Well, most of them.
A family of five rushes in behind me, looking every bit like they’d just finished a full-blown argument in the car.
The dad’s shirt is partly untucked.
The mom gives him a look that could curdle milk.
One kid yawns so big it looked like his jaw might unhinge, another is crying and tugging on his mom’s arm, and the oldest took off at a sprint toward a group of friends without so much as a backward glance.
I bite back a laugh, feeling a tiny piece of the tension inside me loosen.
Maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t have it all together this morning.
The woman I’d been trailing rounds a corner, and I quicken my steps to follow.
Then I see them—the big double doors leading into the main area where I am assuming the service takes place.
There are several people holding the doors open, and from where I stand, I can see a glimpse of the edge of a stage, the soft glow of lights illuminating it.
My heart picks up speed.
This is it.
No turning back now.
I wipe my palms on the sides of my jeans and draw in a steadying breath before slipping through the doors, hoping that somehow, this morning will be exactly what I need.
Even if I’m not exactly sure what that is.
I step through the double doors and freeze.
The sanctuary is bigger than I expected. With high ceilings, rows upon rows of chairs, a stage framed by soft, warm lights.
But somehow, despite the size, it still feels cozy. Welcoming.
Not cold or intimidating like I feared.
The woman I’ve been trailing moves with quiet confidence, and I follow her, keeping a little distance. She slips into a row about a third of the way up, joining a small group already gathered there.
I hesitate, then slide into a seat a few rows behind them.
Not too close to the front, where I might stand out.
Not too far back, where it might seem like I don’t really want to be here.
The middle feels safe—visible enough to belong but still tucked into the background.
I tuck my purse under my chair and take a slow breath, letting my eyes wander.
A woman about my age walks past, then pauses like she recognizes me—even though we’ve never met.
“Hey! I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” she says, her smile bright and easy.
I shake my head. “First time.”
“Well, welcome to New Chapter! I’m Jenna.” She gestures toward the stage. “If you need anything, just wave me down, okay?”
She squeezes my arm before heading toward a group by the far wall, leaving a little warmth in her wake.
