Yesterday, as I stood in a pew with my sister’s arm around my waist, my younger brother walked over and said, “You look sad or down.”
“Yes,” I replied, “A bit.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because sometimes I am insecure and anxious.”
“Well, you’re beautiful. And you’re a strong, independent woman.”
Tears were too close for comfort, so I started to softly sing, “All you women, who independent, throw your hands up at me!*”
“Am I allowed to sing that in here?” I continued, “What if I do this?” I raised my arms and swiveled my hips a little, repeating the chorus again.
“Scandal!” he replied, “Not in a church!” and my sister grabbed my arm.
“Shhhh!”
We all laughed. Then I sang it again. Later, my other brother and his wife came over. My nephew crawled under the pews and tickled my toes like he was a churchmouse. My niece giggled and squeezed me and kissed me with her still-snotty face, and I didn't mind at all. Then they included me in a "family hug" and I was squished from all sides by laughing faces.
I am loved. And I love in return. And that is how it should be.
*this: in case you need a dose of Destiny's Child or Charlie's Angels today:
Comments
Sad, indeed.
SAD. But not the end. There will be another chance.