Attending Church in Colorado

Before Gary left for New Jersey and the last four months of his stint in the army, he took me to church. Again, I returned to Gary’s parents’ house culture shocked. In Germany, church is hushed and quiet. Nobody speaks to anyone, and children are either left at home or taken out as soon as they make a noise. When I was young, I often went to church services in the old stone cathedrals, or at least in a large stone building, heavy and dark and intimidating. Most of the churches in Germany are centuries old, and they are trying to show the believers how insignificant they are and how great and unapproachable God is.

However, here in the States, the bright, wooden chapel seemed almost like an afterthought, just somewhere the congregation can safely and comfortably meet. People actually laughed when the preacher said something funny. It seemed faintly sacrilegious, but I liked it. Maybe these Americans have it right and God has a sense of humor, I thought. I might as well like their strange, new ways. After all, I had adopted this country as my new home, and would probably live here for the rest of my life. 

 At that time, the Mancos LDS Church looked similar to this one

After the service, Gary introduced me to the Bishop. When the Bishop heard that I would be alone with the older Mr. Towne in a country I didn’t know, he shook my hand and told me to be sure and come to church. He’d have some of the Relief Society ladies visit and help me out.

Gary had dinner with his father and me, and then he had to leave. He assured me I would be fine, and he’d call as soon as he’d arrive at his post. There was no helping it, he had to leave and I had to stay here, in a place I hardly knew, with an older man who was a stranger to me and a mother-in-law in the hospital.

More tomorrow!