Author: Robin Chartier

Today marks four weeks that we’ve been in Bahrain. Three of the Fridays we attended church services at two different places. We haven’t settled on one yet.

I’m sure it’s theologically incorrect to talk about church hunting or church shopping, as that implies that it’s about us and what we like, versus choosing an appropriate place to worship God, but it feels like shopping or house hunting. Decisions, decisions.

To this pastor’s kid, church is supposed to feel like home, but it never does at first (naturally). So I’m left wondering,”Is this the one? I really hate the paint color (the way they take offering) and I was really hoping for a place with bigger bedrooms (different style of worship), but the kitchen (preaching) is perfect. Maybe the rest will grow on me?” As a result, going to church these days feels less like worship and more like nitpicking. In Oman, since the only choice at The Church was between traditional or family service, we just showed up and it was what it was. And just like a real family, you love most everything about them and ignore the few things that bug you because that’s what you do with family.

But here we have to (get to?) pick our family, which isn’t any easier than picking a place to live. I thought the place we went today might be a good fit, except for one problem: it has a split personality. I know this isn’t a fluke because it happened both times we attended. The service begins with stereotypical non-denominational praise music. A little Chris Tomlin, some David Crowder, some light drums to accompany the guitar . . . white people music. After 3 or 4 songs someone prays and the musicians and singers sit down. Then an entire new crew takes the stage. A gospel choir and director. I’m suddenly transported to Shiloh Christian Fellowship (a reference which will only be meaningful to my immediate family), complete with gospel sway and lots of “Amens!”

I get that they are probably trying to appeal to a wide variety of worshipers, but it feels so divided. I wouldn’t mind nearly as much if the same musicians/vocalists incorporated both types of songs into a single set (presents a blended, unified worship team) or did a one week on/one week off music rotation. What I’d most like to see though, is a church that picks a style and owns it. I don’t even care what style it is (as long as it’s not a cappella hymns where they sing all the verses — totally not my thing).

We’re still homeless and churchless, but getting closer to finding where we fit . . .

Than I have in the last 5 years. Of course, I’m writing this in the middle of “Judy Moody and the Not So Bummer Summer” so I don’t know if that actually counts as “watching.”

Carter (under protest) and Caleb are both going to VBS this week. Carter initially said, “I don’t need to make any new friends!” and refused to go the first day, but after being left home alone in the hotel room he decided VBS was a better alternative. He has been a good sport since then, but told me he hasn’t made any new friends. When I suggested he say, “Hi, I’m Carter. What do you like to do?” he rolled his eyes at me and said with an exasperated sigh, “Mom, nobody talks like that!” Fair enough.

On the other hand, my little friend-maker insists that I meet the moms of all his new friends and is planning sleepovers and other play dates faster than I can keep their names straight.

My two who are too young and too old for VBS have settled into a daily routine. After drop-off, we hike over to the air conditioned Exchange — a building that houses the food court, shops, a gym, movie theater, etc. We cool off with a cappuccino (I know, it seems counter intuitive, but there’s never a bad time for a cappuccino), juice, fruit or some other snack. Then we head to the movie theater.

The first movie of the day is either G or PG and since we have had the theater to ourselves, Camille can run laps, climb in and out of all the seats, or sit and watch the movie. It’s lovely. For 60 cents l get 20 minutes of silence as she downs a bucket of popcorn. Throw in a 25 cent bottle of water and it’s the cheapest and easiest 90 minutes of entertainment around.

 

So far we’ve seen: The Rookie, Hotel for Dogs, part of The Hunger Games, and the above mentioned Judy Moody. Sitting through a movie is much less painful when I don’t have to worry about keeping her quiet.

Of being exhausted.

Of wearing a sweater when it’s 115 and humid.

Of feeling sweaty (see above point about sweater).

Of Camille waking up in a foul mood and screaming at me (related to general lack of sleep, not enough exercise, and an irregular schedule).

Of moving to different foreign countries–really, of moving in general.

Of feeling short-tempered all the time.

Of knowing I have an easy life, but not feeling grateful for it.

Of not having anything interesting to blog about. (Josh says I felt the same way last summer after moving to Oman. It’s true that this whole experience has sort of a deja vu feel to it . . .)

Of feeling disorganized and disconnected.

Of never having anything good to watch on TV (I’m currently watching a special on how Justin Bieber became famous — Oh! He’s flying around on heart-shaped metal scaffolding. Something else I didn’t need to know).

Of not having a purpose to each day.

Of Ramadan and all the restrictions that come with it.

Of complaining. So I’ll quit now.

Have I mentioned the HEAT?

 

We have to walk a ways from base to the car — far enough that poor girlie fell asleep in the stroller. 

  

Waiting at the longest stoplight in the world on our way back to the hotel. She’s not in her carseat because I burned her (and myself) on the buckle as I tried to put her in. She went from sleeping to screaming and ended up with a blister on her leg. I’m going to have to get a towel to keep in the car to cover it up while we’re out. 

  

It’s Hotter than Hot, but we’re not letting that stop us!