I am careful never to talk about politics, or religion on my blog.
Not that I don't have opinions, oh dear, I do.
But I don't ever see much point in that kind of dialog, you aren't going to change my mind
about what I prefer in those venues, and I am not going to, nor do I want to, change yours.
But I gotta mention religion here. There is no way I can post and avoid it.
Since it is very much on my mind.
I have probably mentioned before that my mother was an 'Army girl', back in England. Yup, she and her whole family were deeply involved in the Salvation Army. They were dirt poor, and the Salvation Army was their community, their entertainment, and their hope.
And I think I told you that she dragged me to every church in town when I was young, looking for an experience that would be similar. Of course, there wasn't one.
But now since she lives with me, there is a Salvation Army in town. And she wants to go every Sunday.
My daughters and I have taken turns taking her, although my oldest has done the most of it.
Today, it was my turn.
So, let me preface. I do believe in God. He has gotten me through some pretty tough times. My faith in a power greater than myself is central to who I am.
But organized religion fails to inspire me. I am a Deist at heart. Have been since I was 13.
Today, 90 minutes of scripture, sermons, singing, was almost unbearable. I tried to be calm, I tried to get into it, but I kept thinking longingly of this bridge I could jump off.
I know, I know.
I am doing it for her. And to her, it isn't even about the religion. This morning, a gentleman who also grew up in England, was talking about a usual day at the Army when he was a kid. My mother was getting teary.
This isn't about church. This is about her childhood, her family, her memories. This is about who she was, and who she is.
I take her because at this point in her life, for her to make that connection is priceless.
Who am I to keep that from her?
So I write a check to put in the offering plate, a check that makes me feel a little better about not really wanting to be there.
Does any of this make any sense? Sometimes I think I blather on, and no one even gets it.
Then sometimes, I think that it's OK anyway, cause I just need to say it.
I told you about my hats......here are a few, and mittens. I love knitting hats. I knitted one sitting next to my mother this morning. I had to stop when we stood up to sing, but otherwise I was knitting fervently, since I didn't feel fervent about anything else. My husband suggested that it might be blasphemous, but I said, NO WAY.
Put your Hands to work, your Hearts to God. OR
Idle hands do the devils work.
So there you have it. My confession for the day.
I knitted in church.
And I'm glad. I'd do it again, in fact, I am almost certain to do it again.
It beats taking the bridge.