Sunday, January 11, 2009
Why I Love My Church
I had another mini-meltdown last night, sobbing on Gary's shoulder again -- he's been very patient with this pattern! -- and woke up at 5 a.m. feeling puffy and leaden. On my way to church, I glanced in a mirror and saw that I was doing a credible imitation of a zombie, with big dark circles under my glazed eyes.
At church, one priest said, "I think you need a hug," and gave me one. A friend asked, "Are you all right?" and when I said I wasn't, told me to call her whenever I need to vent. ("I'll just listen; if you don't want me to say anything, tell me to shut up.") Someone else, who's on our prayer chain and has been getting updates on the family situation, listened very empathetically during coffee hour.
I know these three people reasonably well, and consider the first two good friends; the third knows a lot from the prayer chain. I was very surprised and moved, though, by the reaction from a member of our vestry. She followed me from my old church, and we've always been friendly, but we've never been particularly close. After the service, though, she came up to me, gave me a hug, and said, "I want to do something for you. I want to help. May I arrange for you to receive a massage?"
I didn't even pretend to demur. "Oh, yes please," I told her. "Thank you very much!"
Go ahead. Twist my arm!
At Gary's urging, I told Dad that I had to stay home and concentrate on work today (although I'll be dropping some toiletries at his house after dinner). I slept most of the afternoon, but awoke feeling refreshed, and have actually, for a wonder, gotten some work done. There's a lot more to do, but it's a start!