In Which Blogs And Babies Are My Church

You can tell I’ve been reading Sarah Bessey when I want to start all the post titles with ‘In which’… 😉

So, did not end up travelling out to camp after all. In the middle of the night I woke feeling like it probably wasn’t a good idea, and then in the morning I got a message from dad, who had been going to drive me out there (me being carless and all), and when I rang and spoke to him we decided that yes, it would probably be more sensible if I stayed at home.

When I stay home all day, it’s very, very, oh-far-too-easy for one day to become exactly like the others. It’s hard to maintain a sense of separation, and it’s especially hard when I’m home alone, or alone with the small boy, to make my Saturday a Sabbath. Much as I love listening to music, our collection is a mess (has been for years, that’s why I stopped listening to music all the way back at the end of highschool), we have no particularly convenient way to listen to it, and I usually have the TV off when I’m home by myself anyway. So how is the day any different?

Today, two things. Rather than going indiscriminately through my feed reader and reading All Teh Blogz, I decided I would concentrate on the blogs that to me, are church: Sarah Bessey and Elizabeth Esther in particular today. The main posts I read and loved today are listed below.

The other thing – the verse I read last night before bed – I’m reading the Bible again, on my phone, a short devotion with a verse or two, I’ve read the whole thing cover to cover and I don’t know how to read it any more, I’m relying on my phone devotionals, but the last set I chose fizzled, it’s been a while since I’ve been reading regularly – was about love and self sacrifice, the verse about no man having any greater love than to lay down his life for a friend, and every time I beg God for direction of late, crying out for something to do, a difference to make, the answer is always, every time: Small Person.

And so I thought that maybe today would be about laying aside myself for the Small Boy, and so I tried, and we looked at the dogs until he’d had enough for once (which took over half an hour), and I sat him in the big kitchen sink with a towel and filled up the small sink with warm water and cups and spoons and drink bottles, and we played and poured and splashed, and we read stories and watched the dogs some more, and played a little on the ipad, and ate oranges and watermelon and grapes and pretended it was summer. For one day, I put aside the computer except when he was sleeping, I didn’t try to do anything but Be, and I Was, and it was hard, and required so much less multi-tasking than I am used to, and so much more patience – but you know what?

It was church.

 

7 Worst International Aid Ideas

Why Disappearing Into Motherhood Is Not A Betrayal of Feminism

In Which I Admit To Being Afraid Of Poverty

Can You Be Christian And Drive A BMW?

I Asked God To Break My Heart

Running is My Religion

True Tolerance

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby!

The Pornification of Marriage

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In Which I Am Seven Months Old Again

I’m being irresponsible tomorrow. I’m ditching the baby and I’m driving (being driven) out to the camp where currently resides my husband, and I’m going because I feel like there is a husband-shaped hole in my chest, even though he’s only been gone a night and a half so far, but I can’t breathe without him around, and he keeps me sane.

I’m going, because I miss him already, even though he would only have gotten home two hours ago if this had been a regular work day, and I remember all the reasons why I’m not an army wife, like so many of my dearest, most-adored friends, and I am grateful, and I am ashamed, because I am not as strong as they are.

But also, it occurs to me that I am going tomorrow because it is camp, not just because it is where my husband is. Packing him off, sending him to camp with one of my scripts and no way to ever see it performed, to know if the message was Right, and clear, and true – it is wrong. It is not, really, because I have a small person, and he is my world at the moment, because I am his. But it felt wrong. I need camp.

Church has been hit and miss over the last term – hard with a small child, especially a baby far too young to sit quietly and play, but also too old to sleep through the service – just exactly the right age to know that people mean fun, and attention, and to crave it. And it occurs to me that the husband-shaped hole is not as big as the God-shaped hole.

And that is why I am like a seven-month old: I know who God is, and I know that I want him around, but I’m the child who’s crawled out into the middle of the floor and forgotten her way back. I can’t remember which way I came from, where I left Him, which room He was in… and I’m out of strength to crawl, and I can’t walk, and all I can do is sit in the middle of the floor sobbing – Mummy, I need you, come find me – God, where are you, please pick me up. I need a hug.

I’m seven months old, and I can’t walk to God, and I’ve forgotten which way to crawl – so tomorrow, I am going to be irresponsible, and go to the camp I’m not supposed to be at, and leave the small person behind – but maybe, just maybe, I will find Him there.