Monday, November 8, 2010


I tend to get a little homesick on Sundays. (Thankfully it's Monday now.) Troy and I are in the process of finding a new church and so far, the ones we've been to only leave us missing our church family in Hopkins. I won't do it justice trying to decribe all of it's positive attributes, but we loved it because the Pastor is funny and we got what he was saying. We never felt preached to, so much as we felt that something was being shared with us.  We never felt guilt or fear, but rather blessed by gifts and grace.  And it truly felt like a family. Both times we were pregnant, I was one of ten women expecting. There are children covering every inch of the place. Mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles- unrelated family all working together to teach and love and pray for them.  But my favorite part was the music. 

The music is led by a man and his wife. He seems serious, and she's the funny one. He plays guitar and she plays the piano. They are the consistent pieces. Coming and going are different singers, but never more than 4 total. Sometimes there is a brass instrument, or a bongo player, or a bass guitar. Sometimes there is a cello or violin. Hardly ever are all of those players serving at the same time. There isn't enough room.

They don't sing from hymnals, but the words are typed out in the weekly bulletin for all of the songs. And maybe only one or two songs have the sheet music printed with actual notes and parts.  And there is every kind of voice in that church. Loud, soft, pitchy, squeeky, in-tune, shaky... you name it. But for some reason, when the music starts and that church sings there is one harmonious sound that seems to beg heaven for it's ear. Two songs into the service I find myself shedding the worries, and tensions and just plain stupid things from the week. By the third song I'm usually wiping away a tear of gratitude; my heart ready for the lesson it most likely needs to hear. By the time we are singing in line to communion I feel so filled with love I may actually burst.

So yesterday, as Troy and I stood in an unfamilar parish hall waiting for the words to pop up on the monitor (churcharoke) I couldn't help but feel like I'd heard the song before. And before I knew it, the words were coming out of my mouth before they popped up on the screen 9eee I eeen. 867-5309. It was the same melody! Jenny Jenny who can I turn to... Luckily Troy was the only one who heard me because as it turns out, it was not the same song. And even though the music brought us to tears (because we were laughing so hard) there was something still missing and I was left a little homesick.

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