I usually feel guilty about not going to church on Sunday morning. Today was different. I didn’t feel guilty at all – well, for very long anyway. The last few times I’ve been it was essentially because of that guilt. I didn’t go to worship God. I didn’t go to get a word from the Lord. I went because that’s what I’m supposed to do. I went because I’m not really ready to answer a bunch of questions. I went because I felt a sense of obligation to friends to be there.
Today when I got up I felt that little twinge. But then I asked myself, “Self, what do you go to church for?”. Self answered, “To worship God and to get a word from Him.”. Then I asked myself, “Do you expect to do either of those things today?” Self answered, “Not really.” I asked myself, “Self, why do you feel guilty?”. To which self replied, “I’m letting people down if I don’t go.” “Really, self? Is that why you keep going?” “No, it’s really because I’m worried what people will think.” Now we have it. There it is. Self, “If no one would notice if you didn’t go would you feel this way?” “No, I wouldn’t”. So I didn’t go. Good bye guilt trip. Why do I care what other people think?
I got up, got dressed and went to Cracker Barrel for their Momma’s French Toast breakfast. I picked up a few groceries, went back home and did nothing but what I wanted to do. I went to Carmen’s 5th birthday party. Awkward, with the ex-husband and his new girlfriend and the whole ex-law mafia, but tolerable. I had a good time playing with the kids. I’m just a big kid at heart anyway. And wild horses aren’t going to keep me away from my grandgirls.
But there I had it. One fabulous, guilt-free, don’t-care-what-people-think day of rest. Now I’m wondering why on earth I cared so much what other people thought in the first place. If I have to go to church to be thought of as a decent human being people didn’t think much of me to begin with.