We were on quite a streak with making it to Church on time every weekend. I become quite anal when I do something once and want to do it again, I become obsessive slightly and don't want to miss! Don't want to break our streak! And while yes, we have missed church a few times since we started going back in December, it's only been one week and we went right back. I found myself falling in love with our little church and it was quickly becoming the highlight of my weekend!
Then, two Sunday's ago BFF Rose came out. She spent the night on Saturday and the kids had a few friends over too. It was a late night, as it always is when BFF Rose comes around and I didn't feel right leaving her while I went, and she is not really interested in Church (I asked her ha!). So, I didn't go. Then, the following week, we had a bon fire and I had a few adult beverages and we stayed up late and Bee declared no church. I was super tired, so I agreed.
Then this past Sunday rolled around. Bee had his first scrimmage on Saturday and he over did it and hurt his back. He could barely walk. My alarm went off at 9:30am and I laid in bed thinking how I didn't really want to go. Then, I started questioning our attendance. Did my family go because they feel I make them? Why do I go? Do I feel one with God in this place, or is it just convenient for me because service is at 11am and it's 15 steps from my front door. Do I feel the Holy Spirit move in that place? Do I even know what that feels or sounds like? Do I really have to go?
I laid there and contemplated it for awhile. I thought, you know, Bee is injured. I could stay here and take care of him and no one would fault me for that. But I knew *I* would, because I knew he was capable of taking care of himself for an hour. Plus, it was Palm Sunday. One of my favorite Religious remembrances. I don't know why. If you know the story, it's really sad. Jesus reaches the pinnacle of his teaching here on Earth. He enters the city on the back of a donkey to fulfill the Prophecy. EVERYONE is there. Everyone. It's the start of the holiest of holy Jewish observances. Even the Romans are aware of how special this week is. Here comes Jesus on the donkey and the people cheer. Saying "Hosanna! Hosanna!" or translated: "Save us! Save us!" and they do the equivalent of rolling out the red carpet in sincere adoration, and lay palm branches in the street on His path. They waive them in the air. Sing his praises. He got the Rock Star welcome.....only to be beaten within an inch of his life, jeered at, and put through one of the most horrifying and tortuous deaths a week later. And he knew this. Yet, his love for us and obedience to his Father's word, was so strong, he did it anyway. One thing I notice is, from the time of his betrayal in the garden by Judas, until he is on the cross, he does not utter one word. Amazing.
I made it to church. I smiled as soon as I saw the doors...
I walked in and was greeted warmly, like always. Got my coffee (even a SMALL chocolate spring cookie...mmmm) and then took my seat. The choir stared in with "Prepare Ye" as their processional and handed out palms to everyone. It was awesome to hear one of my favorite hymns from when I was younger. Then EVERYONE held their palms in the air and swayed them back and forth. I teared up thinking this is just a teeny tiny snippet of what it must have looked and sounded like to Jesus.
The pastor gave a wonderful sermon (as he always does) and we laid our palms at the foot of the giant wooden, tattered, nail-filled cross. I cried real tears this time. The palms laid out for Jesus, paved his way to the cross. He knew it. He could have stopped it, but he didn't. He died for us. He died for me, and even 2011 years later, it amazes me someone can love me that much. Can love humankind that much, and how most of the time we take it for granted.
I guess that's why it's called Perfect Love. I am thankful for that. :)