[Note: This entry talks about religion, and specifically my experience at church today. I'm warning you only because I know that religion can make people uncomfortable.]
I went to church this morning with J. It was the first time in a long time, quite possibly years, since I've gone to mass regularly. Maybe even since I was pregnant with him.
We went to the family mass. After the greeting, the children are invited to go to the basement of the church for the children's liturgy and return just before the Profession of Faith. I was impressed with and proud of J; when the kids left, he got up and went with no hint of hesitation. When he came back, he had a worksheet and a note. The note stated that he was chosen to carry the Lectionary Book next week. I asked J how he was chosen for this. He said that they asked if anyone wanted a job, and so he raised his hand. I just hope he wasn't chosen because he was wearing what one might describe as "play clothes" instead of "church clothes." Either way, J is looking forward to mass next week and said that T would like going downstairs with him, too.
I've been wanting to go back to church regularly, and I brought J as a sort of trial run. I figure it will be more motivating for me (and easier on Hubster) if J will come with me.
This week's homily seemed so tailor made for me that it could only be Divine Intervention. The priest spoke about praying to God, and how sometimes we don't get what we pray for. He explained that just because we don't get what we ask for, it doesn't mean that God hasn't answered our prayers. Rather, it could be that what we ask for is not what is best for us. I believe this completely, and hearing it explained to me (and the rest of the congregation) was very comforting.
I feel like I need some big conclusion, but Hubster just threw me a Klondike bar. Forgive me, but I'm gonna tear into that right now. Mmmm...