I have a thing about going to church.  
I cry. 

I get teary as soon as I enter any church. Catholic, Congregational, Unitarian... 

Growing up I attended the occasional Mass with devoted grandparents. I tagged along with my father as he dove into a Congregational church for a few years during my adolescents. My inlaws are very active in their church, and while we haven't been since Paige was born, we are always welcome. The few times we've attended it's been a few of the most pleasant church experiences I've had.

But it never fails, every time I recall being in a church, I remember getting teary before the first hymn is sun.

Perhaps that's part of the reason we have yet to find a home church. 

The tears are part of an overwhelming sense of spirituality, the hugeness that is under one roof.  And maybe, just maybe, a sense that my own crazy piecemeal faith is being reined in to a place where I am not 100% comfortable. 

My faith is wild, like wispy summer flowers blowing freely in the meadow. When they're taken inside, cut from their source, placed in a vase on the kitchen counter, they lose something. 

I'm afraid of losing something by giving in to naming my faith. By labeling it as a certain denomination or belief. 

I believe in God
I believe He has help, that He works through us as well as beings of the non earthly type... 
I believe He loves us all
I believe in spirituality that comes from waves breaking on rocky beaches and winds blowing through trees laden with crimson leaves
I believe in something so much bigger than me.

There is so much that I believe. I have such a hard time finding somewhere to worship that aligns with my liberal political and social beliefs as well as my deep love of Jesus. Where all of me and my thought processes can connect and be challenged and celebrate and love.


My Sunday worship is, at this point, a little unorthodox. I wake with my three year old as the sun rises. We cuddle, watch little bit of PBS. By 7:15 I'm out the door with a yoga mat tucked under my arm. I spend an hour and a half in a heated room sharing an out of body spiritual workout with a dozen women. By 10:30 I am home and freshly showered, packing a picnic lunch. We're off to a frozen beach for a blustery adventure. 

Wind whipping, waves crashing, children running. They smile, dart the tide and point to the oceans debris. It's a safe place to be quiet and observe God's gifts. My faith has the freedom to explore different forms and questions. To run away with the tide. But as it ebbs and flows it always returns. 

I am eternally grateful for this time, this place to worship.As I lift my head to the heavens, I exhale a deep cleansing breath, quietly uttering Namaste as I welcome tears of joy.
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Corinne is a wife of one, mother of two, and the official resident tea drinker of her home. She dabbles in writing and photography in between diaper changes and playdates. You can find Corinne writing about her daily joys and struggles at Trains, Tutus & Tea Time.

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How do you see your faith? Is it fleeting? Distant? Or is it strong and always on your sleeve, visible to the world? Is it fragile? Are you?

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