This Is Worship

I didn't go to church today. It was not the plan. I wasn't runninng a temperature. I didn't oversleep. I skipped church because I needed to worship.

I used to live with my husband and our two dogs. Before work, the house would be dark and quiet; I'd sit at the kitchen table, reading Scripture and praying. After work, I'd come home, walk a few miles, clean some things around the house, make some food, and worship. More Bible reading, more prayer, some writing, and maybe even some bad singing. Me and Jesus. Some days we'd even have "dates." The whole day, nothing but Him and me, talking and being together. 

Then came Mom. Though she could not care for herself independent of supervision, she was still relatively capable of dressing, knowing when she was hungry, and expressing complete thoughts. She could sit and watch television or enjoy the deck without fear. These days, she is not content to do much of anything without someone at her side. She isn't sure if she is hungry, she cannot define pain, and she gets very aggitated when she isn't sure what she is doing is what she is supposed to be doing -- which is most of the time. I have not been alone in our home for over five years, and whatever time Mom spends on the deck these days is brief and constantly interrupted by her popping in to make sure I am still nearby.

Two years ago, we were given the privilege of caring for two young children. And it is a privilege, but one that comes with a lot of fighting -- from us. Our will tells us we did this before, we had other plans for this time in our life. Our bodies tell us we're too old to be lifting and running, we can't run on so little sleep. Our minds tell us there are logistics we cannot meet: finances, time, capacity, just to name a few. But our hearts disagree. And so there is fighting, because this is difficult, but oh, so worth it.

And then, there is my bubble. I am an introvert. I "people" well because I know that I must and God's grace takes care of that, but I become maxed. I hit a point where I must regenerate, and I do that in the quiet presence of the Lord. But our home is naturally noisy -- barking and beeping, thumping and bumping, and the last few weeks have been extremely difficult; I am maxed. So, when Scott heads out the door with a large portion of our occupants, I can go to church and worship without bathroom breaks and little people falling from the pews, but I must "people;" or I can go to church amidst the snoring of our four-legged family and the hum of the refrigerator, no "people-ing" required. I choose not to go. 

I pray and I read Scripture, but best of all, I worship. I worship as I slowly, purposefully fold laundry. Not because I am trying to get it all finished, but because each one of the people I hold dear will play and work and sleep in these clothes. And those people are more than a blessing to me. I worship as I grind coffee beans, savoring the rich smells of another morning and losing myself in the whirring white noise of the blades. I worship as I pick a show for Mom and I to enjoy together. We laugh, and I'm not sure she knows the program from the commercials, but she is happy to be with me, and that lightens her load. I worship as I stroke the soft grey hairs on our old dogs face. Her faithful eyes look deeply into mine as we share a rare but quiet moment. What a blessing it has been to have met her all those years ago; her loyalty and love has helped make our house a home. I worship as I write. Gratitude pours from my heart and with it, tears. 

And next Sunday, Lord willing, I will be sitting in our "regular pew," right up front, hanging on every word and praising God with all I've got. But for now, this is worship.