Tonight, I chose the cookies.
Yesterday was a weird day. When people asked, I answered that it was good (after all, it was Mother's Day), and really, I didn't have much to complain about. Ben made me breakfast (a super yummy omelet with spinach, onion, pepper, and aged cheddar. mmmmmmmm), the kiddos got me a gorgeous hanging basket, and Treefrog made me a very cute plate in his pre-k. It was fine. Really.
Except, it wasn't.
Ben and I went to service for the first time in 2 (3?) months. We were out of town every weekend in March, I taught or helped in the third grade class throughout April, and then check outs happened. We were busy, is all I'm sayin'. Rewind to the previous times I had been to church. . . I had never once felt lacking in our service. I had never felt disconnected from those around me. I had never had the desire to stand up and scream about the lack of participation in the service. Never.
I sat in service and was struck by how I felt like I was watching a performance. I was put off by the people singing, or more like whispering, around me. I felt as though I was disconnected from those sitting in front, behind, and beside me. It put me in such a funk. I was restless. I was angry. I couldn't engage in the happenings, no matter how much I prayed for a connection.
Two months and the gathering that I have become a part of on Sunday evenings has completely flipped my world upside down without my knowledge. I was completely unprepared to realize that my church, my connection with other worshipers, the time where I feel I bring forth my gifts and offer them to God alongside others, was usurped by a gathering that, a year ago, I would have said I wouldn't have a place in.
I am still processing this - with Ben, with God, apparently here. I know I will be okay with this eventually. I think I will need to allow myself some time to mourn this loss. Does that sound silly?