Today is Sunday and like any Christian kid, my thoughts turn to church. Only today I’m not there and I honestly haven’t been for quite awhile.
I’ve meant to. I’ve wanted to. Every Saturday night I make plans for it.
But when Sunday morning rolls around and we’re climbing out of the fog from Bryan getting home from work at midnight, it easily tumbles to the bottom of the priority list. It falls way down below sleep, food, showers for everyone, and a good wrestling session with Welly.
We’re finding that the schedule of a wedding photographer can be rough on family life. Rhythm and routine are hard to come by when your work hours revolve around the sunrise or sunset, or more often, when the beer finally runs out at a wedding reception.
Back on the home front, the laundry piles to the sky, we eat apples and cheese too many meals in a row, and mom gets a little bit crazy.
I wouldn’t always have been ok with how much we miss church, but right now I am. I mean, I’m ok with it because I know for the past year, it’s what we’ve needed to do. But I miss it. I love the ritual of shaking off the daily grind and gathering together to reach out to God.
A pastor from our church (who I also consider a friend) asked me if we had decided not to be a part of organized religion anymore. I laughed because I’ve realized that is like asking if I’m done with drinking coffee, or taking long walks in the woods. I might take a break but I am never done. Going to church is in my bones and I don’t think that will ever change.
If Church had a Facebook page, our relationship status would say: “it’s complicated.” There have been reasons that I needed space, times when it was healthier for me and church to take a break, but I always come back. And I always remember the words to the hymns. I could sing them in my sleep if only I was sleeping these days :).
Since becoming a mama, my faith is stronger than ever, albeit drastically changed. This is in spite of, not because of my sporadic church attendance.
More than ever now, I understand the need to call on some resources that are bigger than myself.
I know what it means to feel humble and small in the grand scheme of things, while I hold my child through a night of labored breathing.
I’ve cried out for help while I’m puking my pregnant guts out for the tenth time in a day and feeling lower than low.
I’ve begged for insight and the courage to face some of my deep inner shit, knowing it was the way towards love. Actually that should not be in the past tense. That is still happening.
I’ve looked into my child’s eyes and known that SOMEONE is going to have to intervene here in order for me to have any chance of being what he needs me to be.
I’ve felt the emptiness of being only human and limited when I need superhuman powers in order to face one more poopy butt.
I also know what it’s like to feel powerful and strong, like I’ve been given the gift of the exact wisdom needed for the moment.
I’ve seen what pure love and trust look like in my newborn who relies on me for survival and to make sense of her loud new world.
I know that I need to reach deep into my spirit moment by moment, and I know that God is the solid ground that I find when I reach.
I know that church will be a great place to celebrate the presence of God in my life when I’m able to make it again. That might be next week, month, or year. I’m not really sure.
For now though, I’m writing alone from a little table in my coffee shop with a huge cappuccino and I think that is the biggest evidence of God’s love for me today.
Happy Sunday and I hope that whatever you’re doing today feels a little bit restful and sacred.
Random pics of perfect babies: