In the Dark Night

I cringe to remember the church

I went to that year in Great Falls,

Southerners from the Air Base

Praising God loudly, arms waving,

Feet dancing, hands clapping,

Voices raised higher than the skies in song.

Unknown tongues didn’t bother me,

Me, nurtured with quiet Latin ritual.

I sat in that pew twice a week because

I could cry through the entire service

And nobody made me stop. They thought                                      

I was moved by the Spirit. Maybe I was.

I cringe to remember. I cringe for my need.

But that little church gave me something

To see me through that dark night.

Does it really matter where we find solace?