Gifts and Grace

For my Mother, on Easter Sunday, so she would not have to go alone, I attended mass for the first time in close to three years.  The earth didn’t open up and swallow me whole, lightening didn’t strike me, and I was not reduced to a pillar of salt.  The atmosphere, achingly familiar and heartbreakingly foreign, was welcoming.

The homily was about hope and allowing grace into our lives.  I wanted so much to debate him – but that’s frowned upon during mass (especially by mothers).  As he spoke I felt my arms crossing in front of my chest and I had to deliberately put them back down.

My daughter asked me how I knew all the songs.  I learned them over 38 years of Sundays.  They are a part of me…and I miss the music.

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