Dear Munchkin and Peanut,
Yesterday I attended a hymn festival at my church. Daddy stayed home with you so I could focus on the worship experience.
Sitting alone in the pews reminded me of when I first decided this was my new church home. I moved here while Daddy and I were dating. Since our relationship had been long-distance from the start, we thought we should try living in the same city before getting married. I began visiting nearby LC-MS churches shortly after the move.
I first came to St. Paul’s in early December. The building itself is beautiful, and the large congregation felt welcoming. The music was lovely — including a magnificent pipe organ — and there was information in the bulletin about a special “Music for Christmas” service. I was already thinking I could belong here, but the Christmas concert wiped away all doubt.
It was ethereal. I had ached for music like that for years, since participating in the concert choir in college, and had finally found it. I was “home.”
I immediately joined the choir, taking only a short hiatus when Munchkin was an infant. But managing two kids by myself on Sunday mornings proved much more challenging, so I haven’t been able to get back to it since Peanut was born.
I long for the day I can return to the choir. There’s an old saying that is deeply true for me: “God gave us music that we might pray without words.” Sitting in the pew during the hymn festival, I felt conflicted. I kept thinking I really belong in the balcony. But at the same time, it was exquisitely prayerful to just sit and enjoy the choirs and orchestra, surrounded by hundreds of congregants singing along.
I love it when the church is so full of music I can barely hear my own voice in the throng.