A few months ago W told me, just very casually, “I’m in the choir now.”

I should probably start by talking about what happened at the end of last school year. W’s church did a sweet presentation and thanked all the members of the children’s choir. Every member got a medal. Getting a medal is a HUGE deal to W. He immediately told Lolly he wanted to join the choir.

Then the summer happened and life and the passage of time. I assumed W had forgotten about signing up for choir, but that was pretty foolish of me. I wondered what W would think of the work involved with being in the choir. They practice twice a week and there is zero time for silliness. I was casual about it, thinking by being so it would allow him to casual as well.

Looking back on my attitude I am kind of disappointed in myself for being so shrug over things. I made the assumption that W was only in it for the end of the year medal. And maybe, originally, he was. But that wasn’t what choir became for him.

He loves singing, loves being part of a group, he loves the responsibility of rehearsing. A few times I would glance over at him, trying not to distract him, and it was such a thrill to see him puffed up with pride.

This past Sunday was the first time the children’s choir sang at a service. W spent the morning before the service in rehearsal and then several minutes before church began he came to see me. I have no idea what came over me – but seeing W all decked out in a choir robe – it was the sweetest.

Seeing him like that reminded me of all of the years I spent as an acolyte for the church I went to in high-school. I had so much reverence, so much pride in my abilities to serve. I had faith. It was strong and bright and all-encompassing.

It’s not my business to know what W’s relationship with God is – if he even has one. But I do know W keeps getting me to church. And while I don’t go with W and Lolly every time they go (Sunday morning is a fantastic time to write or work on homework), when I DO go – I have been trying to get out of my way. Be open.

These last several months have been challenging for me and not once have I ever turned to religion to unravel my angst or thoughts. It’s just not how I process. And yet I can’t deny that I have found feelings of peace each time W has brought me to church.

Of course I also find peace when I eat pistachios, but watching my son sing in the church choir – it’s different. I have no other words for it, or even about it, except gratitude. I’m thankful that even when I am depressed, stressed, or full of anxiety – I can still get out-of-the-way of that calamity and find a beautiful, joyful center.

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