True confessions

This is something I have heard several times in the last few months. I will say or do something, and the person I am with will say, "You're back!" For some reason, this really bothers me. Everything in me fights that notion, and I usually end up "worse" for awhile. And I think it's because there's a lot packed into that concept of being "back to normal." I'm' not. It may seem like I am. But honestly, I can't stress this enough, a lot of it is fake. A lot of my days follow the "fake it til you make it" motto. Because of depression and grief and exhaustion, I have to pretend to be myself. I can sometimes feel myself subconsciously trying to figure out "what would Monica do in this situation?" so that I can approximate my own normal as best I can. Often, the statement that I'm back follows a whole lot of pretending to be my normal self. Even if it is a genuine moment of "me-ness," it does...

"Come Unto Me, Ye Weary" sounds easy. The second line is supposedly, "and I will give you rest." But that's not the real second line. The rest of the hymn goes like this: "And you will need to rest.  Because this hymn is awkward  And difficult at best. Oops that was a wrong note And those chords were all wrong.  You really should have spent more Time practicing this song"

True fact: The complexity level of the hymn is inversely proportional to the amount of time you leave yourself to practice.  If you wait until Sunday morning to look at the hymns, two of them will have 4 flats. One of them will have a bunch of accidentals (and I'm not talking about all the wrong notes you accidentally play...) and awkward chord structures.  Good luck. 

Playing chicken with yourself looks like this: *Looks at hymn list. Doesn't know what to play for pre-service.* "I'll figure that out later." And repeat, hoping that you eventually cave before the oncoming train of Sunday morning hits. I also call this: Playing for church in the summer when it's all "general" music and your brain is on summer break and used all the creativity in the festival season. See also: laziness, procrastination

It's a family thing. Worship is a family thing. In the rest of my life I might be independent, but when I enter the church, I become part of a family. My dad was the rock, the spiritual head of that family. It doesn't matter if you're 4, 14, or 24, worshipping together as a family is a tremendous blessing from God. Having a father who is a strong leader for your family is exactly how God designed marriage and family. And he's not there. He's gone. And even though he reared me to be a strong Christian woman, I'm weaker without him. Because I've lost my spiritual head. I've lost an important role God gives us fathers to fill. A role that is normally replaced with a husband, and not an empty void. Beyond the immediate family thing, the church itself is a family of believers. It's a family thing for everyone. Losing part of that family changes the dynamic. Church friends knew us as a family. Relationships are built to a degree not between indiv...

Special midweek services throw off your groove. Every time. We all have a rhythm. And that rhythm is based on Sunday mornings. That Ash Wednesday or Maundy Thursday or Ascension service? It's going to throw that rhythm out of whack. You now have your work/family/regular mid-week groove and your organist groove to reconcile. These grooves conflict. Moral of the story: Beware. The. Groove.

We have made it half a year. That sounds like a good thing. But it's actually really depressing. I have lived 6 long months without my dad. It's been 6 months since I was able to talk to him, touch him, be near him. It's been 6 months since I was able to worship next to him, joke with him, watch TV with him, or just be with him. I've lived through my first Thanksgiving without him, my first Christmas, my first Easter. We have had a few major life events: an engagement and a confirmation, both without him. And unfortunately, 6 months is just the beginning. The first half a year is the tip of the iceberg of the rest of my life without him. We have a lifetime of empty photographs where dad should be. A lifetime of holidays without him. Countless family celebrations that won't include Dad/Grandpa/Uncle David. A lifetime of days where I can't text him, can't go out for drinks with him, can't get his advice. A lifetime of being unable to feel him, ...