The "Clackers"

Some people I know ask me why I do not go to church. It seems unusual living here in the Bible belt, but I have personal reasons for not believing. I am a very free thinker, and I want my children to make their own choices as I was never allowed to, and I will respect them and support them. Don't get me wrong, I have tremendous respect for those who believe their religion and live it. Or at least TRY to, as no one is perfect. Just please do not preach to me and tell me that I am a horrible person or that I am wrong. You have no idea, nor have you walked in my shoes. Some groups have been taught that the way to heaven is by condemning others and save them by showing them their faults. I look at this in the same light as the person who steps on the wounded in the trenches in order to get out themselves. Later they say, "but they were going to die anyway". For some this is the only way.

There are so many good and wonderful church goers. My mother was one. Before she died of breast cancer, she was one of the ones that tried to live her religion to the fullest. She was not perfect, but she was perfect at trying to live it, and I still respect that 100%. She always wanted me to see her way because she really thought that it would make me happy, not because she wanted me to conform. Right at the end she finally saw that I WAS already happy, and that was our last gift to each other.

Some are the Sunday-sermon-only church goers. These are what we call the "Clackers". These can be terrifying on a Sunday afternoon in Wal-Mart. If you have ever been there you know what I mean. They have come from church, they are feeling exteremely self-rightous, and they MUST get that last minute stuffing or broccoli and velveeta for their supper that night. They are feeling so good that when they see me and my daughters in our yoga pants, braided hair, and baseball caps (so what's wrong with THAT???) or anyone else dressed as if they clearly have not been to services, they look down on us and decide to judge. This is when we get shoved, rammed, stepped on, etc. I have watched this happen so often that it can almost be timed:

Everyone is shopping is happy bliss, grubby, hair up, no makeup, greeting each other in the Sunday morning paradise that is Wal-Mart. The common bond of a secret, uncrowded store is shared by those "in the know." We smile and stroll along for a bit looking at things you cannot usually see, birds are singing.....(ok, ok, sorry)
As the later hours near, people start looking at their watches, and the pace quickens. Expressions become frantic. It begins to look like a game show as families start throwing merchandise into their carts. Suddenly, we hear it-the first "clack". It's the sound of a high heeled shoe hitting the floor signaling the end of one of the local church services.
Bedlam ensues. Cashiers run to the registers. Customers in tennis shoes race to the front, at least those lucky enough to have finished on time. Those like me who are often late prepare to be afflicted with the daily sermon of judgement of pushing, shoving, and looks that are trying to say that they have to be somewhere more important than I do. Never fear, Clacker, you have been there, and it clearly did not take the first time based on this behavior.

Here is my sermon for next Sunday: put on some yoga pants, push a cart round, and maybe help an older man reach that package of Oreo's that got shoved to the back. Watch him smile in gratitude. I'll bet that sticks with you for more than 30 minutes.