Most often, in those moments, I was just as unwilling to search for that beauty as I was worried about everything I could not control. That’s a bleak place to be, y’all. I buzzed with discontent, literally and figuratively hungry for something to fill my body with calm.
I leaned over to my husband, who had been at the church since early in the morning—we hadn’t talked yet, and gave him the look of “Oh my goodness … What happened?”
He whispered back, each word a wound to the heart. “Worst mass shooting… gay nightclub… loyal to ISIS… 50 dead... hostages…”
My heart felt like it would implode.
I was devastated—I was heartbroken.
But surprisingly, I wasn’t confused.
I don’t often eat cake, but when I do, I like to eat it for breakfast. Nothing too sweet, no sugary frosting (I’m more of a butter girl). But if there’s an extra little slice leftover, I’m much more likely to enjoy it with an early morning cup of coffee than after a full dinner (isn’t that the worst time for dessert? We need to rethink this…)...
Over the years, I’ve been a part of all kinds of different Christian churches. Big and small. Modern and traditional. Churches with big buildings and moving lights, and churches that meet in living rooms. There is one pattern though that remains unaffected by the style of church: there are certain holidays when people are more inclined to give church a chance — and when the regular attenders are sure to be in attendance. Christmas, definitely. Easter for sure. But you’ll notice that we don’t see this same phenomenon on Good Friday.
Every morning, I stand in a circle with my coworkers as we rattle off prayer requests.
It’s a practice that I’ve never experienced at a workplace, and I like it. I like knowing what’s going on with the people I work with, and standing with them in solidarity -- in the good and the bad -- and bringing everything before God.
But I have to be honest. It’s also really hard for me....