The blur of the weekend fell into my open hand this morning at church in the form of a cracker and a tiny cup full of juice. Am I an awful sinner if I say that sometimes communion doesn't mean me for me what it should. Sometimes I get stuck on the constant that is this act we do in my church and I forget to really breathe it in and remember what it's for. This morning my pastor spoke of what the church is. The church is an organism not an organization, it is a community not a company, it is a body not a building, etc. At the end of his message he told a sweet story of a little boy with one arm who came into the Sunday school one morning and the teacher rushed through her hello's because she was so worried her class would want to talk about his arm missing. As the class day came to a close she continued with her ritual, forgetting about the boy having only one arm, and her ritual is a little poem you recite about the church using both of your hands to make the church, steeple, and the people. The boy couldn't do it with one hand so a little girl leaned her hand over and said "we can do the church together."

My heart sank. Like it usually does with stories like this especially when they involve children. So, the blur of the weekend fell right into my open hand. Yesterday, after the baby shower Kaleb and I went to a friend's babies birthday party. She is 1! When we arrived at her house I peered through the window and saw a picture being taken outside of 4 generations. The great grandma, the grandma, the mom, and the daughter whose birthday we were celebrating. I instantly remembered that my son won't have the privilege of taking this picture. His grandpa isn't here, Kaleb's dad will not be here for birthday parties and pictures. And I instantly clicked to "it's not fair." Something I resort to quite often when thinking about Kaleb's dad not being with us anymore. "It's not fair."

And then this cup and cracker were in my hand and I looked up at the men serving it to us. The deacons, elders, board members...whatever name you choose for them. I looked to my left and saw the husband of a woman who attended my baby shower yesterday and gave me a gift card for Elijah when I have only known her for a short period of time but every time I walk in the church doors her and her husband shower me and my husband with an abundance of love. I looked to my right and saw the man who a couple of years before had prayed over me with his wife that I make the right decision when deciding to transfer to CFNi or stay at ASU. I looked on the stage at the man who was leading worship and remembered the time Kaleb fell to his knees near his office a week after his dad had passed away and that man literally picked him up off the floor, sat him in his office, and cried as he prayed over Kaleb. And I started looking around at all of my church family and I looked at my cracker and cup of juice and I wept. Jesus, this church, these people have all done so much for me even if it wasn't directly for me. Jesus, He bore stripes for my healing to come at the altar of that church on a Monday night in October of 2009 leading to the last 4 years of being a part of SAF. This church is not like any other church I've ever been to. These people are not like people I have ever met.

And of course to put a cherry on top of this whole experience the lady who was getting baptized sang "My Chains are Gone" right before she was dunked under water as her old self and brought back up for air to begin her new life as a saved woman.

This is community.