Sunday Sentiment

 Yesterday, our family suffered a great loss. The youngest son of a family friend tragically passed away in a swimming accident. He was just 24, but had already lived a full and adventurous life. Although he grew up in a different state and we didn't get to see him very often, I thought of him almost as a distant older brother. Every year at Easter, he and his brother would join us in our egg hunt. After he and his family moved away, we only saw him once or twice a year-- at Christmas or Easter. Once, when I was seven or eight years old, we visited his new house in Vermont. We went to a play, and I rode with him and his brother on the way there. They told me that every time you passed a graveyard, you had to hold your breath until it was out of sight or the dead people would come after you. I think I believed that story until I was eleven or twelve years old. I remember he liked to collect camels figurines when he was young, and I saw his collection once. I wish I had gotten to know him better as I got older, because I so enjoyed hearing about his exploits and adventures in college and beyond. I last saw him in 2009 at the joyful occasion of his graduation from college. I hope that as his family and friends mourn the loss of him in this life, his gentle soul will continue to live on and comfort them until they meet again.

A reminder...

It feels so wonderful to be back at school, and back in the community that I love so dearly. It seems so ironic to me that despite my various commitments to my studies, clubs, student council, and sleep, I still manage to have more time for prayer, meditation, and church than I have had in months.

The church that I attend in Durham is home to a vibrant, active, well-established, and progressive congregation that I look forward to joining each week for worship. It reminds me of the church that I was raised in, before the pastor moved away and attendance fell. When I was little, I used to imagine raising my own children in the same church, but when my parents left the church, everything changed. My dad often says that he is sorry we did not have a church community growing up, but in truth, I still think of the Presbyterian church as my home. The wrinkled and soft faces kissing my cheek, the sweet (and sometimes tone deaf) voices joining together in praise, the haunting sound of the organ echoing from the vaulted Gothic ceiling, the smooth feel of the lacquered pews, and the taste of cookies and juice after each service are all vivid memories of my childhood.

When I set foot in church each Sunday that I'm at school, I feel those memories rushing back to me, and through the week I am filled with thoughts of God's love for me. How He always makes things come full circle. It's a wonderful feeling, and I'm so glad I have found a place that will help me cultivate that feeling.