Yesterday morning, when J.P. woke up and came downstairs, he hopped in bed with us to read and asked me, "Are you coming to church today, Daddy, to help us decorate for Christmas?" Decorating St. Patrick for Christmas, the Sunday before Christmas Eve, is an annual tradition in which our family always participates. The boys love it.
"I'm not sure," I replied. "I'll be at Meemaw's this morning visiting with her." J.P. didn't respond but I could tell he was disappointed.
It's no secret to anyone who reads the blog semi-regularly that I have had a difficult time finding an outlet to direct my anger over my mom's health situation. I haven't lost my faith - which has sustained me during difficult times in my life in the past - but it's been shaken, for sure. Early on, I met with and talked to our priest, Father David, to discuss my feelings. I still pray and I've tried to reconcile my feelings while maintaining a close and intimate relationship with God but to date, I've failed. That's the plain and honest truth. Maybe I'm not praying and asking for help enough. I don't know.
Lately, I find myself thinking about the "Footprints in the Sand" poem. I can't help but feel like for the past year or so, there have been one set of footprints in the sand - mine. I know that's not true but it sure doesn't feel like God has been carrying me through what has been by far the most difficult time in my life.
On Sundays for the past few months, I get up early and go to see my mom, rather than going to church at St. Patrick. On the one hand, I feel like I'm where I need to be when I'm there with my mom and maybe I am. On the other hand, I also feel like I'm missing out on something by not being in church with my family on Sundays. What I am doing, I think, is avoiding or postponing the difficult task of closely examining my relationship with God on a weekly basis in church and realizing that maybe my faith isn't as strong as I thought. That's troublesome, to be sure.
I had a good, quiet visit with my mom yesterday. We shared a cinnamon roll I picked up at Frothy Monkey in 12South before I drove down to NHC Place. Mr. Tom, her friend, sat with us and ate part of the cinnamon roll, too. My mom was in a good mood, confused about most everything but relatively happy as she sat in her wheelchair and I updated her on the boys' basketball games from the day before. I gave her our Christmas card, too, which she enjoyed.
I left, stopped by my office, then drove to St. Patrick so I could be there to decorate the church for Christmas, although I skipped the church service. I saw Father David as soon as I walked in and he shook my hand and welcomed me. We talked about our new bishop and exchanged pleasantries. It was nice. Several other parishioners smiled at me and said hello. It felt good and right to be back at St. Patrick, if only for a few minutes.
J.P. ran up and gave me a big hug when he saw me. We helped decorate the church, then drove home.
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