Memoir of a Misfit
by Marcia Ford

It seems too simple to say this today: My place in the family of God is wherever God is. But there was nothing simple about the process that brought me to that discovery. And it's a deceptively simple statement, because churches have been arguing about where God is for millennia. Though I know that this side of heaven I'll probably never lose my habit of overthinking, I politely decline to get caught up in complex theological arguments anymore. Don't ask me where He is. My brain will no doubt skip a succession of beats, my eyes will glaze over, and by the time my brain kicks back in again, I will have formed an answer that bears no relation whatsoever to your original question, a response as disconnected as "Of course not."

And while I've found my congregational place in a liturgical church, I know that I will never discount the rich and varied personal history of church experience that God favored me with. From the Methodists, I first heard the gospel, the incredible story that I trust I will never tire of hearing. The Baptists and other evangelicals gave me a solid grounding in the Bible and in evangelism, and an unshakable respect for doctrinal truth and biblical scholarship. Roman Catholics introduced me to the charismatic renewal and to the hope that a contemplative life could be achieved even in America in the tumultuous 1970s. Independent charismatic churches and denominational Pentecostals expanded my spiritual life, restoring to me the joy of my salvation and giving me a host of reasons to laugh right out loud. Finally, the Episcopalians helped me rein all that in to a structure that resonates with me, in a liturgical language that I understand.

And although my spiritual home is now a liturgical church, I'm just as comfortable worshiping in an evangelical or a charismatic or a mainline church. It no longer matters whether or not I feel as if I belong among a particular congregation of people, because I've rediscovered the focus that for so long was missing from my church experiences, the focus on God Himself. When I travel, I'd be most likely to seek out an Episcopal church, but I'd have no problem worshiping with the Baptists or the Methodists or the Roman Catholics.

If push came to shove, I might even attend a service at a King James-only church. But I can't promise I won't be toting a pulpit-sized edition of The Living Bible, if such an edition exists. Then again, I've always given people a reason to look at me funny. Why stop now?