Put Church near me in your search bar and get ready. There are so many choices on the map that it looks like there are more dots than sprinkles on a cupcake. Baptist, Lutheran, and Pentecostal. Lofts that look like modern buildings, stone cathedrals, and gyms that look like churches. Who would have thought that looking for a connection and coffee might feel like surfing through a streaming service? There are too many options. Not enough corn.

The alarm on Sunday wakes you up. It might be nerves. It may be curiosity. You drive with shoes on and keys jangling. The first location you go is between a laundromat and a yoga studio. The nicest name tags in town are worn by greeters who wave at you like you’re famous. You get a bulletin and a donut hole. A regular whispered, “Sit on the right.” Those stained-glass windows let in more light on the left side. Someone makes a joke about how long the sermon is. Laughter. Immediate relief.

Here’s the truth: every church smells a little bit like coffee and hope. Old females who know how to make cookies. Teens who act like they aren’t texting. Kids moving around like worms in the spring. There is music, some of it loud and some of it makes you want to cry without notice. That’s what hooks you: the people and the everyday wonder of many voices.

Choosing a church isn’t like picking your socks, it turns out. Doctrines, styles of preaching, and who makes the best potato salad for a potluck. It does matter. But sometimes you just feel at home. It might be the hymn you hear from your childhood or a handshake that lasts long enough to be real. The best thing? No one thinks you should know everything on the first day.

There are a lot of strange things about the search. One church gives out tambourines. Another one offers espresso in the lobby. You slip out the back once, feeling overwhelmed, and someone chases you down the sidewalk, asking, “Hey, did you forget your umbrella?” It happens.

There are times when things are awkward. The “turn to your neighbor and say hello” moment. Do you shake hands, give high-fives, or wave like a shy turtle? You learn to deal with things as they come. The guy next to you who sings out of tune? He breaks the ice by living and breathing.

The preaching can sometimes hit home. Sometimes it flies right over your head, and all you can think about is the pastor’s karaoke tie. Still, the message gets through to your week.

Details about time are important. Times of service. Parking. Activities for toddlers who can’t sit still. Pizza for youth groups. Asking inquiries is a good idea. People at church love to ask questions. Potlucks and curiosity keep them going.

One week, you leave feeling better. You also bring home anxieties and leftovers in equal amounts. But the routine turns into a rhythm. You see people you know and make discreet connections. Over time, those strangers might become friends who go to brunch or sit on the porch and talk.

You learn something during this hunt that is clumsy, emotional, and propelled by caffeine. A home isn’t just four walls and a roof. It’s laughing when things get quiet. Kindness when you least expect it. The space to be completely yourself, with all your flaws and flaws. Sometimes, all it takes is the courage to show up with a donut in hand and hope for something real.