Church Hunting Abroad

Whenever I move to a new place, I've discovered that one of the most intimidating processes that I have to face is that of finding a church to go to. Attending a congregation of a hundred or so people who for the most part have broken off into smaller groups of aquaintences can be scary and overwhelming. Back when I left home for the first time, my first day away actually fell on a Sunday. I was taken to a local church and dropped off at the door with directions on how to get home. Even though I was fifteen minutes early, the church was jam packed with people - there wasn't an empty seat in sight. This, however, did not stop the usher from leading me to the second pew from the front and requesting that a woman give up her seat to me, as I was a guest at the service. Mortified I tried to say no, but both the usher and the lady were insistent. I would feel even more mortified later on when I learned that people would stake out seats for up to an hour before hand in order to have the privilege of sitting down throughout the service. Everyone else crowded around the door and at the windows in the alleys to the side of the church. My experiences later on of standing in 100 degree humidity just to be able to worship God forever changed my persepective on Christians.
But there were other more amusing episodes of church hunting. Once, when a pastor delightedly discovered that not only was I a visiting guest that day but that it also happened to be my birthday, he led the ENTIRE congregation in a hearty rendition of "Happy Birthday". Another time, after I had unwittingly filled out a visitor card at a church with all of my information (address included) I recieved an impromtu visit from two members of the congregation who stopped by my apartment randomly un-announced (it gave me the feeling that I was being stalked). Perhaps one of the best stories I can tell involves my mother who had flown to visit me while I was in training. She handed me the address of a church with the full confidence that I would know how to get there. The grandfather who lived at the house where I rented a room gave us directions on which bus to take and we set out on what would turn out to be a two hour ordeal. We switched bus lines twice and as we rumbled further and further away from anything I considered remotely familiar, I began to worry. It was growing dark and although I generally don't have a problem being lost by myself, I felt a little distressed at being completely lost with my mom in tow. Fortunately, she has a healthy sense of adventure and wasn't too phased by it at all. I finally walked to the front of the bus and asked the bus driver if we were anywhere near the address on the sheet of paper my mom had given me (by now it was a crumpled mess after being held too long in my nervous, sweaty palm). It was nothing short of a miracle when a woman who was standing off to the side remarked that she lived right down the street from the church and she could show us the way. We exited the bus and followed her through the night (again, not the safest idea, but if you know my mom you'll understand the inordinate amount of faith she has in that everything happens for a reason - a great viewpoint which she has passed on to me). We arrived safe and sound at the church doors and the look of astonishment on the pastor's face that we had made it out that far only increased when we told him we had come on the bus. "Not even a local would come all this way on the bus!" He exclaimed, surprised. We were, of course, led to the very front pew as, I now knew, was customary for guests. That night, after the service was over, they found someone with access to a car to give us a ride back. What strikes me most, is that neither my mom nor I had even thought about how we would manage to get back home - we had only thought about the journey there and assumed that, somehow, it would all work out.
So when I began my hunt for a church to attend in Singapore, it was with a bit of trepidition. I didn't know what to expect from the culture here. Luckily, I found a great church on my first try. Sure, I stand out like a sore thumb as the only blonde-haired, blue-eyed, woman in attendance (I also happen to be several inches taller than most the people there), but I am reminded of how much peace it brings me to be in a foreign place so far away from family and friends and yet to still carry out a custom that I share in common with them from the other side of the world. And I put it down to my interesting experiences visiting churches in the wierdest places that, when the pastor of the church I attend here announced from the pulpit that there was a visitor all the way from Texas and asked me to stand up, I brushed it off with a laugh - it's not so embarassing any more. :)