This year has changed me. Maybe because I've matured or because it's my choice (as oppose to Grandpa yelling at me) but I have recently had a strong desire to go to church. Recent events, such as the Newtown and Boston tragedies, have left me feeling so much anxiety for my children. A million questions run through my mind and it's enough to make me crazy. What if that happened to them? What would I do? Am I allowed to club people that try to hurt my children? Am I allowed to kill them? What if that happens to me? And my kids don't have a mother anymore?
(This is the point at which my husband officially thinks I am living the vida loca, if you know what I mean.)
All I can really do is pray. But...I don't go to church. Why would God listen to me? Why would He make time to comfort me if I have never really made time for Him? I am not sure if that's how the whole prayer thing works, but it makes sense in my brain. I don't want to wait until something terrible happens to me or my family to decide we need prayers. (Truth be told, with two children two years old and younger I need Jesus every day at about five p.m but I digress...) This is the year, the year that we load up the infant and toddler and go to church as a family. Even if the toddler has to go potty five times during mass. Even if we have to hold our wiggly baby while receiving communion. Even if we have to remove stickers from the pew that the toddler has so thoughtfully placed. We are going. We are going.
And we do.