On keeping things regular….

WARNING: Jesus post ahead.
Because I am a creature of habit, there are things that happen every day and every week in my life, typically without fail. I have the same routine every morning…wake up, check the news, jump in the shower, put on makeup and clothes, comb my hair, drink my coffee, blowdry my hair, head to work…all that good stuff.
Most Wednesdays, I play games with some friends. Every other Thursday, I get a manicure. These are just some of the things that have become regular occurrences for me…things that I know I get to do, that I can count on being there.
But there’s one thing that’s on my weekly list of “things to do” that, even if I don’t make it every week, is the most dependable thing on my list.
I go to church on Sunday.
It’s something I’ve done since I was in utero, I’m sure. Growing up, I often dreaded waking up early on Sunday and putting on nice clothes. Jeans were never allowed at church. Always had to wear slacks or dresses. As I got older, and continue to get older, going to church has become not something I have to do, but something I get to do. I’m a part of something when I’m there. I feel connected to many of the people there. It’s a place where I feel safe, where my opinions and struggles matter. There is an overwhleming sense of community when I’m at church…and being in community is incredibly important to me. I may disagree with or get annoyed at things from time to time, but maybe that’s part of it’s beauty.
There are weeks I wake up and simply cannot fathom getting out of bed and dragging myself to church. I feel like I miss something when I’m not there, but I’m also realizing that being in communion with myself and my surroundings is worship, too. But fairly typically, I do everything I can to get to church every Sunday at 9am to sit next to my parents and enjoy being with like-minded people who care about me.
Church is a place I intend to take my own children someday, maybe even forcefully (as was sometimes the case in my own childhood). I want and need for my children to understand that regardless of how much their parents and friends say they love them, they are covered in the unending grace, mercy, and love of Jesus. I want them to know that their mistakes and failures and shortcomings do not define who they are, because they are, first and foremost, children of God…and nothing matters more than that.
Even at the ripe old age of 31, I am coming to understand that, apart from the grace, mercy, and love of Jesus, I am incapable of experiencing joy and peace. I’ve said it before: anyone can find happiness and contentment. But true joy and peace? That’s something that I have only ever found when I find myself wrapped in the love of Jesus.

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