I wish I could remember that my deodorant is low or the dishwasher needs soap or that I have to cook again tomorrow night’s dinner (again).
I can’t do spaghetti again.
I was at the store today, I got the presents. Not wrapped or under the tree. Did I remember everyone?
I wish I could go back to the pews and sit and stand and sing and smile. The way I used to before. They didn’t kick me out, I just knew it was a lie to stay.
A long time of Christmas Eve services, always there for baby Jesus and the coffee and cream and hot cocoa and good cheer.
Now.
It is different.
The smiles, the service, the pats on the back.
The quiet words of disapproval, disappointment, disconnected, disbelief.
It is all the same.
same menu.
I call out for you Jesus.
You who I need and worship and confess to and long for.
You who reached for me at my desperate cries and despair in my grief and loss and fear and spoke
I AM.
You said you are here for me and you are.
The people are precious and the people are mine, but the people are just people.
You said
Do not be afraid
And I’m not anymore.
The candy-land game board and the messy counter and the unaffordable haircut and the unattainable friend.
You say
I am here
I’m not leaving
I’ve got you
And you do
I believe
In this changed syllabus
I believe.
