by Jennifer M. Dryden (c) 2009
In the midst of tears I tried to hold them back as to convince myself that God wasn’t “getting to me.” The lights were a soft version of a disco, every tenth person held his or her hands in the air as to reach for something I couldn’t see, and they, the worshipers, – along with me – sang out. I wasn’t actually singing anymore, although I once was. Right now I was crying… barely letting my guilty but convinced eyes open even to try and hide behind a worshipers bowing head. I hid behind prayer for two songs before I lifted my head to accept a new fate.
This time I didn’t care if anyone saw my tears – still I kept them subtle not wanting anyone to ask the “Are you okay?” question that everybody always answers regardless of how they feel with a “Yeah, I’m fine.” I was coming to God. I was coming to God and it was personal. I was coming to God but after 20 years of life, which consisted of twelve years of Sunday school, two years of youth group, and endless confused conversations with my friends about atheists, Christianity, and life after death. I was coming to God but it felt as if I was too late. What did it all mean? I didn’t know exactly… not yet. You know this Christian lifestyle isn’t just black and white – besides on the pages of the Bible – but interpreting it was way over my head.
Growing up, I was Methodist – nothing wrong with that – but I never felt as if I fit in. At Iowa State I was introduced to Cornerstone Church and the Salt Company, a church service directed at college students on Thursday nights. I attended with a friend every week starting January 2008 with skeptical eyes until this particular Thursday night where I broke through my shielded mind and let Him in.