Sunday morning service in the church where our family has baptisms, weddings, funerals. Well, except that the new building was under construction when I was born, so services were at the nearby junior high school. I was actually baptized in the orchestra pit, which is a pretty good beginning for a future musician.
Walked the floor where my father's casket was placed for his funeral. Wandered the halls where Sunday School teachers taught me right from wrong and explained that there were children dying from lack of food and medicine -- which I vowed at age 10 to do something about. Touched the pipe organ that children were forbidden to touch. Walked up to the altar where my soon to be ex husband and I exchanged wedding vows some 30 years ago.
So many emotions from grief to joy, but the overarching sensation was one of gratitude:
For the people who gave sacrificially to build this beautiful place where so much has happened in my life.
For the minister who taught us to be in awe of the astonishing universe God created.
For the teachers who patiently explained lessons of charity and love.
For the kindergarten choir director who had us sing, unbelievably, In Excelsis Deo [Angels We Have Heard On High]. I did years later have occasion to ask him what possessed him to teach such difficult music to 5 year olds. He said he simply didn't explain that it was difficult, and we did it. There's a lesson in there somewhere.
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Photo by Arkansas Wanderer
