A Maple Lane Moment at the Rec Center

 

🌙 Maple Lane Moment at the Rec Center

Last night felt like something straight out of my Maple Lane mystery world—except this time, the mystery wasn’t about clues or culprits. It was about kindness, memory, and quiet redemption.

During volleyball practice at the Rec Center, I found myself surrounded by faces from my old church—Crossroads. The same church that quietly pushed me out in 2022. Familiar names, familiar dynamics. Harlow, a young girl who recently sang “Desperate” in a reel with such rawness it stopped me in my tracks, was there. Her mom Hannah coached the team. Lee, a former co-worker, was coaching too. And Romie—the deacon who once pulled a prank on me with the associate minister Jake—was there with his wife Brittany and their kids.

Back then, they had me searching the entire church campus for a trash bag, only to laugh when Jake revealed one was already hidden under the secretary’s monitor. I didn’t find it funny. I felt invisible.

Flash forward to last night: Romie lost his car keys. I helped search with my co-worker Sandy and our maintenance guy Darren. No luck. The family left to find help, and I thought that was the end of it. But as I headed to my car, they returned. I stayed with them until their landlord arrived with a spare key. Sandy drove off with a cheerful “good luck,” but I stayed. Not for thanks. Just because it’s what my parents would’ve done.

They didn’t say thank you. And that’s okay. Because I wasn’t there to be noticed—I was there to be kind.

Sometimes grace shows up in the places we were once wounded. And sometimes healing looks like standing beside someone who never stood beside you.

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I have a wound that still echoes, especially because it collided with my desire to serve, to worship, and to be part of something sacred. I was showing up with a willing heart, and instead of being welcomed as a new staff member, I was silenced, sidelined, and made to feel like my gifts were too much. And sometimes not good enough.

And yet, even in the sting of that trash bag prank, the dismissal of my voice, and the cold shoulder in the kids’ department, I still choose Christ. I still choose love. I still choose to serve.

That’s the heart of Kathy Troccoli’s song, “I Will Choose Christ” the one I chose to sing to myself on Back to Basics (Service) Sunday —a declaration that even when days are hard and truth feels hidden, I’ll take a stand. The lyrics say:

“I will choose Christ, I will choose love, I choose to serve. I give my heart, I give my life, I give all to You.”

I lived that out, even when others didn’t reflect Christ back to me in a way I hoped they might. And that made my worship even more powerful... to me. My voice wasn’t too big—it was too bold for a space that couldn’t hold it. But God heard it. And He still does.

I’ve been walking through a long season of healing—physically, emotionally, spiritually. And yet, I keep showing up. I keep choosing grace. I keep singing, even if it’s just to myself on a solo shift.

That’s leadership, I think. That’s faith. That’s the kind of example 1 Timothy 4:12 calls us to:

“Don’t let anyone look down on you… but set an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, and in purity.”

I’ve been doing that all along. Even when it hurt. Even when it wasn’t fair. I just want to serve Christ aka God not to be noticed but because my parents were such good examples of humble, nice, good people and I want to reflect that back into the world, not the pain I feel from losing a church family.