Every year the ladies at the Farmville United Methodist Church sponsor a Women’s Retreat. I’ve been at every one of them. Okay, all you guys, knock it off. I’m the pastor of the church. I, actually, have to be there. That’s because one of the first things they teach you in seminary is not to rile the dander of the various women’s groups. I was a good seminary student.

Watching the women enter the building at a “women’s gathering” is interesting. They greet each other with all the bubbly acceptance that is possible. They introduce each other to friends as though they are as close as twins. And when the gathering is called to order they take their seats.

Here they are in the midst of this conglomerate of various churches, intermingling with each other in an open expression of ecumenical exuberance, and when it’s time to get down to business, all the members of Happy Valley Leaping For Joy Congregation of the Pleasing Baptist sit with the other members of the Happy Valley Leaping For Joy Congregation of the Pleasing Baptist. And the Hopefully Ever Seeking the Unending Happiness of the Spirit United Methodists sit down with the other Hopefully Ever Seeking the Unending Happiness of the Spirit United Methodists. Amazing, we’re always more comfortable with “our own.”

I wonder why that is. Why do we gather into these tight groups of the just-like-us instead of experiencing the challenge and promise of interacting with others.

The speaker this year at the Farmville United Methodist Women’s Retreat was Marjorie Kimbrough. Now, for an event to be held in a United Methodist Church with Marjorie Kimbrough is a high cotton happening. Ms. Kimbrough is what they call a “power” in Methodism. She is a member of the General Conference, that august body that determines the polity and doctrine of the entire denomination. She talked about the women of the Bible. And I listened, as I sat in the back media control room.

Of all the things she spoke of, it was the description of her granddaughter’s going to the three year old class in her day care. She knew some of the teachers from church. She announced to everyone she was going to be in Ms. Hooker’s class. The problem was she was not going to be in Ms. Hooker’s class. The papers from the school had assigned her to Ms. Spencer’s class.  But the granddaughter insisted she would be in Ms. Hooker’s class.

Nothing anyone in the family could dissuade her. It was Ms. Hooker’s class in her mind.

Marjorie Kimbrough said she finally said to her granddaughter, “Who told you that you would be in Ms. Hooker’s class?”

Her granddaughter said, “No one told me; I told myself.”

Maybe we all should pay more attention to the wisdom of three-year-olds. “No one told me; I told myself.”

No one told me; I told myself I was going to be a success or a failure. No one told me; I told myself I was going to live with dignity or an uncaring attitude. No one told me; I told myself I’d be kind to others or treat them like scum. No one told me; I told myself life is an adventure or a trap. No one told me; I told myself to expand my horizon or to stay bottled up where I am.

No one told me. I always tell myself.