People in the South sure know how to hug. In our eleven years there, I don’t think there was a single time I went to church when I wasn’t wrapped up in a big ole bear hug and squeezed tight. Heck, sometimes I even got kissed.

Unfortunately, right around the time I learned to enthusiastically throw myself into gigantic hugs, my husband and I moved back to the Pacific Northwest. And boy, do people here love their personal space. Especially the church folk. Especially the male church folk.

There needs to be some kind of brochure or handbook, when you move here from other places. People shouldn’t be left to flounder on their own.

I remember the first time I went in for a hug with one of our pastors – let’s call him “Kenny”, because his name is Kenny – who would become a good friend of ours, eventually. That first time, I came at him from the front, as per usual. What happened next was a blur.

(Today I’m guest-posting over at The Five Stages – and you know what that means. First, I’m bringing the crazy. Second, there’s a glamour shot involved. Click here to see everything…)