Another Sunday. Another opportunity missed to go to church. Not on purpose, mind you. Mum-in-law had emergency heart surgery Saturday, so we rushed to her bedside in another state. She's doing fine. A real trooper at 81.
But that brings me back to the topic of going to church. When I was younger -- much younger -- growing up younger -- I attended church on a regular basis. Some might even say I attended church on a obsessive basis. Blame my parents. We were Southern Baptist in Texas. Not your "backsliden Baptists" or "Easter and Christmas Baptists," but real bible-thumping born-again, "you're going to hell if you dance" Baptists. Let me tell you, Jewish and Catholic mothers don't even begin to know how to dole out the guilt like Baptist mothers.
Again, I digress. I was at church at least three times a week, often more if you count youth group meetings and choir practice. I was going to be a missionary and save the world for Jesus.
Today, I'm neither a regular church goer nor a Baptist. That faith and I parted paths a long time ago. Seems I have a problem with the subservient wife thing. But come Sunday morning, I do feel the need to be in church. Methodist, now. More forgiving than the Baptists and a good compromise between my husband's Lutheran faith and my Baptist upbringing.
Lately, I've been feeling a spiritual void. What am I doing with my life? I am contributing in some way to make life better for others? And, the biggie -- how can I do that? No one is sending me a telegram with the answers. Thus, I've decided to become a regular church goer again. Faith has never failed me, so maybe this time through faith and prayer I can find the answers to what I'm searching for. If nothing else, they still have great potlucks...just kidding.
Liberating Plankton, part 1
6 days ago