As I am still recovering from the flu and finding it difficult not to stare at the phone and yell "RING DAMNIT!", I thought I would write about something easy tonight. Why I hated our last church. There were many reasons why I hated our last church, but this is truly symbolic of how they felt about us and I felt about them. Welcome to my world of sludge.
Hubby was attending the World's Most Expensive Seminary and working as a part-time pastor at a small country church just outside a major metropolitan area. It was quite a weird environment. The area was beautiful. We lived surrounded by farms, apples trees, fishing ponds and rolling hills, but were within 5 minutes of 3 interstates. Our house was on a well and septic tank system. We had just moved from Pop. 259 and had the same arrangement there, so we didn't mind that...at least, until E was born.
Sometime right after E was born we began to notice a unique odor when we would walk out to our cars. Kind of like paper mill but with a little bit of sewer thrown in. Only we didn't have a paper mill in that part of the state. But we did have a sewer of sort. One day I took a blanket out to my front yard to get E some sun. I spread the blanket out and E and I were watching the cars go by but I couldn't get over the smell. Where was the smell coming from? E rolled over a little on the blanket and I looked past the edge into the grass and that's when I saw it. The lovely bubbling crude seeping up out of the ground. Our septic tank was leaking!
We immediately called the people in our church who were responsible for the upkeep of the house. The head of the committee came over, looked at the sludge and said "Yup, your tank is leaking." Umm...DUH!!!! He promised he would call someone to take care of it. So we sat back and prepared to wait. Things don't happen fast in churches, so we thought it would take at least a week. After 2 weeks, he hadn't called us, so we checked with him. He had forgotten. One thing led to another and TEN MONTHS later our septic tank was still leaking. By this time E was walking and she couldn't play in the front yard. Our requests to have it fixed had fallen on deaf ears. I was getting pissed, pun intended.
Pastors are neither renters nor owners of their houses. We can't do any repair work or major changing to the house without permission from the church. We legally couldn't do anything about the septic tank. We were stuck. The church didn't like me anyway and as far as I was concerned it was a safety issue, so I sent a scathing letter to the powers that be and reported our church. No one ever does that. No one. It goes against a secret code. But I did. Our septic tank was fixed within 2 weeks. And the church people....from then on they went from the "bless your heart" Secret Southern disapproval of me to the openly shunning me and refusing to even greet me during the passing of the peace. I was an outcast. But it just got worse from there....
To be cont.