The Battle for Basement Cake

Since it was my first time at a new church, I slouched against the wall in the foyer with my arms crossed, glaring at everyone that passed by me without saying 'hi' through the tiny slits that remained of my eyes. The rest of my face had been taken over by a full-fledged scowl, what is likely the ugliest version of of me.

The following is the conversation I had (with myself) in my head:

It was then that I decided that since I was looking for a church, I was going to push myself to intentionally engage with the church goers, radical concept eh?

 (those of you who know me, know that I am quite outgoing and boisterous... I am now at least. But when I first meet people, especially groups of people-- I become very skitterish and nervous. If I know only one person, I will cower behind them and hope they introduce me to someone... or I make inappropriate jokes)

 I put this *new practice* into action the following Sunday, picking an old, small little church down the street from my house. (Their sign always had funny statements on it, and their website looked a little dated-- which I typically take as a good sign that they are busy doing more awesome things than updating their logo.)   The service was small, about 50 or so attendants of a variety of ages, and a modest band.

 I arrived 10 minutes late, as to miss the awkward and unavoidable pacing around the foyer, trying to disguise the fact that I knew absolutely no one, and I am scared poopless. I snuck in after the first couple of songs and slinked into one of the pews at the back. After the sermon, I was feeling kind of stupid because I hadn't been 'successful' in engaging (hadn't even tried); luckily the pastor proclaimed that there would be coffee, tea, and cake in the basement after the service!

Basement Cake?!
 My favorite.

Actually, I don't like cake, and I am not particularly a fan of basements

Nevertheless I decided that this was the PERFECT opportunity to be approachable, friendly, and engaging. So, I stood up-- with every intention of going downstairs for some basement cake. However, once my legs started walking, they walked me right out of the church. I stood on a small patch of lawn, eyes adjusting to the dramatic lighting change, and wondered "how am I here?"

I turned around and faced the church again.

  This will not be another one of those stories 

where I claim this church isn't good for me, but I didn't actually try it. 

So I marched myself back in there. I made it halfway down the stairs before I stopped (again).

 Boy its warm in here... I must have a fever, I should leave. 

 Luckily there were two elderly men coming down the stairs behind me, so when I turned around to escape they were blocking my path.

 "Coming down for some cake?" they inquired.

I opened my mouth really wide in attempt to smile, then hoisted my checks and eyebrows up as high as they would go-- I figured this looked approachable. I couldn't figure out how to speak, so I just nodded and giggled. My legs moved very fast then, down the stairs away from the people who talked to me. (very poor technique for making friends).

 Hey they spoke to you! You must have mastered 'approachable'! 

Success! Try that same technique on the people in the basement cake line!

 I joined the line, and scanned the room. There were a couple of women serving the cake and coffee at the front of the line. Some senior men in the corner eating cake by an equally old piano, some senior women talking about quilting at the table in the center. All the young(ish) people were in the line, engaged in small group conversations. I stood there looking stupid, not sure where I fit. I contemplated why so many basements used flourescent lights when they make everyone look a little green. I reach the front of the line and received my basement cake, which was mostly icing, and a serving of coffee in a styrofoam cup. I scanned the room again, sweaty and smiling, shifting from foot to foot. 

 I don't know where to go. Don't want to sit by myself... 

eating alone reminds me of middle school. 

 Then my legs took over again. They skittered me right out of that room.' Rational thought' caught me at the base of the stairs.

 I can't go up there! That is defeat! and I've come so far! 

 I wish I could tell you that I turned around, walked confidently back into that room and started a conversation with a group of young(ish) people. We laughed about weird' christian-isms', like always having fake trees covered in twinkly lights, and then they invited me out to lunch!

But, I didn't.

 I opted to hide under the stairs and eat my cake. 

And I didn't enjoy it. 

 This is the most pathetic I think you have ever been. 

Sure, you managed to eat the basement cake-- 

but the point of coming down here isn't to eat basement cake, 

its to meet the basement people. 

Get up, act like yourself, and go into that room!

 So I did.

 I stood up, slammed back the rest of my coffee, and decided that I needed another cup (a reason to go back in!). I marched myself up to the counter and got a refill. Then I slid over to the group of senior men, because they were the closest. I stood in their semi-circle until their conversation stopped and they looked at me inquisitively.( I ran a couple of introductory statements through my head, but they were all jibberish and nonsensical.) I smiled, slightly less manic than the time on the stairs, and gracefully exited.

 I still wasn't brave enough to talk to the young(ish) people.

 So I plopped myself down between two elderly women.

 They were as surprised as I was that I joined them. Exhausted from the emotional stress I had put myself through the past 15 minutes, I bleated:

 "Hello! My name is Jordan. This is my first time at this church and I am absolutely terrified of all of you".

Between fits of laughter, one lady draped her arm over my shoulder and gave me some more basement cake, the other went and fetched their pastor. The pastor came over, introduced himself and asked me some questions. After we chatted a while he introduced me to some of the young(ish) people, whom I continued talking to for about 45 minutes. They did end up inviting me out to lunch that day, but I declined, because my clothes were saturated in sweat and I was on the brink of a diabetic coma from all the basement cake I had eaten.

My search for a 'home church' didn't end there, but I definitely became a little braver that day, a little more willing to put myself in uncomfortable or foreign situations. I still get nervous walking into a new church (in fact a couple weeks ago I read the church bulletin in a bathroom stall, cause I felt awkward standing by myself), but in the doorway I always think "well, it couldn't possibly be any worse" than that time. And when I see new people at church, I often think "I wonder if they would be more comfortable hiding under the stairs or reading that on the toilet" then I go and make sure that they are confident that the sanctuary is a better option, even with the florescent lights...