Yesterday, a Sunday morning:
- I wake up, feeling a need to go to church and be quiet and reflective and pray
- I Go to church
- Okay, yes, I get there a few minutes late, but I take my program humbly, receptively, sneak in through the back door
- I WALK RIGHT IN MID-DEDICATION OF BABIES
- (For the non-church going readers: this is when new parents bring their babies on stage and dedicate themselves, as parents, to raising their Baby in the church, and the pastor blesses the baby, and the baby pretends to answers questions and all of the childless mothers of Gilead in the sanctuary turn to brownie batter and melt out of their seats and die)
- I consider TURNING THE OTHER WAY AND RUNNING OUT OF THE CHURCH, and being quite noisy about it on purpose, maybe slamming through some doors, so that everyone knows my pain, and then sits there, putting two and two together
- I decide, instead, to quietly, respectfully take a seat towards the back and cry quietly, respectfully while the babies are dedicated
- I Listen to the Pastor as he tells the congregation that this couple in particular prayed and prayed for their daughter Rose; that she was a gift, not an assumption
- I realize how badly I needed to hear this
- I sit there, quietly, hearing everything else I needed to hear