different than what I was taught it must. More private. More quiet (if you’re not my neighbor, that is). More my own. The closest I’ve ever come to finding a church home as an adult wasn’t a church at all; it was a choir. We sang gospel music together. And at the end of every rehearsal, we stood in a circle and shared the most painful and beautiful things happening in our lives, and then, we prayed for one another. That was it. And it was everything. Enough to inspire us to visit one another in the hospital; to sing at one another’s weddings and funerals; to attend each other’s celebrations;
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