Ugh. It was a Sunday I definitely did NOT want to go to church. First of all, I'd gotten horrible sleep with six-week-old Little Bit the night before, and she had been fussy all day, a break from her usual roll-with-it demeanor that I assumed had something to do with a growth spurt. But second, this is a church my husband and I started together, so even during a self-declared "parental leave," it can still feel like "work" to attend worship. This is because I am one of the 2 people who know where the giant plastic lighter is stored, how the projector works, how to get ahold of the bassist, and where to put everything back when we're done (we borrow space and have to set up and take down every week).
Bless her heart*, she's on her second infant, 3-year-old in tow, and she was cataloging all the ways her faith community had supported her newly enlarged family in the last several weeks: meals brought over, play time spent, trusted friends who could discipline her older son when her hands were full with her younger, etc.
Her perspective flipped mine: taking Little Bit to church was not going to be a hassle, or a trial--it was going to be sweet relief. I had a community of dear, devoted people who were as eager to hold and love on Little Bit as I was desperate to have the length of a worship service to myself for both the mental and spiritual sanity. So I hied over to church and promptly passed her off to the first in a long chain of "aunties" and "uncles"** in order for some sorely needed recharging of the batteries. Bliss just thinking about it.
It pressed home for me the importance of community in general, but particularly that of spiritual community. Something about the way we are tied together by our joys and concerns...by a place where we can be emotionally vulnerable...by the sacred rituals of taking communion, praying, singing together...renders us family. (Or maybe it's someOne.) It's priceless to have people in your life who will hold, rock, and cajole your child for an hour or two because they understand that you need the head and heart space to connect with God just as much as you need a nap or need someone else to make dinner (which is A LOT).
And as with so many other things in my life, I dragged my feet only to realize that I really needed church that day. And most days.
Except on vacation.
In conclusion, you know you've got it made when your child poops all over Uncle Paul's lovely pink shirt and he happily holds onto her until you've finished presiding over communion***.
As we say in the South, "Thank you JEE-sus."
What's your connection to your faith community these days? Nonexistent? Ambivalent or conflicted? Great when you can make it there? Strained by having to keep up appearances? Bliss?
*Something said in the American South to indicate either (as in this case) a sincere wish that mercy and blessing be bestowed on someone for the difficult situation they find themselves in, or (more often) a polite way of saying the exact opposite (e.g. "Bless his heart, he just doesn't have the fashion sense God gave a porcupine.")
**Growing up in the Midwest, I didn't hear many folks calling non-blood relatives "aunt" or "uncle", but it seems to be a thing here in the South and I've totally adopted it. I love the extension of family it implies, as well as the recognition, super-important in a faith community that welcomes all sexual orientations and family makeups, that family isn't just who you're born into.
***Paul, father of 4 daughters, gave me some awesome advice after I apologized for the poop incident by buying him his favorite key lime pie: "If you buy someone a gift every time your child embarrasses you, you'll go broke." Word.