When I was a young mother and had to miss church for some reason or another I always felt a tinge of remorse. My mother would often say, “The church isn’t going to fall down if you miss one Sunday, Jaynie.”
I knew that. And truthfully, I wasn’t worried about the church. I was worried about good old Jaynie. I needed help and guidance and support. And I needed to feel the love that was there. I didn’t want to fall down.
I remembered that conversation a week or so ago when I went to church despite being stressed out with preparation for a family reunion. Laugh if you want to, but for me, food preparation on that level is a stretch. Plus, because of the time of the reunion, I knew I’d have to leave right after Sacrament, and I found myself wondering, “Is it really worth it to get dressed and hustle to the church for only an hour?”
I went. And as soon as I walked in the back door from the parking lot, I felt peace. I slid in beside my former mother-in-law who told me she had been saving a seat for me. While that wasn’t exactly true, her statement made me feel good and happy and all of those other positive emotions. While we were singing the opening hymn, I remembered something I had read years ago.
If you make the effort to listen, the Spirit will speak to you. It might not even be about what the speaker is saying. But you’ll know it. You’ll get the message.
So we were singing “In Humility Our Savior,” and when we got to the second verse, I got choked up on these beautiful phrase “Fill our hearts with sweet forgiving, teach us tolerance and love.” Some specific situations were on my mind, and I thought “YES!” How could I convey the importance of this forgiveness, tolerance, and love to others without being a know-it-all self-righteous prig?
And then I was sitting there minding my own business when the thought “seventy times seven” popped into my head. I don’t think I’m holding on to grudges right now, but some people are. Let it go. Harboring feelings of unforgiveness and resentment are like eating rat poison and waiting for the rat to die. I didn’t make that phrase up, but I like it.
I looked around me and saw all sorts of people. Big ones, small ones, rich ones, poor ones, black ones, white ones, brown ones, pink ones. Lots of variety. I thought of a friend who teaches at BYU-Hawaii who once mentioned that most of the women wear flip flops to church. She said many of the teachers kick them off while teaching and teach barefoot. I smiled to myself and thought, “He’s got the whole world in his hands.” The whole world, not just the select few who happen to look like you and mirror your background.
That was the first Sunday in June. I’ve had a lot of interesting insights sitting in church since then too, especially about love. What about you?
4 thoughts on “Waiting for the Rat to Die”
My mom who is a Christian says she doesn’t need church. The church is within her and she can read the bible for herself.
She’s evidently a stronger person than I am because as I mentioned in the post, I need help, even if it’s just a reminder of something I already know.
I think you look amazing! I have flabby arms and I’m 39! But then I recently had Lacey ask me, “When will my boobies be hangy like yours.” Leave it to a child…LOL
I love your attitude, Christy!