If I wasn't for

There is something to be said about Sunday. It makes no difference if your a believer in God or not. There is a power in Sunday, a sort of cosmic humbling, an inexplicable rest, a need for preparation, a 5 more minuets please feeling that is attached to it. For me it was fostered in early morning rising. The rush, and yelling, and late of going to church. The 3rd to last pew on the right side of church. The knowing that whatever hand you held when your head was bowed in prayer traces of her ran though it and it was love. The gentle familiar squeeze of a cousin or an aunt. It was feeling of “I belong here” and “it’s ok”, and hymns, and the pulse of the drums as uplifted voices ushered in the presence of God. It was the 7th day. And on it we should rest.

Now the 7th day represents something different. It’s no longer the rush to church and uplifted voices, now it’s the rush to the bathroom to uplifted toilet seats. And still after the stomach settles and the room stops spinning. There is still that calm. The need for reflection and silence. And home. And family.

And if it wasn’t for these memories and moments. I don’t know who I would be. I’m still trying to find a balance between the youth and the spiritually. Believing only on Sunday mornings it’s not good for my faith. And its sad to think that I might have to pencil in God. Wonder if He feels that way about me.

They say the first step is admitting you have a problem….

Trying to rediscover faith,

KD