Today was All Saints Sunday. To say I was dreading it would be the tiniest bit true. If I thought I could have legitimately skipped church, I would have. I have NO problem skipping church now and then but there was special music to sing, I'm in the choir - plus, I didn't want to avoid any possible healing that could happen. I didn't want to be a coward. (If I would have felt strongly I needed to stay home, I would have.) Usually, I love All Saints Sunday, it's such a special time to remember those you love in your congregation, especially. I'm still getting to know our little church family, but there have been significant losses from it this year. We sang a beautful commission piece in honor of a choir member. So, it was important to go, and be there, and try to be okay if I started crying a little TOO much. I even thought out how I could just ditch the service after singing the two pieces that were important. Mostly I just don't want people to notice that I'm upset and teary, as being in the choir loft means you face the congregation - I cry all the time in church! My heart just gets moved that way, and normally I don't care what people think.
But it was fine, really. I did cry when we named people we had lost, but are who are not lost. I could only name Carrie, even though my grandpa and Beaux's grandma are important, too. My Grandpa was a lasped Baptist and wouldn't care about our crazy Methodist ways, anyway, and I do hope Beaux's grandma was mentioned in our church in Hattiesburg. But it's okay. I made jokes today about how it's the only day I wish I was a Baptist, since they don't do this sort of thing - believe me, I NEVER wish that for myself. In my heart, I do believe it's important to have an ongoing day of remembrance, because that span of death-wake-funeral is just so short. It's only the beginning of the end.
I promise every post won't be about loss or grief. Well, I can try to promise that. Yet today, we are called to remember our saints.
So I remember my Grandpa, who was the person a little three-year-old me trusted, to put "red medicine" on my scrapes and who would brush my tangled hair with the gentlest, lightest touch.
I remember Beaux's grandma, who had no tact, but who gave Beaux the very diamond off her hand for my engagement ring.
And I remember Carrie, who is and was my everything. There is no thought that doesn't circle back to her, somehow.