I woke up late but managed to get it together enough to arrive only 10 minutes late for church.
I remember as a child hearing the church bells tolling in my small town signaling time to hurry, wish I had those now...
I have recently switched churches. Again. I now go to a small, mission church where some of my dearest friends landed when my old home church shattered and splintered for reasons that are still inexplicable to me. I know it involved politics and ego and money and lot of pain. It just seemed to steamroll and either crush, flatten or knock us all for a loop.
But I digress.
I have been dropping in, on this small congregation, because first it was closer than the church I was hanging out at in Cynthiana, but then it grew on me. I loved seeing familiar faces. I loved feeling those hugs again. I liked worshiping with friends. It felt like home.
Today was healing Sunday. Usually a team of 2 people go to the chapel and wait for people to come in after receiving communion to pray for specific requests. Today I went to ask for healing for grief. Not just mine but for a friend also, who has experienced several losses recently, a brother and an uncle. One friend placed her hand on my heart and wrapped her other arm around me, the other friend wrapped his arm around me and we became a closed circle of faith. The intimacy of prayer is healing, the sharing of tears is holy, the love shared between friends is essential. This is why I need Sundays.