Prayers, peace, and old anxieties

My church wants to change.

This is a good thing - we recognize that we must change, to survive, but we must not change just for the sake of change.  We have to reflect God's will for us as a body of faith.

In place of VBS this year (which I never ever attend, and that's a whole different topic), there are three Sunday afternoons in which the church body are invited to participate to foster growth and togetherness.  The first of these was a prayer workshop yesterday.  My husband is not big on church service, but was interested in attending with me, and so we came together at 4 p.m. and entered the fellowship hall with other, equally confused-looking people.

It was a great program, which began with a "pilgrim walk" at various stations around the church with meditations upon a particular object or place (a bench, a tree, a door, a bathroom, a water fountain, and kitchen) with quotations from learned writers.  We then enjoyed dinner together before adjourning for some music and a lesson in breath prayer, which was so relaxing and reminded me of my jaunts into praying the rosary.  (I really must dig that out again.)

We then split into groups to go to prayer stations, which were creative and interesting and thoughtful, but I became anxious, as I sometimes do, and simply found a place in the fellowship hall to sit and calm myself and try to figure out what was distressing me.  Thankfully, someone had put on soothing prayer music - almost chanting prayers - which was wonderful to focus on, and I rested and began to sort out my emotions.

I realized that just before dinner, a young mother had entered the hall with her daughter, sat her down while she filled out a nametag, and the daughter had been picked up by various loving people and passed around for a while while mom fetched dinner.  I had made note of it, smiled, and remembered a far different scenario some sixteen years prior in this same room, feet from where I was sitting, which was very, very different.

I had come in with a 4-year-old and a 1-year-old to a Wednesday night meal to a packed and loud room.  Husband was working late, so I was on my own.  I didn't stay home because I had reservations and I didn't want the food to go to waste.  I was shocked at the crowd.  I later learned that it was someone's "famous" BBQ night.  I could have stayed home and no one would have been the wiser.

I stood near the doorway, scanning the room for someplace, anyplace, to sit.  I saw several people I knew, but they were busy with their own tables and families and I don't remember making eye contact.  I finally saw an empty seat and approached the folks there to see if we could sit there.  They said that was just fine.  It then hit me, as I stood there with my toddler in my arms and my son at my feet, that I had no way to retrieve the food and get it back to the table.  I began to feel as if I couldn't breathe.  I wished desperately for someone to offer to watch the 1-year-old while I went through the line.  I didn't know these people.  I didn't want to ask them.  I looked around, trying to make eye contact with someone I knew.  I continued to struggle for air.  I think I excused myself, grabbed my son by the hand, and rushed outside.  I don't remember anything else, but when I think about it, I still tear up.  I remember telling my husband I was through with Wednesday nights.  It's still difficult for me to walk into this room when it's full, and there are countless times I have chosen not to walk in.

I have missed a lot of events in the fellowship hall over the last sixteen years.

As I sat there at the table, listening to people talk softly at the stations and listening to the soothing prayer music, I realized that a few minutes before, I had walked into the hall, and saw no place at two of the stations there.  I could not see a "starting point" or a person to ask to join the group.  All the old feelings had come rushing back, and I couldn't breathe for a moment.  I realized something was happening that was not quite rational.  I suppose the prayer experiences had left me open, vulnerable.  This was not a bad thing, but I needed to work this out.  I sat and just breathed for a while.  I did not flee the fellowship hall - the problem was not the room or the people - the problem was me.  I needed to rest in this a while and let God help.  I did end up leaving early - the anxiety wasn't going to go away completely - but I nearly made it.

I'm so glad a mom can get help with her toddler at our church during a meal.  I'm glad we show love better than we did.  I'm glad I can sit and breathe alone at a table and not feel like I stand out as a freak.  I'm glad I chose to stay at my church after a horrible day many years ago and all the crossroads in between.  I'm very glad I was at our prayer workshop yesterday and felt the love.  I'm very glad God helps me not to make it all about me.