Take me to church

     I hadn't been to church since sometime, maybe, at the start of this year. I'm not confident in that.  It could very well have been at the end of last year.   It was after I finished up my night shift and before I had slept.  The only thing I remember is using every ounce of energy I had to keep my eyes open because I'd already lost the battle to keep my head off the back of the chair.  I don't remember the drive home at all but I know well enough that it was dangerously done (it may surprise you to learn that lack of sleep does not make me a good, alert, cautious driver).   I decided, then, to not ever do that again.  

     I've been on bedrest for 4 weeks now and it only recently occurred to me that I'm in a place to be able to go to church again. So it was - with great excitement you should know - that I decided to go to church this past Sunday.  I got up early, chugged my allotted one cup of coffee, devoured my breakfast, and dressed myself in jeans because it was FINALLY a little chilly around here.  A woman, a friend, that I've met not even a handful of times went out of her way to pick me up and get me there.

     As I'm not really allowed to stand or walk..."minimal" is the word my doctor likes to tell me...I sat during the entire service.  I've sat before during worship because sometimes it makes me feel closer to God to sit and be surrounded by people yet encased in my own small area of worship.   This time, though, it struck me that the choice to sit was not entirely mine and it wasn't entirely mine because of a very specific reason. There I sat because of a baby that I never thought would happen.  

     Many times had I lugged my burdened soul into church; many times had I stood in worship with a heart so shattered that I struggled to breathe; many times had I offered my mess of a life to the healing hands of Christ while words of praise sprang from my lips. But only once, in that very moment,  had I sat with a child living inside of me.   

My God. Thank You.