted to wait until the church contact was there in case there were car assignments.  I went back to my car to wait.  Then all the other drivers arrived...together.  The students and their chaperones crammed themselves and their luggage into the cars.  All but mine.

It was like being on the playground again, for me.  I was never picked for any games, always the one both "captains" did not want on their teams.  I was the one who sat alone, played alone, and was teased and taunted.  To this day, one of my most painful memories was sitting in the locker room and getting ready while listening to some high school classmates ridicule me.  They were Christians and were bemoaning the fact that they just learned I was going on a mission trip with them.

Some of the vehicles were literally stuffed with bodies.  But still I watched and waited and no one came to mine. 

I felt like dirt.  I did not want to go to church. I just wanted to go home and try to forget that I am always the one left on the playground.  I shouldn't have expected anything else.  I shouldn't have tried to be helpful.

I called Bettina and wailed on the phone and then managed to go to church so that I could have the Lord's Supper.  I admit that I had tears spilling down my face the whole service.

I hate how I felt standing there and waiting.  I hate how I feel now.  I hate that I feel.