Flashback.

For those who were readers back during my journey of faith, you'll know that I was in the process of researching (literally, I spent some time in the library folks!) a new spiritual home when I found out I was pregnant with Ava. For those who are newer readers since then (and that was a whiiiiile ago, so that is likely 99% of you!), here's a brief summary of my journey:

I was raised Mormon. I've talked about this in the past, and let me make this disclaimer now, before we get any further: To each their own. Live and let live. These are things I believe in. I've no plans to sit here and trash the LDS religion, only to say that for me, since I was old enough to ask questions, I have known that the Mormon faith was not a good fit. Politically, ideologically, and then some, it was not the church for me. I've known plenty of amazing, kind, and Christ-like Mormons, though, so if you feel compelled to badmouth them in the comments, please refrain. Thanks.

Now that I've said that, let's get started, shall we? Despite my misgivings about being raised Mormon, it is terribly difficult to walk away from a faith and ideas that have been told to you as a child, and so rather than actively searching for a better fit, I just stopped going. I've never stopped believing - I have a firm foundation and faith in God. But I had no spiritual home, no place I could go to feel the love and be renewed in Christ. So, off I went. I hit the library for books on many a religion. Some I crossed off my list immediately, others I researched in depth. In the end, I narrowed it down to three that fit with my thoughts about life, love, and - importantly to me - equality and human rights, and then visited those churches over the course of several Sundays each.

In the midst of this journey, I found out I was "unexpectedly expecting". My world was turned on its side. I felt a range of emotions previously unimaginable to me, and was in the most difficult, darkest time of my life. I had a big decision to make, and it would - no matter what I chose - come to be the most important decision of my life, as well as the hardest.

On Mother's Day, 2009, I walked into a local Episcopal church. I was struggling with the content of the day as I thought long and hard about whether or not I would actively be a mother when the next Mother's Day came around, when an usher walked up to me with flowers and asked, "Are you a mother?" It was their custom to give a rose to the mothers in the church on Mother's Day, but yet this gesture felt as if it was for me alone. Not knowing what to say, I excused myself, and sobbed in the bathroom until I could piece myself back together and go back in.

Flash forward nearly four years, and I found myself back in church a few weeks back, sitting across from the bench where he asked that fateful question so many Sundays ago. I'm not saying that I would have come to a different decision ultimately without having found my way to the church that day, but I can say that when I left the service that Sunday, without my rose, I felt resolved and peaceful in a way that I had not felt since those two pink lines appeared.

I would get a rose the next year. In fact, before I got that rose, both myself and my daughter would be baptized into the Episcopalian faith, just feet from where that exchange took place.

Now, when I walk into services - something I've resolved to do more of now that a new Rector has come in and replaced one that left our congregation feeling as though something was "missing" - I know that I am home. I know that I'm in the right place. I know when I walk in and see a female Rector talking about the gospel, when I sit next to an openly gay couple and their foster children, when the woman ahead of me wears traditional African garb to services - none of which would be accepted or allowed in the faith I was raised in. I am proud to send these messages to Ava. I am proud that she will be raised in a spiritual home that cultivates the idea that she is worthy of holding any office in the church, even if she marries (we can all hope that marriage equality will be unanimous when that time comes, right?) a woman.

If I've gone off on too far a tangent, I apologize. I rarely speak of faith or Christ in great detail. But I do speak about love, and equality, and hope in great detail, and aren't they the same when it comes down to it?

"Wherever you are in your journey of faith, you are welcome at this table."

Ava Goes to Church.

I've made it a goal for myself and Ava to attend church more frequently. Our Sundays are notoriously busy, whether due to a late night at work the night before and the need to decompress from a packed week, or navigating the children's birthday party circuit (unfortunately the only party circuit I am familiar with these days!), and so we frequently sacrifice going to church - something I'm less than proud of. As we close out 2012, I've chosen to start my resolutions early, and am attempting to take Ava to church as often as we can. This past Sunday was one such Sunday.

We went to a new church, since the church I am a member at received a new Rector a couple of years back and my feelings towards the particular locale have been waning ever since. He's a lovely person, but he doesn't inspire me the way that the interim Rector who was there at the time of my baptism and joining the church took place did, and so I'm looking around so as not to neglect our spiritual education due to a poor fit between myself and the current Rector. Anyhow, this past Sunday we attended a different location. It went a little something like this:

Ava, once we were officially settled in and quiet for the service to begin: "But where's God?"

HA. I explained to her that he was with us, but that he was present above, watching and feeling proud from Heaven. This seemed to freak her out more than anything.

Ava, when I'd shushed her gently during the sermon, "Why is that man talking so loud?!"

Two things were wrong with this statement. The obvious: the Pastor/Vicar/Rector was talking so loud because she was delivering the sermon. Also, it was a woman with a short haircut, not a man. Thankfully her face did not give away that she heard Ava's question. Whew.

Ava, after I'd asked her to read quietly for the 129038120938th time: "SHHHHHHHHHH!!" to the man coughing a few rows behind us.

Awesome. She even put her finger to her lips. At least I knew she was getting the point?

The best part came, however, during communion (doesn't it always?). As the Rector blessed the bread and wine, Ava asked first, "What that? Yucky bread?" and then, "That your wine, mommy?"

Thankfully we Episcopalians aren't exactly known for our teetotaling, and so that got quite the laugh from the small congregation, as opposed to a look of shame. Whew!

Despite all the mishaps and laughs, everyone came up to us to introduce themselves afterwards and told me how wonderfully she behaved. Maybe she was speaking more softly than I thought.

And now, a beautiful quote I came across the other day, that sums up my choice to join the Episcopal church a few years back quite perfectly:

"The Episcopal Church is the perfect paradox: firmly based in tradition, but never afraid to change; deep and meaningful theology without the headaches; and a strong community of believers who don't all believe exactly the same thing, but love each other anyway. "