I walked into The Lazy Bean Café this morning with two of my girls in tow. The usual 20-something girl was on the café’s computer checking her myspace page. A small group of teens sat in a semicircle around the couch with their books open, more for effect as they were talking more than studying. It was empty otherwise.

I bought my girls a muffin and took out a loan for a frappachino. The owners are a young Christian family. In fact, the tall guy with the glasses, who I thought was 18 but is really 30, owns the place. I perused the prayer board and remembered a few notes (especially the ones about kids and cancer).

Our next stop was PetSmart to purchase a larger collar for Knox. He’s getting bigger, and I’m waiting for him to act like it. A way-too-young Santa was set up in the pet store, waiting to take a picture with your cat, dog, or parrot for $8.95. Everyone just walked around acting as if this gluttonous set-up was normal and a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

When we went next door to Publix for a double-cart shopping trip, fifteen-year-old local high school cheerleaders stopped us for money. (Sorry, no more money. I’m already forced to fork over $2500 every year to you folks, who can’t afford to buy your young, beautiful girls a skirt that would cover their thighs.) I felt sorry for those girls, who reminded me so much of myself at that age. Adults who are entrusted to protect our children, instead pimp them out to bring in more money for their retirement accounts. (If you’re inclined to argue my point, first ask yourself why the math club members never hold car washes in bikinis.) In another time and another place, the teachers and school board officials would be run out of town for this prostitution. But here, we empty our change purses, wish them a Happy Holidays, and hope some of them will actually learn a little math with more money.

And everyone continues walking around like this is normal and okay.

We continued our shopping, stopping at the deli and the bakery, where everyone knows the Scotts, or rather, “that family with five little kids.” The baker grabbed the fresh sourdough from the back and sliced it thin, just how we like it. Since I only had two children with me, no old ladies stopped me and told me stories about “back in the day.” I missed it.

We did chat a little with a mid-40’s woman who chastised my children for not liking broccoli. “They’re in good company,” I countered, “Even the president hates broccoli.” The scowl on her face told me that she was a democrat, and that was the end of that.

I felt bad for not waiting in the line for our favorite checkout lady, but she gave us a hearty wave on our way out. I felt like a traitor, exchanging the expediency of a newly opened register for conversion with our favorite checkout lady. We will look for her next time. Greg or I will bring more kids next time, as well, and then everything will feel better.

The more things change, the more we look for comfort in the familiar. That’s why traditions appeal to seculars as well as Christians. People who are searching for Jesus do not want pop culture with a Jesus-angle, but rather, something otherworldly. Our Christian girls are not for sale. Our sacred celebrations are not $8.95 Santa photo shoots. When the modern American church gets a clue, we will see more people come to know and worship the Jesus, that is for now, next to the Santa Claus on their Christmas trees.