The Girl On Pew 5.

637BADA7-A301-4A34-9E59-12B4333FC8A4Me.  I’m that girl.

I’ll occasionally sit on pew 4.  But never pew 1, 2, or 3.  That’s the spit section when our preacher gets all riled up.  When we first started visiting, I noticed the brave soul on one of the front pews that always wore sunglasses.  I assumed it was a seasoned member that had the art of saliva deflection down to a science.  I found out later he’s actually blind. But still a brave soul, regardless.

Pew 5.  Section 2.   The perfect spot for me.  And before you get any ideas, I’m not the President of the pastor’s fan club. No,  I’m not “Li’l Miss Goody Two Shoes” looking to score a few points with the preacher.  I’m not the church member that will tap you on the shoulder and tell you that you’re sitting in “my” spot.  I just try real hard to get to our packed services very early in order to sit where I do, or in close proximity.

It’s the preacher’s lips 👄 I want to see. {insert gasp}.

Okay…. go ahead and get your Bapticostal (baptist+Pentecostal) judge-mental pants out of a wad.  I like seeing my husband’s lips in the choir as well.  They are my favorite.

I’m deaf.  Deaf people read lips.

A few  years ago, I spoke to a women’s group at a local Biker Church.  I told the pastor’s wife that she would never catch me coming to their church.  Why?  Because I couldn’t see her husbands lips if I was standing a foot away…. and it ain’t got nothing to do with my eyes!  God would have to part that beard like he did the Red Sea .  We still laugh about that conversation to this day.  😂

In my 48 years, I’ve mastered the art of lip reading. 🤗 Back before God convicted me of my eavesdropping sins, I could tell you all about the conversation of the couple in the corner of the restaurant.  Slick Rick wasn’t with his wife. I’ve read enough conversations to know that my mama better not ever throw me under the bus like some of your mama’s do.  When Preston and I were dating, we went to a Panthers game.  We had awesome seats on the 50 yard line, 6 rows back.  I was able to read many of the conversations that the coaches were talking to the players about on the sidelines.  I was able to call a few plays before they even happened.  Preston was quite impressed.  I swear somebody told on me though…… because now they cover their lips with their clipsboards/playbooks.  😂

That’s my love relationship with pew 5.  I’m right outside of the DNA slinging section, yet close enough to be fed by the word.  Music is not my friend.   I can hear and feel the bass, but never the words.  I CAN read the lips of my favorite choir member.   I AM that church member that has her eyes wide open during prayer.🙋‍♀️… even during the invitation at the end when every head is to be bowed and every eye closed.  Don’t worry, I’m sitting up front and can’t see what you’re doing in the back.  God might be using my preacher to speak to my heart.  But if I have my eyes closed, I might miss out on that blessing and it ain’t happening!

I CAN read the lips of our wonderful pastor.  I leave every service with meat 🥩 and desire to serve God.  Until very recently, I always treated  church like it was for me. A place for me to get fed.  I place for me to take my problems.  A place for me to get this or get that.  More important than all those things… it’s a place of privilege to worship a risen Savior.  It’s a place that I may never be able to “hear” the spirit, but I surely feel it.

I often wonder what it will be like to hear  music 🎺for the first time in Heaven.  I can only imagine. Surely, that will be what brings me to my knees.  Until then, I’ll keep my joyful croak 🐸 to myself. 😂

Until then, like Preacher Trent says… “punch🤛 the person beside you and tell them to put their seatbelts on— it’s about to get good”.  Or like Preacher Cotton from the biker church says…. go watch some corn 🌽 be shucked!

I encourage you to find a place to worship. You’re always welcome on Pew 5 with me.

God is good. All the time!

 

The deaf BeanCounter

 

 

 

 

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