I haven’t seen the inside of a church in over a year. I have good reasons though. I’ve spent the past three hundred and sixty-five days wiping toddler ass and cleaning toddler faces. It’s been a fun year.
So no, I haven’t been the best Catholic, but I still remember church. The sitting, the kneeling, the standing. The taste of fermented grapes first thing in the morning (breakfast of champions). The sound of me yawning.
There used to be a little girl named Ericka who knew what a novena was and would pray it because it was the truth. And now? The only time I crave fermented grapes is when my daughter’s asleep and my world is still. I relish the moments I can feel large in my own little world.
Early in the mornings, dawn’s light stretches its golden white fingers through my daughter’s bedroom blinds and I see a face that used to pray the novena, used to thank God for the people in her life that strengthened her soul and lengthened her spine. Maybe we’ll stop by Sunday.
Ericka Clay is a writer and frequent contributor to Prayables. She blogs on her website .
Off the Shelf
My faith is too delicate
to even speak some days.
It is a flower, a vase, a glass
that I fear doubt can break.
But I shall not leave it
on a shelf collecting dust.
I shall not place it out of reach—
something I see, but never use.
So fill me, over and over,
Help me to believe in Your
constant, unceasing strength.
"DOES A HOUSE OF WORSHIP ADD TO YOUR SPIRITUAL CONTENTMENT?"