Sunday Morning with My Bestie and me
You Don’t Have to Arrive Okay to Take the Chair
Beloveds,
Come on in.
There’s coffee somewhere nearby. ☕
Something soft is playing in the background.
My Bestie and me are already sitting here talking, and there’s a chair pulled out for you. 🪑
Not tucked under the table.
Not waiting to see whether you qualify.
Pulled out.
Because we were expecting you.
And before you start trying to explain why you’re late, why you look tired, why you haven’t been around, why your faith feels shaky, why you’re angry, why you don’t know what you believe anymore, or why you almost didn’t come—
sit down.
You don’t have to arrive okay to take the chair.
That’s what I want to talk about this Sunday morning.
Because somewhere along the way, some of us learned how to dress pain up before we brought it into the room.
We learned how to say, “I’m blessed,” when what we really meant was, “I barely made it through this week.”
We learned how to smile while grieving.
How to praise while confused.
How to show up while exhausted.
And sometimes we learned that if we couldn’t make ourselves look okay, it might be easier not to show up at all.
But what if you didn’t have to do that here?
What if you could come tired?
Come questioning.
Come believing.
Come doubting.
Come angry.
Come hopeful.
Come numb.
Come laughing.
Come crying.
Come not knowing what in the world you are today.
And still—
there’s your chair. 🪑
I believe in God.
I call Him My Father.
I love Jesus.
That is part of who I am, and I’m not hiding it to make this table more comfortable.
But I’m also not asking you to become me before I love you.
You don’t have to believe what I believe to sit beside me.
You don’t have to agree with everything I say.
You don’t owe me your testimony.
You don’t owe me an explanation.
You don’t have to prove that you’re trying hard enough.
You don’t even have to know what you think yet.
There’s your chair.
I think sometimes we confuse belonging with agreement.
They aren’t the same thing.
We can sit at the same table and have different questions.
Different answers.
Different histories.
Different scars.
Different faiths.
Different doubts.
Different ways of seeing this enormous, complicated life.
And still recognize the humanity sitting across from us.
Maybe that’s part of what love looks like.
Not fixing somebody before making room for them.
Not interrogating them at the doorway.
Not deciding whether their pain is acceptable.
Not requiring emotional unison before offering presence.
Just pulling out the chair.
Jesus did a whole lot of sitting with people.
People other folks had opinions about.
People carrying stories.
People carrying mistakes.
People carrying questions.
People who didn’t have everything figured out before they came near Him.
And that matters to me.
Because I certainly don’t have everything figured out.
I have questions for My Father too.
Some of them hurt.
Some don’t have answers.
Some may never have answers on this side of life.
Yet here I am.
Still loving Him.
Still talking to Him.
Still asking.
Still living.
Still making room.
So this Sunday morning, there is no performance required here.
If you had a wonderful week, bring your joy.
If life wore you completely out, bring your tired.
If you are grieving, bring the empty place.
If you’re angry, bring the anger.
If you believe, bring your faith.
If you doubt, bring your questions.
If you don’t know what you believe, bring yourself.
That is enough for the chair.
My Bestie and me will scoot over.
Coffee’s over there. ☕
And, beloveds, if you happen to see somebody standing near the doorway wondering whether there is room for them—
pull out another chair.
Maybe nobody needs our answers this morning.
Maybe somebody simply needs to hear:
There you are.
Your chair is right here. 🪑❤️
loving me some you
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
