To bless or baptize

I was baptized on Palm Sunday in 1981. I wasn't yet a year old. That's how it was done in my childhood church; the sacrament was administered to adorable babies and confirmed by awkward 13-year-olds. To be honest, neither occasion was especially meaningful to me. I don't remember the baptism, and in my confirmation class I was more interested in learning about the boys present than about the stories of Jesus.

As an adult, I joined and was later ordained to the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), a denomination that practices believer's baptism by immersion. At first I was relieved that my infant baptism meant that I didn't have to succumb to the rather inconvenient ritual of getting completely soaked during a Sunday worship service. But as I prepared to do my first baptism, I realized that I was a bit wistful that I hadn't been immersed myself. I have only immersed one teenage girl in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and without a doubt, it was one of the coolest experiences of my life.

I settled my longing by reassuring myself that at least my children could be dunked. Possibly even by me--though when the time came to bless my older daughter, I found myself wanting to be just the mama, recruiting my best friend (a baby-baptizing Methodist) to do the honors.