This morning I went to church by myself. It may not sound like much to most readers, but it's a big deal for me. I dislike going to church alone almost as much as I dislike going to the dentist. . . and yet I long to go to church. For many years, I faithfully went alone, but then two things happened: my good friend Betty retired as organist. She had always kept me involved in the life of the church, finding tickets for me to sell in the lobby, sign-ups to do, committees to join, even projects to head. I used to say whatever came up, she'd say, "Judy will do it." About the same time, the minister I'd worked with left, all the people seemed to change, and I didn't have the base I'd had at the church. If I weren't single, would I have gone ahead and forged new connections, like my friends Jean and Jim who recently joined the church? I don't know. I do know that's what I should have done.
But the second thing is that my old phobia, a fear of being alone in open spaces (called agoraphobia), came back to haunt me. I lost my balance--or more accurately, my confidence in my balance. Curbs and steps without railings stymied me; so did parking lots. For a while, I really curtailed my travels and avoided telling friends. Slowly, I foiund that good friends accepted and stood ready to help. I began to force myself to do things, to take that step I didn't think I could. I carried a walking stick or a cane, to the puzzlement of many. I even discovered that I could use valet parking at church and not have to walk across the parking lot. But going back to church was hard, and I could usually find some piddling at home to avoid it. We could get really Freudian here and go back to my childhood and being forced to attend church, but I won't go there.
Then Jacob began to spend many Saturday nights with me, and I wanted him to grow up in the church. I regret with all my heart that my children didn't grow up in the church. After a first disastrous experience, where the day-care worked scared the daylights out of Jacob and set him to screaming and begging me to take him home, I waited months, tried again (with his mom this time), and he loved it. He thinks church is fun, though last week when I gave him his choice between playing and going to church with me, he chose church. I suppose next year, I'll have to get him going in time for Sunday school, and then I'll begin going to that again too.
My church has an interim minister. I've never gotten to know him, because of my spotty attendance record, but his sermons are wonderful. He's leaving in something like two weeks, and I didn't want to miss his sermon. LIstening on the radio didn't seem enough. Plus in my ongoing determination to overcome this phobia, doing things I should but would rather not is part of the program. This morning I decided I didn't really have to go, and then I drew mysellf up short and asked, "Are you going to be afraid all your life?" I made a bargain with myself: if I went to church, I didn't have to ride my exercise bike today.
I went to church. Not sure if God knows he won the bargain or not, but I was glad to be there. Sat with an acquaintance, greeted many people I know and like, got a hug from a special friend. I'll go again . And maybe ride the bike too.
Sorry, folks, I can neither explain nor fix the font change. It doesn't show up in draft, but when I publish the postk there it is. Thank you, Blogger!
Showing posts with label church attendance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church attendance. Show all posts
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Another good day
North Texas was like early fall today--up into the upper 70s, sunny and gorgeous. Tonight the temperature is to drop and tomorrow the forecast high is 39 with rain. If you don't like the weather, wait a minute and it will change. Mid-60s by Wednesday. Meantime I have gotten out warm fuzzies for tomorrow.
This morning I went to early church--8:45--something I maybe have done once or twice before. But today, my good friends Jean Walbridge and Jim Clark joined the church, and Jeannie and I were there as their cheering team. I haven't, as I've mentioned, been going to church, and it was good to be there--I always enjoy the ritual, the music, and today I enjoyed the sermon. The church at 8:30 is a far different place than it is at 10:45, and I was astounded--no traffic on the streets, empty places close up in the parking lot but no valet, no people in the halls on the way to the sanctuary--or at least very few. Still there was a fairly big crowd at the service. I didn't find it so hard to get up at 7 and be ready to leave at 8:30--still read the paper and had my breakfast. What I did find funny was that at 10 when I got home, I was hungry. Usually when I get home from church it's lunch time. So I said what the heck and ate the half leftover gorgonzola burger I had in the fridge while finishing the newspaper. Jean and Jim were warmly welcomed into the church, and I was really glad I had gone.
The sermon took its theme from "Jubilee," the Hebrew celebration every 50 years where fields lie fallow, land is returned to the original owners, and the enslaved are freed. Congregation Beth El, the local reformed Jewish temple, sent a representative with a shofar, the ram's horn symbolic of the ram that was sacrificed in place of Abraham's son. I thought it interesting that they sent a woman, for I think of Judaism still as a religion where men predominate. But this was a lovely attractive woman who wore a shawl I wanted to rip right off her and steal. She blew the shofar and reminded me I'd forgotten how shrill the sound is. When I was young my parents went to a church in a "changing" neighborhood, far from where my friends attended. But Dad had attended St. James since the 1920s, and he wasn't about to change. I went to the United Church of Hyde Park (Congregational and Presbyterian) and next door was a small orthodox Jewish temple. The grandmother of my good friend Eleanor Lee lived on the other side of the temple, so one way or another, I heard the shofar quite a bit. So hearing it this morning was a bit of nostalgia for me.
The rest of the day was spent mostly proofreading--and I finished the project this evening, though there are problems I have to work out tomorrow. I put a pot roast on about noon and added potatoes just before I napped about two; when I went to add carrots in the late afternoon, I feared I had let it cook too long. But Jordan, Christian, and I agreed it was delicious--I really would prefer just to do the potatoes and carrots and forget the meat. The cooking liquid is a can of mushroom soup, a pkg. of Lipton's beefy onion soup, and a half cup of red wine--makes delicious gravy.
Jacob had been sick last night, slept way too late and long this afternoon, and couldn't decide if he was happy (sometimes) or whiney (sometimes). I commented that the whiney doesn't happen much if at all when he's here with me alone. But we gave him his Christmas present from me--an Elmo sleeping bag. He was much excited by Elmo but didn't get the sleeping bag idea at all. Jordan says we'll take it to Houston and maybe Morgan will show him. Nonetheless he gave me a sweet kiss and hug and left with, "Thank you, Juju." He talks about "Do Claus" and cannot be persuaded to say Santa Claus.
This morning I went to early church--8:45--something I maybe have done once or twice before. But today, my good friends Jean Walbridge and Jim Clark joined the church, and Jeannie and I were there as their cheering team. I haven't, as I've mentioned, been going to church, and it was good to be there--I always enjoy the ritual, the music, and today I enjoyed the sermon. The church at 8:30 is a far different place than it is at 10:45, and I was astounded--no traffic on the streets, empty places close up in the parking lot but no valet, no people in the halls on the way to the sanctuary--or at least very few. Still there was a fairly big crowd at the service. I didn't find it so hard to get up at 7 and be ready to leave at 8:30--still read the paper and had my breakfast. What I did find funny was that at 10 when I got home, I was hungry. Usually when I get home from church it's lunch time. So I said what the heck and ate the half leftover gorgonzola burger I had in the fridge while finishing the newspaper. Jean and Jim were warmly welcomed into the church, and I was really glad I had gone.
The sermon took its theme from "Jubilee," the Hebrew celebration every 50 years where fields lie fallow, land is returned to the original owners, and the enslaved are freed. Congregation Beth El, the local reformed Jewish temple, sent a representative with a shofar, the ram's horn symbolic of the ram that was sacrificed in place of Abraham's son. I thought it interesting that they sent a woman, for I think of Judaism still as a religion where men predominate. But this was a lovely attractive woman who wore a shawl I wanted to rip right off her and steal. She blew the shofar and reminded me I'd forgotten how shrill the sound is. When I was young my parents went to a church in a "changing" neighborhood, far from where my friends attended. But Dad had attended St. James since the 1920s, and he wasn't about to change. I went to the United Church of Hyde Park (Congregational and Presbyterian) and next door was a small orthodox Jewish temple. The grandmother of my good friend Eleanor Lee lived on the other side of the temple, so one way or another, I heard the shofar quite a bit. So hearing it this morning was a bit of nostalgia for me.
The rest of the day was spent mostly proofreading--and I finished the project this evening, though there are problems I have to work out tomorrow. I put a pot roast on about noon and added potatoes just before I napped about two; when I went to add carrots in the late afternoon, I feared I had let it cook too long. But Jordan, Christian, and I agreed it was delicious--I really would prefer just to do the potatoes and carrots and forget the meat. The cooking liquid is a can of mushroom soup, a pkg. of Lipton's beefy onion soup, and a half cup of red wine--makes delicious gravy.
Jacob had been sick last night, slept way too late and long this afternoon, and couldn't decide if he was happy (sometimes) or whiney (sometimes). I commented that the whiney doesn't happen much if at all when he's here with me alone. But we gave him his Christmas present from me--an Elmo sleeping bag. He was much excited by Elmo but didn't get the sleeping bag idea at all. Jordan says we'll take it to Houston and maybe Morgan will show him. Nonetheless he gave me a sweet kiss and hug and left with, "Thank you, Juju." He talks about "Do Claus" and cannot be persuaded to say Santa Claus.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Stormy weather--and a new era?
It's one of those nights when the weather is "funny"--no other way to describe it. This afternoon, after the wind died down, it was sort of eery. Then it rained, a fairly determined silent rain. Tonight there was a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder but no more. Our county and those all around are under a tornado watch until the wee hours. So even though the weather's not doing anything, you feel it omnipresent, with a sense of anticipation. We're to have storms tonight and into tomorrow, so I've prepared my battle plan for getting Scooby out of the house in the morning. He is so terrified of storms!
Meg just called. She and Brandon have been following this storm across the country. It delayed them getting out of Salt Lale City yesterday, so they missed their flight in Denver and spent the night there. This morning the storm caught up with them in Denver and delayed them again, so they got to Austin at 4 this afternoon instead of midnight last night, bringing the storm with them.
With dire predictions about the weather, I called my dinner guests and asked if they wanted a rain check. I also told them the menu had changed because I couldn't get quail. The quail, Linda said, didn't matter one bit but the possibility of 70 mph winds made a difference. We'll do it another time. Meantime I cooked my meatloaf and Sue came from next door to share it. We got to talking, I left the meatloaf in the oven, and it was dry--but still good.
I went to church this morning. The walls didn't fall in--how embarrassing would that be? And I enjoyed the service. Many of the elements--hymns, music, etc.--were taken from the original service for the laying of the cornerstone 75 years ago, and the anthem was specially commissioned for today. Posts not very far down the aisle from the chancel marked the boundary of the original church--it was a whole lot smaller than today's sanctuary! Somehow as I sat there following the service, I thought how much of the liturgy doesn't change--and I find that comforting. I like the hymns of my youth, the familiar words. And yet our church, like many, experiments with the service, tries new things, is ever changing. And I'm the last one to say change is bad, yet it's hard not to cling to old ways in church--and in our lives. It struck me that Barack Obama may indeed be the sign of a tidal wave of change in our country, a change that is somehow all wrapped up in changing values, behaviors, even linked somehow to the enormous popularity of evangelical churches. What, I wonder, are the American people looking for?
Sue said she'd read or heard on NPR that Obama resembles Reagan in some ways (not economic policy, we hope!)--he talks of hope, without a concrete plan, and he's come along at a time when the American people feel their world is at least out of kilter if not falling apart. Reagan was a kindly fatherly figure; Obama is an attractive, charismatic, fairly young man. He represents, as did Reagon before, an arm up--never mind the hard realities. Don't get me wrong--I'm still holding out hope for Hillary. I think she has the plan and not just the words, and I think she found her issue in the last few days in homeland security but she should have started earlier.
I guess I'll go back to figuring out the history of Scots in Texas. It's a whole lot easier than figuring out what Americans want as opposed to what they need.
Meg just called. She and Brandon have been following this storm across the country. It delayed them getting out of Salt Lale City yesterday, so they missed their flight in Denver and spent the night there. This morning the storm caught up with them in Denver and delayed them again, so they got to Austin at 4 this afternoon instead of midnight last night, bringing the storm with them.
With dire predictions about the weather, I called my dinner guests and asked if they wanted a rain check. I also told them the menu had changed because I couldn't get quail. The quail, Linda said, didn't matter one bit but the possibility of 70 mph winds made a difference. We'll do it another time. Meantime I cooked my meatloaf and Sue came from next door to share it. We got to talking, I left the meatloaf in the oven, and it was dry--but still good.
I went to church this morning. The walls didn't fall in--how embarrassing would that be? And I enjoyed the service. Many of the elements--hymns, music, etc.--were taken from the original service for the laying of the cornerstone 75 years ago, and the anthem was specially commissioned for today. Posts not very far down the aisle from the chancel marked the boundary of the original church--it was a whole lot smaller than today's sanctuary! Somehow as I sat there following the service, I thought how much of the liturgy doesn't change--and I find that comforting. I like the hymns of my youth, the familiar words. And yet our church, like many, experiments with the service, tries new things, is ever changing. And I'm the last one to say change is bad, yet it's hard not to cling to old ways in church--and in our lives. It struck me that Barack Obama may indeed be the sign of a tidal wave of change in our country, a change that is somehow all wrapped up in changing values, behaviors, even linked somehow to the enormous popularity of evangelical churches. What, I wonder, are the American people looking for?
Sue said she'd read or heard on NPR that Obama resembles Reagan in some ways (not economic policy, we hope!)--he talks of hope, without a concrete plan, and he's come along at a time when the American people feel their world is at least out of kilter if not falling apart. Reagan was a kindly fatherly figure; Obama is an attractive, charismatic, fairly young man. He represents, as did Reagon before, an arm up--never mind the hard realities. Don't get me wrong--I'm still holding out hope for Hillary. I think she has the plan and not just the words, and I think she found her issue in the last few days in homeland security but she should have started earlier.
I guess I'll go back to figuring out the history of Scots in Texas. It's a whole lot easier than figuring out what Americans want as opposed to what they need.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Museums and Presbyterians
Last night I went to the signing for the Day of the Dead book at the Museum of the Americas in Weatherford. The museum is one of those undiscovered treasures that exist throughout America--and it's fun to discover it and then share it with friends. Owner Harold Lawrence gave us a little background--a retired professor of English, he's been collecting for over 50 years and his wife for over 30. Their collections complement but do not echo each other. The front half of the museum--one huge room with magnificent old wooden display cases--is "his." It showcases artifacts from all over North America, almost exclusively Native American things but not just the Southwest. All areas of the country are recognized, particuarly Harold's native Northwest. Clothing, food vessels, an amazing collection of arrowheads, too much to mention and certainly too much to absorb in one visit (this was my second visit). And all of it carefully labelled. The labelling of the large arrowhead collection most amazed me--they arrived all jumbled together in a box. Harold sorted, identified, mounted and made signage.
The back half of the former storefront displays Elizabeth's interests in Latin and South America, especially Mexico. There are four smaller areas back there, and last night one room was devoted to a wonderfully colorful and authentic Day of the Dead altar, modeled in part on one of the photographs in our book.
Ward, author of the text, gave an informal but charming and informative talk on the custom of the Day of the Dead, and then people milled, looked, drank wine and ate Elizabeth's wonderful food--and generally had a good time. (I hope they also bought books!) It was an eclectic crowd--mostly older (look who's talking) but wonderfully friendly and enthusiastic.
Afterward my neighbor Sue and I had supper at Sapristi's--she ate mussels, which I'm a little bit leery about trying but might well love, and I had a Caesar salad and a decadent chocolate mousse.
This morning I went to nearby St. Stephen's Presbyterian Church with my friend Betty. We wanted to see the Kirken O' the Tartans (Blessing of the Tartans). Eight bagpipers were accompanied by several drummers and followed by a parade of tartans--wish I knew more about identifying the various plaids, but I don't. The thunderous music was thrilling, reason enough to be there. But I found the church interesting--I know of course that the Presbyterian church traces back to Scotland, but I didn't realize how heavily they rely on Scottish creeds and prayers and how often they refer to Scotland. I've been to other Presbyterian churches--indeed grew up in one that was a combined Presbyterian/Congregational congregaton--and still don't remember that. So it may be this church and this particular service. Otherwise, the service was more formal and full of ritual than mine, although the Disciples are an offshoot of Calvinism. Still I'm used to hearing ministers pray from the heart rather than read a prescribed prayer, and I'm not used to the congregation reciting so many creeds. And then there's the issue of that focus on how sinful we are . . . . well, I won't be transferring my membership but I enjoyed the morning immensely.
The service ended with the recession of the tartans and once again, they were escorted by the pipers and drummers. Betty offered to leave early but I wouldn't hear of it. Somehow though we were the first out the door, to be greeted with the people bearing tartans on standards lining the walk away from the church--nobody followed us, so we made that long walk (I suspect there was twenty tartans displayed) by ourselves feeling a little as if we were walking the gauntlet, though all the tartan bearers smiled and greeted us happily. I sort of wanted to linger and ask each what clan they represented.
Now a quick nap and then off to a party at a friend's lake house. Quite a weekend.
The back half of the former storefront displays Elizabeth's interests in Latin and South America, especially Mexico. There are four smaller areas back there, and last night one room was devoted to a wonderfully colorful and authentic Day of the Dead altar, modeled in part on one of the photographs in our book.
Ward, author of the text, gave an informal but charming and informative talk on the custom of the Day of the Dead, and then people milled, looked, drank wine and ate Elizabeth's wonderful food--and generally had a good time. (I hope they also bought books!) It was an eclectic crowd--mostly older (look who's talking) but wonderfully friendly and enthusiastic.
Afterward my neighbor Sue and I had supper at Sapristi's--she ate mussels, which I'm a little bit leery about trying but might well love, and I had a Caesar salad and a decadent chocolate mousse.
This morning I went to nearby St. Stephen's Presbyterian Church with my friend Betty. We wanted to see the Kirken O' the Tartans (Blessing of the Tartans). Eight bagpipers were accompanied by several drummers and followed by a parade of tartans--wish I knew more about identifying the various plaids, but I don't. The thunderous music was thrilling, reason enough to be there. But I found the church interesting--I know of course that the Presbyterian church traces back to Scotland, but I didn't realize how heavily they rely on Scottish creeds and prayers and how often they refer to Scotland. I've been to other Presbyterian churches--indeed grew up in one that was a combined Presbyterian/Congregational congregaton--and still don't remember that. So it may be this church and this particular service. Otherwise, the service was more formal and full of ritual than mine, although the Disciples are an offshoot of Calvinism. Still I'm used to hearing ministers pray from the heart rather than read a prescribed prayer, and I'm not used to the congregation reciting so many creeds. And then there's the issue of that focus on how sinful we are . . . . well, I won't be transferring my membership but I enjoyed the morning immensely.
The service ended with the recession of the tartans and once again, they were escorted by the pipers and drummers. Betty offered to leave early but I wouldn't hear of it. Somehow though we were the first out the door, to be greeted with the people bearing tartans on standards lining the walk away from the church--nobody followed us, so we made that long walk (I suspect there was twenty tartans displayed) by ourselves feeling a little as if we were walking the gauntlet, though all the tartan bearers smiled and greeted us happily. I sort of wanted to linger and ask each what clan they represented.
Now a quick nap and then off to a party at a friend's lake house. Quite a weekend.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Church attendance, writing, babies
Well, I didn't go to church again today and then spent much of the day in angst over it. I think I don't go because I don't like to go alone. I truly enjoy the service--the music in my church is rich and wonderful, the quiet moments of prayer are soothing, and the sermons often challenge me to new ways of thinking about my life. This morning I used the excuse (to myself) that I was enthusiastic about writing a piece I'd been putting off for a long time--and I did write it, plus polished up a newspaper column and sent it off. And I have an idea for a new column--just wish I knew where to go with it. But all of that could have been done this afternoon. My resolve is to get myself in gear and go to church next week--oh, not next week. All the kids will be here, and I'll be fixing a huge breakfast. But the next week for sure. And I think the following week Jordan and I are off to Houston for Morgan's second b'day.
Tonight Jordan and I took Jacob to Hoffbrau because I had a two-for-one thing for my birthday and it expired today. Jacob was not having a good day--his teeth hurt him and he hadn't napped. Halfway through dinner he decided he wasn't sitting in that high chair any longer without screaming. Jordan had her dinner put in a "to-go" box and left me to eat in solitary splendor. I soon joined her, and she explained that she knew he was about to have a meltdown. He had capped it all by throwing his sippee cup on the table where it spilled her glass of wine all over everything. For Jordan, that was the final straw. I'm still not sure which one was having the meltdown--mother or baby or maybe both--but I sympathize with her. We ran by Barnes & Noble to pick up something she wanted and then came home where she finished her dinner and Jacob turned positively cheerful, favoring me with his silliest grins. I don't remember teething or screaming in restaurants or any of those things with mine, but my kids tell me I have a selective memory. And I don't think we took them to restaurants until they were seven or eight. It's a new worled of raising children.
Tonight Jordan and I took Jacob to Hoffbrau because I had a two-for-one thing for my birthday and it expired today. Jacob was not having a good day--his teeth hurt him and he hadn't napped. Halfway through dinner he decided he wasn't sitting in that high chair any longer without screaming. Jordan had her dinner put in a "to-go" box and left me to eat in solitary splendor. I soon joined her, and she explained that she knew he was about to have a meltdown. He had capped it all by throwing his sippee cup on the table where it spilled her glass of wine all over everything. For Jordan, that was the final straw. I'm still not sure which one was having the meltdown--mother or baby or maybe both--but I sympathize with her. We ran by Barnes & Noble to pick up something she wanted and then came home where she finished her dinner and Jacob turned positively cheerful, favoring me with his silliest grins. I don't remember teething or screaming in restaurants or any of those things with mine, but my kids tell me I have a selective memory. And I don't think we took them to restaurants until they were seven or eight. It's a new worled of raising children.
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