Sunday Best

There are two places that seem to be bringing me solace lately. One is going to the gym and the other is going to church.

After my father died I skipped church. I was mad. I have been mad this whole month. I can hardly believe it's only been a few days over one month from his passing. Yet today I attend with a heart a little bit lighter than usual. Today marks the beginning of Advent, which is, embarrassingly, something I hardly remember anything about..."is it like Lent?" I wonder as I scoot into a pew. I've sat through Advent my entire life, I remember the chocolate tree thingy, I'm clear it comes before Christmas...but only this year have I begun paying attention to masses. It's a shame I'm sure. But better late than never.

Today, Father Jozo was wearing a bright purple robe, I remember that too, the pink and purple candles. Every year at the Catholic school I went to we'd have to color in pictures of the Advent wreath. I asked my mom if we could get one at home. She told me it was only for church. I was never satisfied with her answers. Before my first communion I'd always ask her to "bring a cracker back for me" and she would always report back that she'd forgotten. I couldn't believe she was confounded by this task. I offered, rather, begged to go up with her as a reminder on one occassion, springing up as she began her walk up to receive the Eucharist. I, tugging on her jacket on the way back, ever-so-subtly whispering that she didn't ask the priest for an extra one for me. She finally explained I couldn't have one yet. I just didn't understand what the big deal was.

Anyways, the purple robe, the feeling, the solitude, it was really calming. Holding Mike's hand in the quiet little church we got married in...it felt very comfortable and for once my inner rage against God felt quelled.

I feel at ease in these places, although this is a relatively new phenomenon. I used to greatly dislike both activities. At the gym I always felt like all eyes were on me, I felt like I was being scrutinized about my body shape, physical abilities, how long I stayed on a machine, how vigorously I danced in aerobic classes. It wasn't until recently I realized no one really cared about me. In a good way. No one at the gym cares how I'm doing, and I sort of like it that way. No one is going to ask about my day, and I won't have to lie to them about how I'm doing okay. They are all just too busy worrying about themselves. It was actually refreshing to see a girl I know from high school. I got to tell her happily that I got married in September. She was thrilled for me and said she's been doing the same thing since the last time we met. It made me happy to interact with someone I knew marginally well but wasn't close enough to reveal the news about my dad. I felt normal.

Normal is not a luxury I have been able to feel lately, but that's okay, for my father's sake, I'm certainly willing to endure a bit of emotional discomfort.