Missing church

It was
8:30 on a Sunday morning, and I was in my pajamas eating blueberry pancakes with my
family. It was lovely. It was also downright weird.

Less than
a mile away, my congregation was settling down to worship without me, as they did
most Sundays while I was on maternity leave. I could picture them gathering,
setting up the sanctuary, turning on the coffee. I could imagine the acolyte
getting ready as the pianist started the prelude. It was so strange not to be
there.

In recent
years, there have not been many Sundays when I've been able to sip coffee while
I linger over the newspaper. So I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself on these
Sunday mornings, when I was not expected to be anywhere but home, nursing and
snuggling my newborn son.