scribblechic

Sundays in our home lack the customs and routines of church.  Some weeks I miss the easy comfort of my childhood experiences; sitting among familiar faces in a moment of gratitude and celebration for the simple blessings of my life.  I was exposed to three differing religions as a child: my mother’s, my father’s, and later, my stepmother’s.  Their denominations are significant to them, but secondary to my story.  My faith exists among the shared experiences.  Values such as compassion and kindness, concepts of right and wrong, acts of prayer and thanksgiving have followed me offering comfort and strength in moments of difficulty and choruses of joy in moments of profound happiness.

My husband believes in God, but not the institution of church; comfortable in his beliefs and relationship with God outside the walls of a place of worship.  I honor his belief that faith is personal and lived best by example.  We attempt to guide our children in faith, offering our thoughts and providing them opportunities to experience various religions through preschool programs, summer camps, and visits to different churches.  It is important to me we walk this path as a family.

Today I am thankful for quiet Sundays in the company of my family and the faith that is my own.  I am remembering Sundays in a small rural church, hymns that enveloped the air and the faces of neighbors visiting over the backs of weathered pews.  I hope that one day my children will know the peace of gathering in a place of worship and raising their voices in joy, finding strength in something shared, and knowing a feeling of belonging in a moment of faith.