going to church

T2014-09-18 14.25.43here are some Sundays when I wish I had the option of not going to church. Today is one of them. Of course when these days happen it usually means that it would be a good idea to go.

Saturday was ugly. I veered back and forth between tear generating sadness and raging anger. I was moody and unresponsive. I was snippy and irritable. By midday God and I were having a fight. Actually it was me yelling at God for being unfair. It started with me being mad at God for taking my husband from me after so short a time. And then I went on with list of ways that God has been unfair with me.

Now it’s Sunday morning and I have to go to church and carry out the duties of my vocation. I’m not sure I want to talk to God today. However I’m pretty sure God wants to talk to me.

So I’m going to church with all that is swirling around in my heart today. In all honesty the reason I’m going is nine parts duty and one part hope. Going out of duty is not a bad thing. “Stern daughter of the voice of God, O Duty.” That there is a little hope in there today is a good thing. “Hope does not disappoint.” So with my sadness and my anger and even with a small but growing sense of chagrin, I go to church.

when he comes

512He entered as he always does—simply, naturally, no fuse or fanfare. He just entered. He came into the house as I was in the kitchen puttering around doing nothing.

As usual I knew he shouldn’t be here but my heart filled up with joy at seeing him. He sat and we talked about small things and everyday things. At one point, while I was at the sink he came up behind me and gave me a hug. The scene played itself out as it has before.

Sometimes we talk about the big issue between us. Sometimes we don’t. When we do I’m always the one that brings it up. He never says much about it. It’s gotten to the point where even I just let the matter go without comment most of the time.

One time I said to him, “But, Howard baby, you’re dead.” He nodded his head and we sat in that comfortable silence that we shared in life many many times.

He enters my dreams frequently. He lingers. Often the dream ends with us together doing something amazingly ordinary. In last night’s dream I was talking to family members at some large gathering. As I walked into the next room he was sitting there reading. We chatted at bit about nothing and then we walked back into the room with family and whole thing was as uneventful as could be. When the dream took a turn toward the fantastic, he was suddenly gone.

The dreaming went on. Would that the words of the song were true: Life is but a dream.