This too

How is it that my perfectly designed religious day was god awful? No pun intended. 

Today was the homecoming church service I had written about a week ago. The service where Reverend Jan would call on us, the congregation, to come forth from each of the four directions in a beautiful and sacred water ritual. I was prepared to enter from the east, the place of beginnings.

In the past, I have always loved this service. I love the spiritual practice of ritual itself.  I love the use of water and direction as metaphor. I love returning to church for another year because it almost has a first-day-of-school buzz of excitement to it. 

But somehow the whole thing just was one big headache. Like, literally, I came back from church with a headache. 

It started with my husband being unable to come with me and the kids because he hurt himself at work. That left me in a 2:1 ratio with the children, and I much prefer man-to-man defense. 

And to be fair to myself, I did get us all dressed nicely with a little ladybug sundress for my daughter and a yellow striped polo shirt with khaki shorts for my son.  And I might add, we were on time! Two small things I felt pretty good about. 

But, once in the actually sanctuary of the church things began to break down quickly. My son didn't want to go with the other children to Sunday school, and so he stayed with me wanting to talk to me nonstop throughout the entire service. And did I mention he kept forgetting to whisper? Then he needed the bathroom, and locked himself in a stall. After which, he either couldn't, or was finding it funny to refuse to, unlock the door.

At that point Reverend Jan was delivering her sermon on the wisdom of empathy. I missed all but a few sentences at the beginning and end of the sermon. I'm sure it was wonderful too because the minister has been away on sabbatical, and I'll bet she included all kinds of nuggets of wisdom and insight gained in her time away. That was the first big "Argh!"

But my son didn't cover the whole score, my daughter got in a few too with her need to nurse during the service despite the fact that I intentionally had fed her twice before we left for church to hopefully ward off the need to do that. And it was both sides I might add. Then she moved to absolute unwillingness to take a nap despite being purely exhausted. And I'll tell you, sometimes it's hard to cover up all your baby's noises even with a pacifier. 

Suffice it to say, by the time I got home, I was not in a family mood and asked to have a timeout for myself while the baby napped. I was exhausted from our attempt to be the happy-family-going-to- church on Sunday. In fact, I think I was so attached to that single objective, that I lost the essence of what is most holy about religion and spirituality to begin with.  Which for me, is the now.  This sacred moment that will never pass this way again. 

Tara Brach is a psychologist and Buddhist teacher whom I've been reading and following for a few years now (she has a great blog too!) and she writes and talks a lot about radical acceptance as a tool to embrace both the good and the bad and ugly of life. 

I picked up her book True Refuge this morning and just let the book open to any random page. This led me to her instructions on using small phrases like "yes" or "I consent," or what I picked for meditation this morning, "this too."  She suggested the voice I use inside be a whisper and have a gentle quality to it. I liked that suggestion. I tend to use a tone of voice that is critical and edgy. Shaming actually. Ms. Brach's suggested voice is compassionate and almost friendly.

But I’ll tell you, that is so hard for me to do. I get almost teary just thinking about it...

And yet I find myself softening.  Both on the outside in the muscles of my body and inside in the confines of my heart.   I begin to yield to whatever is in front of me. "I'll try," I softly say. To whom I don't know. Myself? God? Maybe to Tara Brach herself. 

So this morning in meditation I repeated the words "this too" each time I noticed my mind wandered or I felt my body tense up as it can do sometimes to quite literally resist the moment I was in. 

I wish I had had these words yesterday morning when I was at church...I know it would have helped. 

Next time, right?