i attended another wedding today.
It was the wedding of a dear brother whom i got to know in the Varsity Christian Fellowship (VCF) back in my uni days.
It was heartening to see him give his life and receive another’s in promise, having known of some of the struggles he has been wrestling with in his life.
Our Father’s heart of love and restoration and its practical outworking never fails to bring me to tears (most of the time).
Anyway, after the wedding ceremony, i found myself seeing familiar faces during the reception. My natural response, you would think, would be to rush over and engage in hearty banter and, perhaps, reminisce about the good old days.
Well, you would have thought wrong.
Today, for some strange reason, more so than any other day prior to this day, i was acutely conscious of how much i abhor and dread small talk.
And i don’t mean in a smile-politely-and-move-on kind of way.
It’s really more of a shriek (purely for dramatic effect. i don’t and can’t shriek…not since puberty happened anyway.)-skin-crawling-get-me-out-of-here-at-all-cost kind of way.
It’s not that i didn’t like the people i saw at the reception. On the contrary, they are dear brothers and sisters, with whom i have shared times of friendship which will surely resound in the halls of eternity.
It’s the awkwardness i hate.
It’s the awkwardness that explodes all over a situation when you’re forced to ask about how a person’s been without really expecting a truthful or comprehensive answer to that deceptively complex question.
It’s that heart-sinking awkwardness that comes with talking about the weather, about what you’re up to lately, about how’s life, about the food.
If i had my way, all conversation would be about deep, soul-stirring stuff or light-hearted repartee.
Anything but the banal superficiality that is small talk.
Of course, the only problem with my impossible ideal?
There has to be some small talk before that happens; even the best of friends start out as acquaintances.
